Llolfaen craned her neck as if trying to take in the vaulted ceiling of Arach-Tinilith's entrance hall all at once, eyes fixed to the bas reliefs of mythic history above. Around them, Future priestesses and members from their Houses flowed around each other, all of them respectful of the intimidating armored figure that was Lirayne Duskryn. "It's huge," the girl breathed softly, unable to see the tops of the arches supporting the roof because they were lost in shadow. All the way down the pillars in twisting ribbons of drow lettering were prayers to and praises of the Demon Queen of Spiders.

"By the time you leave, it will likely be as much your home as the House was. At least, it was that way for me," Lirayne said. While she was proud, there was also an ache of sorrow at the center of her chest. It seemed like only yesterday that she was tending to a scraped knee from the tumble after Llolfaen tried to run instead of taking her few first steps at a walk. Where did the years go?

"Mother?" Llolfaen asked, turning back towards the quiet priestess.

"It's nothing," she said, brushing off her weighty thoughts. If there was one thing Lirayne had mastered these past few years, it was hiding her emotions. Allowing Zesstra to see her weaknesses would have been far too dangerous for both herself and her daughter. She pulled off her ring, a simple mithril band engraved with their house glyph. "Take this, so you don't forget where you came from. Our line is not a long one stretching back uninterrupted to the myths of old. We came from nothing and created everything we have today through our own skill and cunning. That is a legacy more worthy of a drow."

Llolfaen took it carefully and slipped it on her finger. It fit surprisingly well, but then again, she was only a hair shorter than her mother now. "I will remember," she said. It wasn't often that Lirayne really talked about her family's history. Her lectures were generally on the history of the Church, Menzoberranzan, the other Houses, or even the Goddess. Things she needed to know to survive, not really things to be proud of.

Lirayne smiled faintly at that, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. She was doing her best not to show any of her emotions besides that pleased pride. This day was not about her; it was about her daughter. She leaned in close and whispered, "Amin mela lle. Be well, daughter."

The girl looked up at her mother in surprise even as the armored priestess turned away. She had never heard Lirayne speak surface elvish before. It was Galen and Cessair who had taught it to her. But there was no more to be said. It was only a moment before she lost sight of her mother and the sudden feeling of loss crashed over her.

"So you're House Duskryn's youngest," a cool voice said from behind her.

Llolfaen turned around, expecting to see another student. Instead, it was an instructor. "Revered Drisinil," she greeted, recognizing Quenthel's daughter. Siniira had pointed her out as someone to remember.

Over the last thirty years, the priestess had certainly changed. Where once there had been some sliver of kindness in Drisinil, now burned an almost fanatical fire. Something was driving her endlessly forward towards a goal only she could see. She'd lost the softness of noble living so common to the highest Houses during her stint in prison and it had never come back. "And here I thought House Duskryn had nothing but distaste for my family," Drisinil said with amusement. She'd seen how strangely close Lirayne was to her daughter and felt a frisson of envy run through her.

"Not at all," Llolfaen said, reminded of the Matron's insistence on manners. Never antagonize anyone without need, child, even an enemy. If you are going to have to kill someone, it costs nothing to be polite. "We have every reason to respect the city's first House and its Matron."

"Even though the respect is not reciprocated? How generous of Matron Siniira," Drisinil said, her expression thoughtful as she focused on the girl. "You are fortunate to have such mentors in your life. Matron Siniira, Revered Lirayne, Revered Yvonnel...I expect you have already come to us with much training."

"A little." Llolfaen was beginning to feel uneasy. This woman wanted something from her and she wasn't certain what it was. That was not a recipe for a comfortable young drowess. She had learned long ago that there were certain people that she could trust and everyone else was to be regarded with suspicion. "Enough to survive so far, at least. But I don't think I'll be a match for most people here."

"And she's modest too," the instructor said with the lazy, cat-like smile of a sated hunter towards potential prey.

"Thank you, Revered Drisinil, but you overestimate my abilities," Llolfaen said with a bow of her head in supposed gratitude. She honestly could not wait to be on her way.

"Do you know what the most important characteristic is among students of Arach-Tinilith?" Drisinil's eyes glittered with the reflection of that same relentlessly malevolent inner fire.

"No, Revered Drisinil."

"Cruelty." The daughter of Quenthel Baenre smiled faintly and turned on her heel. She tossed her next few words back over her shoulder to the girl. "I look forward to seeing how you do here."

Llolfaen watched the priestess walk away and counted herself lucky that the encounter had been so brief. She knew others were looking at her with envious eyes-one rarely drew the attention of Quenthel Baenre's daughter-but she hardly felt particularly fortunate. That subtle sense of wrongness had warned her of trouble to come. "Lloth help me," she murmured under her breath. The only answer she got was a brief surge of warmth through her veins, but that might have been the comfort she took from the Spider Queen.

She turned to her new life, gritted her teeth, and soldiered forward.

Llolfaen spent her first two weeks spending the time she wasn't in classes or in bed down at the training field, practicing her magic in the odd hours when the place was either empty or practically so. She was proving to be a frustrating student for her instructors-her attention wandered freely when they discussed rituals and preparation of spells, usually earning her a vicious punishment, but she had no difficulty with rites or prayers. The answer, to her, was simple: she didn't understand the preparations or why she would need them. She could cast freely without them, after all. But the rites, the prayers, those were an integral part of serving the Goddess.

Faith had always been the cornerstone of her life. When she was born, her mother held Lloth's favor and did everything to keep it, with quite a lot of success. There was no enemy too intimidating, no heretic too powerful to taste Lirayne Duskryn's blade. At least, that was what it seemed like to Llolfaen as a little girl raised on Cessair's stories about her family. Then there was Matron Siniira, the conscientious servant of the Goddess who moved in subtle ways and pulled strings that spanned the whole city with a soft touch. Then Revered Yvonnel, who was never the person she seemed to be, using the power of the Church to keep the city in line with the will of the Spider Queen. Even Galen, who she knew served someone called Torm (Lloth would never allow a human to worship her), had encouraged it in her.

Out here, she could collect her thoughts in private and usually avoid Jhalass Xorlarrin, a noble daughter of the fifth House who was turning out to be a problem. She was taller and sturdier than Llolfaen's waifish form, stronger, faster, and a talented cleric. Unfortunately, she was also possessed of an appetite for inflicting pain. Llolfaen had seen what happened to others who sparred with her and wasn't eager to be in their place. Cessair's little tricks for becoming one with the surroundings were proving incredibly useful.

But eventually, things were bound to come to a head once Jhalass finally started in on her.

"I don't know how you stand it," Solaufein Fey-Branche said. The tall warrior with blood red eyes was down at the field as often as she was, so he'd become a natural sparring partner. He could whip his sword and shield around like they were a child's toys, never feeling the weight even with his armor on. Right now, he had his shield up to guard his head and his sword low, trying to find an opening in her defenses.

"I used to watch the Matron handle other nobles. It's much the same, except a little more petty," Llolfaen said, parrying neatly and hurling a bolt of divine energy at him. The male dove to the side and rolled to come up on his feet. They were more play-fighting for the practice than sparring, the blows pulled so no one would do any damage more than a slap with the flat of a blade or a bump with a shield. Even her magic was a flicker compared to the amount of power she usually used.

"We've got priestesses coming," he warned, waiting for it to register before lowering his blade. Better not to get accidentally clipped by Llolfaen. Her love-taps with magic were still not the most pleasant things in the world.

"Vith," she muttered, turning to look over her shoulder. "Speak of the devil and she appears. Well, at least it's two of us."

"Hah, no. She's all yours," Solaufein said, backing away. He'd felt a snakewhip enough times to know it was better to stay out of the way of quarreling priestesses, even those still in training.

Jhalass's features were striking in their attractiveness, but in the same way a serpent's gaze was captivating to birds. And she was quite the social creature, never without a group of allies or minions-depending on their social status-nearby. Her crimson eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of Llolfaen and a male. "They are letting anyone into the Academy, aren't they?" she said, stopping just out of sword range from the pair of them. "Everyone knows Duskryn's nobles are slave-stock."

Llolfaen knew better than to dignify that with anger. Her temper was like a volcano: it took a lot to get it to go, and once it did, everything in the vicinity would get burned or blown apart. She could already feel the simmering starting under the stony, indifferent surface. She was still careful not to turn her back to Jhalass as she set the weapon away in one of the racks for training blades, not wanting to make it an appealing target. Solaufein had apparently suddenly remembered something he had to do, because he was heading back to Melee-Magthere. "Can I help you, Jhalass?" she said in a flat conversational tone, ignoring the laughter.

"I was speaking at you, not to you," Jhalass said with just a touch of amusement. "But if you want a conversation, that can be arranged."

Well, I know who Revered Drisinil's favorite student will be, Llolfaen thought darkly. The best revenge, however, would not be to trade barbs back. Denying Jhalass any reaction was a more effective and sometimes more enjoyable way of getting under her skin. So the young drowess started gathering her things together to tuck away in her satchel. Then she'd start the walk back to the room she had to herself at the moment. It was better that way. Loneliness was easily preferable to death by a supposed friend's dagger.

"Any more demons in the family tree, Duskryn? They seem to be attracted to animals."

Llolfaen had to literally bite her tongue until it hurt to stop herself from snapping. She gently closed her book on sword techniques that she'd shown to Solaufein rather than slamming it shut in anger and added it to the bag. Next went blade oil and a cleaning cloth wrapped around it to prevent any leaking onto valuable things.

Jhalass, however, was not keeping her calm. The complete lack of any reaction in Llolfaen was infuriating. "You little bitch," she snapped, grabbing Llolfaen by the wrist.

Instantly, Duskryn's youngest twisted her arm in a circle that broke Jhalass's grip. But instead of assaulting the girl, Llolfaen just stepped back with a deep breath. She could feel the magic starting to burn in her veins, demanding some kind of release. Do it, a honeyed voice whispered in her ear. Burn the waste of flesh to nothing in My name. You know you want to.

Llolfaen inhaled sharply at that. The last time she'd heard the voice was in the chapel before she left home. She'd heard it off and on her whole life, only in Lloth's holy places. She wasn't certain if it was madness or not, so she'd never admitted to it. Not now, she thought. Too many witnesses. Students can't kill each other openly.

Then make her suffer, or I will. It was a promise more than any real threat as far as Llolfaen was concerned. She'd always obeyed, so she didn't know what would happen if the voice itself did something.

"Jhalass, maybe we should leave her alone," one of the others warned, seeing something dangerous flicker in Llolfaen's gray eyes. Their warning didn't get through.

"Running away, demonspawn? Unless you prefer to be called a slave, that is. It's a little less grotesque," Jhalass goaded.

"You're not worth the effort," Llolfaen said with a shrug. "You should listen to your sycophants."

A slap rang out across the training field, and then everything suddenly changed. Llolfaen's head snapped to the side as she rolled with the blow and then she immediately turned it back. She didn't even feel the sting in the side of her face as the magic surged through her body like a flash flood. The ground started to crack under her feet and all of the girls backed away. But not fast enough. She lunged and caught Jhalass by the throat, barely contained power searing flesh even restrained.

House Xorlarrin's daughter would have cried out in agony if she could have forced the air through her closed throat. Llolfaen dropped her, blindly hunting for a target she could vent some of the magic on before her head split with pain. She remembered the training dummies and hurled a blast that way powerful enough to shatter stone and splinter the wooden bodies in an explosion.

Yes! the voice said, exultant in the display of power. They fear now. Look at them trembling. Weak! They should be punished for it.

As quickly as it had come, the power ebbed away and left her with an agonizing headache. Her whole body felt weak and drained. Llolfaen didn't stagger or fall, but she did start massaging her temples as Jhalass lay on the ground and fought to get air into her lungs after nearly having her trachea crushed.

"What was that?" the Xorlarrin noble gasped out, looking in panic to her little group of followers who looked about a second from running away. Llolfaen just turned around and started walking away with her bag slung over her shoulder.

Halfway across the city, the Revered Daughter cried out and stumbled as she walked the halls of the Yath'Abban barracks with Sabal. "Revered Yvonnel, are you unwell?" Sabal asked, catching an arm to be the woman's support. They were not friends by any stretch of the imagination, but they were tied together by obligation.

"I felt the Goddess. Here, in Menzoberranzan," Yvonnel said, pinching he bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

"That's not possible," Sabal said, but her doubt was apparent. She didn't sound very certain.

"All things are possible. Just not necessarily very likely." The priestess looked deeply uneasy. "No word of this is to reach the Houses, is that understood? I think I may know who had their hand in it."

Amin mela lle. - I love you.