The Night of Three Knives

[Mikayla]

Here then is a tale of good and evil, of light and dark, of Daggerdale and Menzoberranzan...of life and death....

***************

On a rainy Daggerdale night a stream of barely visible black clad figures poured forth from an opening in the side of a hill. The figures moved silently and swiftly with a grace and coordination unknown to humans, dwarves, orcs, goblins and other less gifted races. Their lithe forms were cloaked in magical piwafi’s which obscured their movements from all but the most observant. Around their black faces they wore equally black silk which they also wrapped around and through their long white hair. They moved across the hillside in a single file towards the road below. Interspersed among their number were spiders the size of horses with blade like legs. These monstrosities seemed more fitting for a nightmare than reality, but then a drow surface raid was a nightmare come to life.

An observer on the opposite hill might have seen nothing or might have seen only a black rivulet of motion flowing smoothly across the slope. The rivulet silently spilled into the flats just northeast of the hill and began to turn west. There every third Drow and every third sword spider broke from the column and headed east. At the head of this break-away group strode an unusually tall female. Her face and body were wrapped tightly in spider silk. Red glowing eyes peered into the night beneath braids of white hair tied back with a black ribbon. Between the white strands poked two delicate horns and from the female’s back grew a pair of large wings. Though of Drow descent, Kylara’anon Tlabbar, the “Lethal Flower”, was also of demonic blood. Her mother was the former Matron of Faen Tlabbar and her father the incubus Eliazar. A graduate of Arach-Tinilith’s priestess academy, Kylara’anon had eschewed the priesthood for a life following her true talent – assassination.

Now she led one third of the Drow force eastward down the Black Road towards Dagger Falls. Five male warriors, one male wizard, Silzafor her apprentice assassin, and Kylara’anon herself made eight Drow. They were accompanied by four sword spiders, two on each flank. Death walked the roads of Daggerdale…

***

As Kylara’anon led her patrol east the main column turned west and descended to a crossroads in front of the dark woods that lay along the Black Road. There, the column split again with every other Drow and Spider heading north while the remainder continued west.

Near the head of the column moving west was Faeryl Tlabbar, a high priestess of Lolth and noble daughter of House Faen Tlabbar of Menzoberranzan. Like the other dark elves, she moved with a preternatural grace. Her ruby eyes were in constant motion, watching the terrain as well as her own troops. Beneath the black spider-silk piwafi she wore Drow-made armor of a mithral-adamantine alloy. The armor was lacquered red and was cut very low in the front and back and high on the sides above the thighs. With it she wore thigh-hi armored boots as well as matching red fingerless gauntlets that extended to her elbows. In all, the armor was far more provocative than protective, at least in appearance. What it lacked in coverage however, it made up for in enchantment.

Ahead of Faeryl’s column at the edge of the woods along the Black Road a scout appeared and flashed a Drow hand sign. The way is clear. Within moments Faeryl entered the woods. Her two scouts cleared the meadow in which the local shrine to Mielikki sat. Faeryl approached at a brisk walk. Behind her, the main column took up defensive positions along the narrow forest road. Faeryl’s band consisted of a male wizard, two male warriors, two elite female warriors, and two male scouts. Like Kylara’anon’s column they were also accompanied by a quartet of sword-spiders guarding their flanks. Faeryl also had her personal pet, a shadow mastiff, by her side. However, something else moved among the drow. Something cloaked in darkness, something huge, something that made even the steely eyed killers of the Drow look over their shoulders with fear.

Faeryl began the incantation of desecration as she walked toward Mielikki’s shrine. Her voice began to rise as she chanted the prayer invoking a power anathema to the holy place before her. Faeryl’s ruby eyes glowed brightly as the power of the Spider Queen coursed through her and wicked grin split the darkness of her beautiful face. Lolth would be avenged…..

***

As the shrine to Mielikki was falling the third stream of black clad drow headed north, veering off the road and passing through a dark forest. They spread out in a skirmish formation, always wary for danger. Ahead they could see the wagons of the Vistani, the gypsies. The Vistani’s usual campfires were extinguished and no music came from the ordinarily raucous camp. The gypsies hid in their brightly painted wagons, colored curtains drawn tight against the horrors of the night.

One of those horrors approached the camp at a brisk pace. She was Ghenni’salla Tlabbar, and like Faeryl, she was a High Priestess of Lolth and princess of House Faen Tlabbar. Her enchanted drow made armor was similar in pattern to Faeryl’s, more pleasing to the eye than protective, but lacquered blue instead of red. She held a long, black whip with a wicked looking knife at the tip in one hand and carried a sheathed long sword in the other. She passed between the Vistani wagons watching for any sign of betrayal. The Vistani were too smart and too scared for that of course but Ghenni'salla never let her guard down. At least, not publicly. Ghenni’salla’s silent black band passed over and through the gypsy camp like a dark wave of death headed for another shore….

***

At Red Rock, where Dagger Falls’ Forest Gate opened up on to the Black Road, Kale Brows stood watch with his men. Though the sun had retired for the evening, the men of the watch felt secure in their heavy armor. Several Dales-folk meandered from the gate to the Red Rock tavern and back drinking berry-wine and occasionally singing despite the intermittent rain. Kale just watched them with a smile. He wished he could be drinking, but with the cemetery so close, he and his men had to be ever vigilant. Even now two of his five men were patrolling near the entrance of the cemetery where an adventurer had gone in just moments before.

Kylara’anon watched the Freedom Fighters impassively. These lesser creatures, these iblith, were already dead as far as she was concerned. Given their short life spans killing them was almost pointless. Still, it was a part of the plan. Silently Kylara approached the two men walking near the cemetery. As she was wrapped in her enchanted black silks they did not see her. In her left hand she carried a hand crossbow loaded with a poisoned dart. In her right she carried an Ilythiir fighting knife, what a human might call a shortsword. It too was poisoned. She waited until the two patrolling men were at their furthest distance from the main group then she raised her left hand and fired her crossbow at the first man. She aimed for the gap between his shoulder plate and breast plate and she did not miss. The poison dropped him almost instantly. As he fell his partner turned, hand moving to sword hilt. Kylara was on the second man in a heart beat, her left hand pushing his helmet forward into his chest keeping him from screaming and exposing the back of his neck. The half-demon drowess plunged her fighting knife through the chainmail of the man’s coif and into his neck. It was over as quickly as it had begun.

Without any more signal than that, Kylara’s crew advanced on the unsuspecting dales-folk and the remaining Freedom Fighters of Forest Gate. Red Rock would run red with blood this night….

***

Faeryl’s column slipped through the woods like the shadow of a cloud. At the gate of Daggersprings they paused just long enough to take stock of the village’s defenses. Faeryl gave a hand sign and poisoned bolts flew from the woods. The ranger near Varc’urn’s grave never knew what hit her. The poison acted too fast. A fang near the gate lasted a little longer – just long enough to be torn to pieces by a brace of on rushing sword-spiders.

At the campfire near the inn a ranger called Dale Onyers looked up as the great muscled body of a guardian fang lept past him and raced towards the village gates. In the dark he could see the fang join battle with two huge, horse sized spiders whose scythe like legs arced through the night cleaving whatever was below them. For a moment, time seemed to freeze for Dale. From the darkness approached black figures with white hair. Drow. They darted from tree to tree always seeking cover. Dale’s eyes, though accustomed to the dark by virtue of years as a ranger and by his half elf blood could not focus on them clearly. The dark elves would appear for an instant dashing here, then there. A villager fell along the road, then another. The two rangers posted in that direction were no where to be seen. It was all happening so fast.

Dale heard someone screaming. He tried to listen, to hear what they were yelling. They screamed again. “Alarm! Alarm!” they yelled. From the gloom came a female, indigo black skin, white hair and glowing red eyes that matched the rubies of her choker and the red tint of her wicked armor. Still the yelling continued. As the female came towards him Dale felt an ancient hatred, an ancient fear rise up in him. Here was the nightmare. This woman was a drow priestess of Lolth, the spider designs on her scarlet armor left no doubt about that. Panic gripped him and Dale willed himself to draw his weapon. Fires exploded in the night as a drow wizard let loose his magic. A fang roared as it was enveloped in flame. More villagers and rangers rushed to the defense but still Dale could hear the yelling and still the silhouetted priestess kept walking towards him. With an almost relaxed motion she raised her long delicate arm and snapped the three lashes of her whip at the half-elf ranger. He could see the lashes were actually living snakes. They bit into his flesh and he heard the yelling change from a warning of the drow attack to a simple scream of pain. In that instant, Dale realized it had been him who had been screaming all along. As he fell he wondered about his wife, his children and his friends. He wondered if his yells would warn them in time. He hoped so, but if not, he would see them on the other side…..

***

In the Temple of Lathander, Hanella Rogerlin the head priestess sat and talked with two of her junior paladins about the forthcoming dawn ceremony. She had awoken just an hour ago. Now she was quietly sipping tea waiting for dawn along with the rest of the Temple’s occupants. As one of the novice holy warriors chatted idly a scream broke the calm. Hanella looked up from her tea towards the entrance to the crypts behind them. She could not believe what she saw even though she had seen it once before. Drow. They poured into the hall darting here and there like black skinned demons. Though she had seen them before and despised them with all her being she could not help but marvel at their grace and speed. Rushing out between them was a quartet of enormous spiders with blades for legs. Worse yet, behind the spiders and dark elves something else, something larger, seemed to lurk in a magical darkness.

Without hesitation Hanella dropped her tea and summoned a wall of fire between her and the onrushing horde. The flames engulfed drow and spider alike and Hanella could hear an unnatural wailing as the sword spiders flailed their bladed legs in agony. One of the junior paladins also moved quickly, drew his blade and charged. He met a flaming arachnid the size of a war horse and sunk his sword to the hilt in its many-eyed head . The flame-engulfed creature dropped to the floor, its legs twitching spasticly. Before the paladin could withdraw his weapon he was hit with from three sides by small black crossbow bolts. He fell forward, the giant burning spider becoming his funeral pyre.

Hanella stood and picked up her mace. The other paladin was now pulling his weapon free but the drow were fast. Too fast. They leapt through the flames as though they were not there and Hanella remembered that the drow were resistant to magic. The mace it would have to be. She lifted the enchanted weapon and screamed to Lathander. “For the Morninglord!” A drow warrior came in on her, a wicked blade in each hand. Even in her rage Hanella could only marvel at the coordination of the dark elves. The blades flashed and she parried them with her shield. Hanella was no stranger to combat. Before her years as a priestess she had been a paladin of Lathander of no less repute and accomplishment as any now in the Dale. She gave no ground to the dark elf warrior and went on the attack herself. Her mace found the drow’s knee and he crumpled. As he tried to right himself she brought the mace down on the side of his head cracking his skull and staining his white hair red with gore. The drow fell, dead. Hanella looked up. The other paladin had fallen. Other clergy and worshippers were now engaged through out the temple. In one corner she heard a scream, an unholy guttural growl and a rending noise that could only be flesh and bone. The corner was cloaked in darkness however, and Hanella could not see what terror the foul drow had unleashed.

Hanella’s attention was caught by movement ahead of her. From the flaming wall a figure emerged: lithe, graceful, moving like a dancer and altogether too wicked and too beautiful to be real. It was a drow female in blue, spider decorated armor, a whip in one hand and a long black blade in the other. A priestess of Lolth. Hanella’s counterpart in the dark and twisted world of evil from which the drow sprang. As Hanella brought her shield up she watched, enthralled by her new opponent. Never had Hanella met a Lolthian High Priestess in battle before. She was so beautiful, so exotic, so perfectly evil and malicious. She was a work of dark art taken to perfection. It was almost a shame to kill her. Almost. Unfortunately, though a work of art this drow might be, she was evil, and Hanella would kill her.

The Lolthian priestess came at Hanella directly and Hanella met the charge. Lolth’s sword struck Lathander’s shield. Black whip entangled enchanted mace and the two priestesses danced a new dance; a dance of faith, a dance of rage, a dance of death.

Blow after blow they traded as the fighting raged around them. Ghenni’salla sundered Hanella’s shield only to have Hanella knock the longsword from Ghenni’s hand. Ghenni returned the favor by wrapping Hanella’s mace in her whip’s strands pulling the blessed weapon from Hanella’s grip. Hanella drew her dagger and closed with the drow female. Her whip useless in such close quarters, Ghenni dropped it and pulled her own killing knife from its sheath on her thigh. The two women fell to the floor locked in their struggle, each gripping their opponent’s wrist with their free hand. They rolled across the floor trying to overpower each other and sink their respective blades into their enemy.

Around them the drow slaughtered the temple occupants. Though outnumbered more than two to one, the dark elves were far better prepared and fought with great discipline and coordination. The panic-stricken temple residents, though brave, could not match the drow or their summoned monstrosities. One by one the clergy, paladins and worshippers of the Morninglord fell to drow, spider and demon.

In the main hall Ghenni’salla and Hanella continued their battle. Here again preparation made the difference. Hanella could not match the drow priestess’s strength. Such a slender creature should not be so strong or so tough but Hanella realized the drow had taken the time to prepare for battle while she had not had that luxury. Imbued with divine strength, Ghenni’salla rolled on top of Hanella and began to force her knife down upon the Lathander-priestess. Hanella resisted, but she could make no progress with her own knife and she could not stop Ghenni’salla’s. She peered up at the drow now. It was not supposed to end like this Hanella thought. She was supposed to die heroically, but then, perhaps she was. Ghenni gained the leverage and suddenly it was done – the beautiful dark elf plunged her wicked blade into Hanella’s flesh and blood sprayed up splattering Ghenni's black face and white hair.

Hanella’s mouth opened as if to scream as the knife went in. Pain shot through the priestess, not only physical but emotional. To be defeated by such a creature as this drow was….was….

Hanella lost the thought. A wave of warmth washed over her and she felt no more pain. She looked up at her slayer now, calm. The dark elf had leaned back, still straddling Hanella and was trying to catch her breath. The drow’s eyes were blue and matched the sapphires of her choker and the blue tinged armor. In those eyes Hanella saw no peace, no respite, only hate, anger and fear. Though dying, Hanella found she did not hate this dark elf. It was so obvious the Lolthian priestess had spent a lifetime becoming what she was, overcoming nearly impossible obstacles and challenges to become this evil work of art and yet for all that, Hanella suddenly knew this creature would know no peace, no reward for all her effort. Hanella could only pity her.

Warmth filled Hanella from head to toe and she could no longer see her dark elf assailant. All had gone black. Then the blackness lightened to a deep blue, the color of the sky in the moments just before dawn. Hanella was standing now, or so she seemed to be. She was no longer in the temple but in a green field. To the east, the sun began to rise across the horizon, its beautiful rays filling the world with warmth and love. To her left was Kaliah Kelm, her apprentice priestess at the temple and with her were many of the temple’s other residents. Ahead of Hanella, towards the rising sun, the first paladin who had fallen stood smiling. He beckoned them to join him. For a moment, Hanella simply basked in the glow of the morning sun. Then she smiled and started walking towards the paladin and the sunrise. She and the others had come home now and it was time to join the Morninglord for good……

***

At forest gate Kylara’anon stood over the body of Caldo Mensbane, the Dagger Falls gate guard. He and his men, along with a few adventurers, had put up a respectable fight for a few moments. Nevertheless, they had fallen. The field in front River Gate was littered with corpses. Freedom Fighters, adventurers, townsfolk. Half of Kylara’s drow were now mutilating the bodies while the other half were forming a perimeter. Kylara signaled to them in the drow sign language. She and her apprentice were moving on. The rest of them should now return. The wizard among the group nodded and signaled for the retreat. Shadows cloak you, he signed to Kylara before departing.

Kylara and her apprentice had a date with the clergy of Chauntea in White Chalk. Kylara did not intent to miss it….

***

“Killing me will not give you peace” said the old woman.

Faeryl narrowed her eyes. The old woman was Manara, one of the druid’s spiritual leaders. Faeryl’s raiding party had bypassed the inn and the other buildings and had come straight here, killing all the rangers, villagers and great-cats in their path. Faeryl knew of Manara and knew where she lived – Faeryl had been to a wedding here once.

“Perhaps not old woman,” Faeryl replied. “But letting you live will not do me any good either.” Faeryl did not wait for an answer. She lashed out with her whip of fangs and struck Manara. The old woman winced and collapsed as the poisonous fangs bit into her. Now on her knees, the old woman looked up at Faeryl with nothing but contempt in her eyes. Rage filled Faeryl instantly and she bashed the old woman in the face with her buckler. Manara fell backwards but Faeryl followed her down striking her again and again and again with the metal shield. Finally, one of Faeryl’s warriors pulled the gore-covered priestess off of the old woman who lay dead. Faeryl wiped blood and brains from her face as she caught her breath and calmed down. Unnatural darkness filled a corner of Manara’s house. Faeryl knew what was in that darkness and she spoke to it now.

“Take this body back to the abyss with you. Destroy it there so it may never be found again.”

An impossibly deep, resonating voice answered. “As you wish priestess.”

Faeryl turned to her subordinates. “Burn this hovel down. We are leaving.”

One of the male scouts near the door spoke up. “Mistress, we have located the path that leads to their temple. Shall we finish the raid there? Such a prize is surely worth the fight.”

Faeryl glanced at the man. She knew what lay at the temple. She had scryed it. She was not afraid of its guardians. For every sentinel the temple had, she could summon a fiend to match. Such was the power of a high priestess in Lolth’s favor. Something else about the temple stopped her though. Someone else actually.

Faeryl knew that Keriwen was there. She was the object of Faeryl’s scrying. Faeryl had given the child a braid of her hair at the wedding for just that purpose – so she could scry on the child when needed. Faeryl intended to avoid her. She had given her word never to hurt the child, and while Faeryl would break her word when it suited her, for some reason she could not bring herself to harm Keriwen.

Faeryl stepped out of Manara’s house as her troops set fire to it. She stared across the village to where her son, Varc’urn, lay. No, she would not break that one promise. Keriwen, and her parents, would be free from Faeryl’s predations.

“We will not attack the temple,” Faeryl said.

The scout opened his mouth as if to argue but thought better of it. He had seen Faeryl beat the old woman to death as well kill rangers and fangs. He did not want to become next on the list.

As Manara’s house burned, Faeryl and her band collected their two dead and slipped back into the woods. A wave of death had broken over Daggersprings, and now it receded into the night. Nothing would ever be the same here.

***

Ghenni’salla sat atop the dying priestess Hanella and watched the life drain out of her. Even as the human bled to death a look of peace came over her. Ghenni saw Hanella look up one last time and there was something in the human’s eyes. Ghenni stood. She knew what it was. She could feel it. It was pity.

How could that be? Ghenni’salla was the victor. The Temple of Lathander was overrun. Upstairs a Tlabbar wizard was setting the library on fire. All around her the faithful of the Morninglord lay dead or dying and beneath her feet Hanella herself lay mortally wounded. How could this human pity her?

Rage and hatred filled Ghenni’salla and she screamed. She staggered back from the now dead Hanella and began cursing uncontrollably. Ghenni reached out with one hand, her delicate fingers with their long manicured nails curling up like demonic claws as if to grip at the very soul of the fallen Lathander-priestess. Her beautiful, painted face contorted with anger making it the face of a fiend and she spat out a prayer to her wicked goddess. Beneath Hanella’s body the stones of the temple floor split apart and from the cracks abyssal fire rose in a column. The unholy flames engulfed the corpse and seared its flesh from the bones. Ghenni’salla was screaming again, her blue eyes ablaze with rage, her hand outstretched directing the fire as it consumed her enemy’s corpse. All eyes were upon her now. The drow were used to hatred and violence but the rage of a high priestess was still something to take note of – and to fear. Even the Vrock who had accompanied Ghenni’s troop and its summoned succubus took note.

As the fire subsided Ghenni stopped her screaming. She stared at the bones left by the fire and spoke to the succubus. “Take these bones back to the abyss. Let them never be found.”

The vrock replied. “The succubus is my creature to command priestess.”

Ghenni whirled on the nine foot tall demon. Though half its size she strode forward without a hint of fear or hesitation.

“And you are mine to command fiend,” she spat. “Thus, all you command I also command.” She picked up her long sword and whip as she walked and continued towards the vrock. The tanarri spread its wings and eyed the slender female.

“Your succubus will do as I command as will you,” Ghenni growled. “And while she is returning to the abyss, you will stay here and cover our withdrawal.”

The demon’s eyes flared. “For how long?”

“Until you are banished or destroyed.”

“Bah! I will not. If banished or destroyed I will be unable to return for a hundred years. I will go as I please.”

Fire filled Ghenni’s black heart and her rage infused her; rage against Hanella’s pity, against her own death long ago to the renegade, against her fruitless search for rest and peace, against the elves for their treachery and the duergar for their greed; against the gnomes for mere existence and against the human and orcs and goblins for their animalistic breeding; against anything and everything in this world and now, against this stupid, insignificant demon who thought he could defy her.

As the rage grew Ghenni’s voice dropped to a soft but menacing purr. “I am only going to say this once. You will do as I say, or I will destroy this corporeal form of yours here and now. Then I will follow your sorry soul back to the pits of the abyss, for I know from whence you came. There, I will destroy you utterly and let you join the masses of larvae which writhe in agony in those pits. You can be food for your fellow fiends and never will you return to this world. Do you understand?”

In her blue eyes the demon saw anger and insanity unmatched by any but the true tanarri of his home. The icy blue of those beautiful orbs was so cold it could burn and the demon knew fear of total destruction. He would obey. Besides, this creature was mortal yet and perhaps she would fall and end up in the pits someday….then he would extract his revenge…very, very slowly.

“As you wish priestess. Here I shall stay, and slay all who come.”

Ghenni eyed the beast with unabashed contempt and hatred. Without another words she turned and headed for the crypts. Her task was done. It was time to leave this dale for good.

***

Kylara’anon stood over the body of the Chauntean priestess in White Chalk. Kylara had slain her quickly and quietly and then used the body to defile the shrine itself. With the priestesses blood Kylara painted symbols of chaos, evil, death, destruction and Lolth across the holy site. When she was done, she and her apprentice left by the north gate, past the two guards they had left dead in their wake.

By the time Dance Blake and Hens Derman reported to the gate for the day watch and found the bodies, Kylara and Silzafor were already passing past Dagger Falls on their way back north.

***

Faeryl and Ghenni’salla met at Greyskin’s landing on the shore of a dark river which emptied into the subterranean Lake of Shadows. Out on the water the drow pirate ship Dark Fire awaited them. As they approached each other they held up bloody knives, signaling their success. Faeryl’s target, the holy woman Manara, had been slain and her body taken to the abyss. Ghenni’salla’s target, the priestess Hanella, had likewise been slain and her burned bones also taken to the abyssal pits. The only objective left was Kylara’s; the Chauntean priestess in White Chalk.

Knowing pursuit and retaliation was possible, the two high priestesses boarded the small boats by the shore and rowed out to the comparative safety of the Dark Fire and its many ballistae. So far, the night was going well. Two knives had been raised in success. There was only one left to go.

***

Kylara and Silzafor had completed their mission but when they arrived at the crossroads which led to the cave above Greyskin’s Landing Kylara headed west instead of north. Silzafor new better than to question his mistress. For hours they crept through the woods, keeping to the shadows as the sun climbed to its zenith above them. Silzafor wondered if this detour would cause them to miss their redezvous with the other departing raiding parties, but he would not question Kylara.

By noon, they had reached the edge of Daggersprings. Concealed by magic, they watched as the survivors wept for their dead, fought fires and collected bodies. Kylara saw Valencia Bearson, the guardian of the temple entrance, among the survivors. Few were left to help, so those at the temple had come down to assist. Quietly, using all her skill, experience and magic, Kylara prowled through the village. She had one objective. In a small house at the far end of the village she found it. The children of Daggersprings had been gathered together to make guarding them easier. Among them was Keriwen, daughter of Arien Ironstar. They were watched by several rangers and the remaining fang.

Kylara hid in the woods nearby until dark and then made her move. The rangers fell quickly but the fang fought hard. It did not matter. There were few assassins as capable as the half-fiend known as the Lethal Flower. Kylara took Keriwen from among the children and left the doors of the house trapped. The folk of Daggerdale would have to spend precious minutes disarming those traps to get to the children before they would discover one was missing.

Kylara and Silzafor headed east now, back through the woods paralleling the Black Road. Kylara used her magic to keep Keriwen still as they fled. She did not wish to kill the child, not yet. Kylara knew that Faeryl had gone to the wedding of Arien. She knew that Faeryl had given this child one of her braids. Now, Kylara would see Faeryl sacrifice this child on the altar of Lolth – either that, or Kylara would see Faeryl sacrificed on the altar for heresy. No sister of the Tlabbar would be allowed to show such weakness – all transgressions would be atoned for.

***

In Daggerfalls a heroic band of adventurers had faced the vrock left behind by Ghenni’salla. Led by Ambassador Babras of the Ironstar, the Paladin Mykhal Abbotsgard, and the wizard Dornstag, they had managed to slay the demon though the fell beast had laid two of their number low. Mustering their courage, the adventurers braved the crypts beneath the temple. A young woman, Marlene Wend, was killed by a trap the drow left to cover their tracks. Still the heroes had pressed on. More traps, then giant spiders. More heroes fell including Babras himself. Finally, unable to continue they had retreated. In the desecrated hall of the temple Hignar of the Ironstars called the soul of Babras back to the realm of the living.

Though restored to life, anger filled Babras’ heart. Anger at the drow, their treachery and unmatched evil. He had heard from Mykhal and Mieleen, now dead, that Daggersprings had also been sacked. Knowing this, he struck out along the Black Road alone.

And so it happened that Babras came to hunt Kylara and Silzafor as they kidnapped his granddaughter Keriwen.

***

Kylara reached Greyskin’s landing and threw Keriwen into the small boat moored there. Out on the water she could see the Dark Fire, and at its gunwales Faeryl, Ghenni’salla and Alyakim waited. Kylara drew her knife and raised it, signaling success in her mission.

On the ship, Ghenni’salla and Faeryl raised their knives returning the signal. Three bloody knives had been raised confirming the deaths of the three leading iblith priestesses of the Dale. Ghenni’salla could think of no greater blow that could be struck against the iblith.

At the landing Kylara heard heavy metal-shod feet approaching. Silzafor looked at her, eyes wide. They had been followed. Kylara signaled for Silzafor to kill the intruder and Kylara stepped into the boat. Silzafor waited behind a rock wall for the approaching pursuer. From the around the corner came Babras the dwarf. Silzafor aimed his hand cross bow across Babras’s chest and shot the bolt between the dwarf’s armored plates. The apprentice assassin’s aim was true and the poisoned bolt found Babras’ flesh. The burly dwarf pitched forward as the poison dazed him, dropping him to his knees as if afflicted by a sleep enchantment.

Silzafor dropped his crossbow and pulled his fighting knife. Deftly he slid the blade under Babras’ armor stabbing him in the arm pit. The pain of the wound roused the dwarf who came to life with a roar, his great Ironstar mace arcing through the gloom at the murderous dark elf. Silzafor spun away from the revitalized dwarf and slashed at him with the edge of his buckler. Babras brought his own shield up and the two began circling each other, mace striking buckler and fighting knife striking tower shield.

Silzafor was faster but Babras was the more experienced. The dwarf’s mace battered the left arm of the drow assassin, whose own deadly blade continued to find weak spots in Babras’s armor. Blood flowed from both men. Babras was stronger and more resolute. As the assassin’s arm gave out Babras’ mace found the dark elf’s head. The stunned elf fell to his knees and Babras struck him again. Silzafor fell in a spray of blood, never to rise.

Kylara’anon had watched. No reinforcements backed up Babras. He was alone. She could have rowed away, but then the Dark Fire crew would kill Babras with a ballista. A strange part of her felt that was wrong. She had known Babras for over three years now. He deserved a better death than that. Better than just being shot down by pirates from across the water anyway.

As Silzafor fell, Kylara’anon, the Lethal Flower, stepped off the small boat in which Keriwen now sat, the holding magic having worn off.

As Babras stood over his fallen enemy Kylara shot a bolt past him.

“Babras” was all she said.

The dwarf did not hesitate. He turned and rushed at her, mace held high. This half-demon drowess had taunted him for years. Time and again they had met, and sparred with words. Once, she had even saved his life and subsequently held it over him for years. They had never fought until now, but both had known this moment would come.

He came on then, driven by vengeful fury and dwarven battle rage. Kylara met him with drow speed and demonic strength. They danced on the edge of the river landing as Faeryl, Ghenni’salla and Alyakim watched from the Dark Fire. Babras was brave and his skill mighty but Kylara dodged his mace time and again while her twin black blades repeatedly found his flesh. Babras side stepped and used his shield as best he could and finally he hit his opponent. She was tough however, her demonic blood lending her a resilience few mortals could muster. They fought on. Both were wounded and both bled though the outcome seemed certain. Bit by bit, Kylara was cutting Babras down. The poison on her blades was beginning to wrack his body with pain and the stalwart dwarf began to realize that win or lose, this fight was likely his last.

He attacked again with his enchanted mace. Deftly, Kylara crossed her swords as the blow came in redirecting it in a long arc and then doubling back on her movement. The mace left Babras’ hand. She had disarmed him.

For a moment they paused. Babras was dead and they both knew it. His wounds were great, he was poisoned and now the she-demon had deprived him of his weapon. They locked eyes. Both hated the other, but there was something more there. Respect? Out of the corner of his eye, Babras saw Keriwen sitting in the small boat watching the fight. This could not happen. He could not let his granddaughter fall into the hands of the drow. He would give his very soul to prevent this.

As Kylara readied her knives for the kill Babras summoned all that remained of his fading strength. He did not go for his mace or draw another weapon as Kylara thought, he simply charged straight at her. Kylara's eyes went wide as the stout dwarf slammed into her body. Instinctively she brought her blades up and one caught Babras in the armpit piercing his lung. It was a mortal wound. The blow could not stop his momentum however and his charge carried both of them off the edge of the landing and into the water. With everything he had Babras gripped onto the slender, silk wrapped body of his opponent. As they hit the water the dwarf yelled back to Keriwen, “run Halaur, run!”

Kylara brought her second knife down on Babras overhand. The black blade entered at his clavicle and blood poured forth from the wound and his mouth but still he kept his grip on the drowess. Babras’ plate armor weighed him down and even as Kylara stabbed at him they slipped beneath the water. Kylara wriggled to be free of the dwarf but he had her in a literal death grip. As they sank, she spread her wings and tried to force them back to the surface but she could only slow their descent. Locked together they began to drift with the river’s current. Kylara looked into the dwarf’s eyes as he died in her arms. There was certain satisfaction in them. She writhed trying to escape but it was useless. Her lungs burned as her air was used up. Above her she could see the surface of the water getting further and further away. Her long legs kicked but the dead dwarf in his armor was too heavy for even her demon infused strength. Gradually her struggles lessened. She could not hold her breath any longer. She opened her mouth and cold water rushed in filling her lungs.

Suddenly she was not afraid. She was calm. She looked upon the dwarf almost lovingly now as they drifted down the current in their deadly embrace. He had killed her, but in doing so she was now free of this world. She would go on now to serve Lolth in the next life. As Quenthel Baenre, the mistress of Arach Tinilith said, there is but one way to Lolth and the Demonweb Pits: Worship the Spider Queen all your life….and die.

With her last conscious act Kylara’anon Tlabbar, the Lethal Flower, kissed the cheek of Babras the dwarf and placed her head in the crook of his neck. And then she knew only oblivion.

***

On the deck of the Dark Fire, Kylara’s sisters waited to see if she would survive her fall into the water. When she did not reappear, they said a prayer to Lolth for her. Across the water, the small iblith child was picking up the mace of the fallen dwarf. A Dark Fire pirate took aim with one of the ship’s many ballistae. Faeryl saw the child’s impending doom and faked a stumble into the gunner. The shot went wide as Faeryl threw the man’s aim off. On shore Keriwen realized the dark elf ship was shooting at her and she ran just as Da had told her too. The pirate gunner scowled at Faeryl but one look from the high priestess kept him from saying a single word.

Ghenni’salla watched with interest. Kylara’anon had tried to steal that child and then Faeryl had just saved her. Why? What did the child mean to Faeryl?

With a sigh Ghenni’salla decided she did not really care at the moment. She gave Captain Alyakim a hand sign, looked to Faeryl once, and then headed for her cabin. The night was done. Three iblith priestesses had been marked for death and in the end, three bloody knives were raised in triumph. A hero of the dwarves had also fallen and dozens upon dozens of other iblith as well. The cost? Three male warriors, one apprentice assassin and Kylara. No amount of iblith lives were worth a single drow female, but practically speaking, the exchange was still a clear victory. Besides, if the Matron really wanted Kylara back, they could call her soul from the pits. Otherwise, it was done. Ghenni’salla would only be too happy to put this Dale behind her.

On deck, Faeryl watched Keriwen flee into the gloom of the caves. Run Halaur, run she thought, and don’t ever look back….

[Squamatus]

sings *Memories*
Not only is this tale a testimony to your writing skills, Mikayla, but also one to your DM and Storytelling skills.
Carry on.

[Mikayla]

Thank you Squamatus, that is great praise. Of course, I did have a little help 'writing' the story from all the players involved, including you as Babras. So, here is a big thank you to all the Daggerdale players 'back in the day' - thank you for making those months so fun.

[Virvaldin]

To the players I guided on DD tonight... This is the thread I told you to read. It surely is impressive and will give you an insite in some of the history DD has..... the evil side o'course

Thanks to Mikayla for making history so alive

[wvincenti]

*sigh*

Missed it by that much ... was wandering elsewhere on the server all that day and knew something was up OOC. Just no IC idea of what or where until it was way too late.

A great piece of work though Mik, glad you can write all this up after the fact.

-Bill

[Legionnaire]

amazing

[Ithildur]

Wow. I'm not normally a huge fan of fantasy fiction outside of the likes of Tolkien. But this was riveting.

[Squamatus]

Had some people asking about the events of this night, so....
*bump*

[darrenhfx]

re-bump for curious story seekers like me

[White Warlock]

very good Mik

[darrenhfx]

Glad we agree on something today WW.

Would it be appropriate to have a list of cast and characters for this story (and perhaps for others) for those of us who either weren't members at the time or whose memories have weakened with age?

[Mikayla]

Sure, but I don't rememeber everyone sadly. Its like the Siege at Whitechalk Hollow, another big event I ran - I remember running it, I remember it being great fun, but I don't really remember who was involved. I should take more notes during these sessions and drink less wine...


Anyway...

The Dwarves:

Babras Ironstar (PC - Squamatus) Ambassador of the Ironstar Clan. Babras came to be the pre-eminent representative of the Irontar Clan and dwarves in general, in the Dales after Fallain died in Waterdeep. Babras had adopted the elven druid, Arien, as his daughter, and so Arien's daughter, Keriwen, who was kidnapped by Kylara'anon, was his adopted grand daughter. Babras was the epitome of dwarven courage, stubborness, friendship, toughness and determination.

Hignar Jilker-Ironstar (PC - MShady) Priest of Moradin. Hignar was an adventuring companion of Babras and though not of Ironstar Clan birth, was taken in by the Clan during his time in the Dales. Hignar was in Daggerdale when the raid took place - while Hignar did participate during the counter-attack to rid the city of the traps and monsters left behind by the drow, his conspicuous absence during the attack on the demon left in the Temple of Lathander was noted by all.

The Humans:

Mykhal Abbotsgard (PC)
(and many others, whom I've forgotten now - if folks who participated want to PM me, I will add them to the list)

The Drow:

Ghenni'salla Tlabbar (NPC - Mikayla) High Priestess of Lolth and Princess of House Faen Tlabbar. The architect of the raid, Ghenni was brought out to the dales from Menzoberranzan for the sole purpose of leading the attack.

Faeryl Tlabbar (NPC - Mikayla) High Priestess of Lolth and Princess of House Faen Tlabbar. Faeryl was the leader of House Faen Tlabbar's contingent in the Dales. The Faen Tlabbar were the financial and military backers and partners of the local drow house, the Maldonar. When relations with the Maldonar deteriorated, the Faen Tlabbar decided to "ruin" the long-standing truce the Maldonar had with the surfacers as a way to punish the Maldonar - thus why the raid took place and why it was a Tlabbar led raid, not a Maldonar raid. Faeryl was the one who decided the raid should occur, and so while Ghenni was the architect of the raid, Faeryl was its mother. Faeryl was also the mother of V'arc'urn, a half-drow PC played by McJoker, and it was Faeryl who was the infamous uninvited guest at the wedding of Arien and Arikiel. Her presence triggered the clash between Falling-Leaf and the rest of the Dalefolk setting the stage for one of ALFA's most famous man-hunts, escapes and feuds.

Kylara'anon Tlabbar (NPC - Mikayla) "The Lethal Flower" Priestess and assassin of Lolth, Princess of House Faen Tlabbar. While Faeryl was the commander of the Tlabbar enclave in the Dale, it was Kylara who did all the dirty work and made her presence known. During the three years of their presence, when folks thought of the drow of the Dale, it was usually the winged, demon-blooded Kylara they thought of. For years Kylara engaged the dwarves and humans of the Dale in a dangerous game of wits, and that game came to a head when she faced off against her rival and nemisis, Babras, at Greyskin's landing the night after the Night of Three Knives raid.

Silzafor Tlabbar (NPC - Mikayla) Kylara's apprentice, who helped create the ruse in the Dales that there was an invasion of "Cormanthyr Drow" going on - it was this ruse that led the folk of the Dale to "ally" with the Maldonar/Tlabbar drow faction as they feared the invading "Cormanthor Drow" - the Cormanthor Drow invasion was, of course, just a ruse played out by the Maldonar and Tlabbar to get the Dale folk to turn their attention elsewhere. Like Kylara, Sizafor was killed by Babras the night after the Night of Three Knives at Greyskin landing.

[wvincenti]

Giving this a 'bump' because I'm back in game and introducing some friends to the joys of ALFA.



-Bill