Dark Flower, Book II - Chapter 13 - The Spider's Web

[Mikayla]

Dark Flower, Book II – Chapter 13 – The Spider’s Web

[Author's Note: This is a very long chapter - the longest I have ever written. At more than 25,000 words, it is nearly 50 pages long. I would have broken it up into multiple chapters, but I have kept some folks waiting long enough. The entire chapter will not fit into one post, so I am breaking it into multiple posts, all in this thread.

I would like to thank Inthara, Grand Fromage, Gribo for their parts in this chapter. I would like to especially thank Vendrin, the DM for most of these events. Not only did Vendrin run this game, he also helped me recontruct the events afterwards while writing this story as the logs were lost.]

***

Chapter 13, The Spider's Web

Tears and Blood

Sheyreiza sat with Inthara in the little Silverymoon park where they had danced Sheyreiza’s final dance. The day had passed slowly, which Sheyreiza found odd. As she felt this was her last real day of this life she had expected it to pass by quickly, like the taste of something delicious on the tongue that never lasts quite long enough. Shortly, after the sun set, she would seek out the Spider Queen. If Lolth would take her back, then Sheyreiza would embrace the darkness again. As she was contemplating this burden upon her soul, Sheyreiza became conscious of a weight around her neck. Her symbol of Eilistraee still hung from its silver chain. She pulled off the necklace and handed it to Inthara who sat glumly on the grass beside her.

“Give that to the faithful you find, if you cannot use it yourself.” Sheyreiza said.

Inthara took her own holy symbol off and slipped Sheyreiza’s around her neck.

Sheyreiza began laying out her armor on the grass of the park. “I have a little bit of work to do.” She announced. Sheyreiza explained she needed to paint over the colors on her armor as well as her personal heraldry and the engraved hymnals to Eilistraee. The beautiful priestess was nearly naked now, wearing nothing but her glossy boots, a warming stone from Lonelywood on a necklace and an adamantine belly chain. A Silverymoon spellguard who patrolled this gate area stopped in his tracks and openly gawked at the mostly nude drowess. Sheyreiza paid him no attention. She set out several pots of red and black lacquer in wet grass. The snow from the night before had melted in the sun and the park field was green again. Still, the air was cold and if not for Sheyreiza’s enchanted warming stone, she would not have lasted long without clothing. Brush in hand she began painting the armor laid out before her.

Inthara watched curiously. “Are those your house colors?” She asked.

Sheyreiza shook her head. “Tanor'thal, and a few others.” Sheyreiza reached back into one of her satchels and pulled out a house symbol of Tanor’thal holding it up for Inthara to see. “The colors for Auvryndar are white and black. For Faen Tlabbar, purple and black.” She put the Tanor’thal symbol with its ominous house rune and spider motif around her neck. Drow house runes were unlike other runes; most runes, like those of dwarves, were carved with chisel and hammer and as a result, consisted of simple, blocky straight lines of uniform width. Drow runes were etched with magic and so their form was infinitely mutable. Though curved and fluid like Elvish alphabet of Espruar, drow house runes were clearly alien, ominous and evil. Looking at a drow house rune was like looking at a decaying body in the wilds or perhaps at the engorged member of a male animal about to rape a female; certainly it was natural, but it was also obscene and disturbing. Even those unfamiliar with the drow or their writing found drow house runes uncomfortable to look at.

As Inthara watched, Sheyreiza layered red lacquer over the blue mithral. The breast plate’s engraving, a thorny rose entwined about a long sword before a crescent-moon, would have to be changed when she could arrange it. No time for that now. She dipped her brush in a paint pot and returned to painting.

Inthara pulled what looked to be a folded piece of whitish gray cloth from her own bag. “I don’t know how long you will or can keep this, but I would like you to carry it as long as you can.” She laid it out on the grass next to Sheyreiza. The cloth was actually a spider web, perhaps 10 inches in diameter, with a flower embroidered in the middle and a tiny butterfly next to it. Strands of webbing bound the flower and the butterfly together loosely.

The embroidered webbing was so clearly a labor of love and heartbreak Sheyreiza did not know what to say. She could feel, even taste, Inthara’s pain, but there was little she could do to ease it. Accepting this gift graciously was one thing she could do though. Sheyreiza reached for the white web but stopped short of touching it. Her hands were dripping with red paint. She looked like she had just been in battle. No, that was not quite right. She looked like she had just committed murder. “I have paint all over my hands.” She said to explain her hesitation. Carefully, she rubbed her hands on the grass to wipe of the blood red lacquer. With her hands somewhat cleaner she took up the embroidered webbing and admired it.

Inthara looked resigned if not content. “It is all I can give you right now. I only hope that The Spider Queen will find it pleasing and let you hold onto it.” The sorceress said sadly.

“When the sun sinks I will begin praying to Her.” Sheyreiza said folding the webbing carefully and placing it in her satchel. The two women sat in silence for a moment, looking into each other’s eyes. What could they do?

A female elven voice broke the silence but it was not Sheyreiza’s or Inthara’s. “Good day cousins.” Sheyreiza looked up to see a female fairy elf, most likely a moon-elf by her color. The woman’s sunken posture and dirty clothes marked her clearly as a road-weary traveler who had not yet paused for rest, but there was something more in her eye; a weariness not born of exertion or lack of sleep, but of some deeper malaise.

Weary or not, Sheyreiza did not trust this woman and her greeting made the drow priestess suspicious. “Hello…cousin.” Sheyreiza replied in the dialect of surface elves but her last word was clearly a challenge. Sheyreiza looked about warily, scanning the streets for other elves or anything out of place, but always keeping the elf woman in the corner of her vision.

“Greetings, cousin.” Inthara echoed, also in the surface dialect.

The weary elf woman looked between the two drow. “Is any one of you, by chance, Sheyreiza?”

“That would be I.” Sheyreiza said, her eyes narrowing instinctually. “Who might you be?”

“Well met,” the stranger said, “I am Isaniel. I have been seeking you for a while, I bring news.” The woman shifted her weight. “Jain'n, Lord of Lonelywood, is dead, murdered by a hin.”

“What?” Sheyreiza replied incredulously, her eyes narrowing further. The priestess had heard the stranger’s words, but she did not believe them to be true. There were few creatures in all Faerun as adept at survival as Jain’n. “You have seen the body?”

The woman nodded. “Yes. I have seen the murder.”

Sheyreiza could sense no deception in the woman’s words, only fatigue. Now the malaise that plagued the stranger’s vacant stare was becoming apparent. This woman must have been close to Jain’n.

“Who rules Lonelywood?” Inthara asked quickly.

“Lonelywood is dead.” Isaniel replied, her voice flat and lifeless.

“Who is this 'hin' who killed Jain'n?” Asked Sheyreiza.

A bit of life, perhaps a bit of hate or maybe fear or perhaps both, appeared in Isaniel’s eyes. “Amy Woodwalker.”

Amy Woodwalker. Willow. Tottspiel’s lover. Why would the hin kill Jain’n? Did he offend her? Was she hired to do it? She had been Sheyreiza and Inthara’s guide when they had left Skullport headed for Immurk’s Hold. There had been many opportunities along the way for the hin to betray them to their death yet she had not done so. It seemed whatever motivated Amy to kill Jain’n was limited to him alone, and did not carry over to the others associated with Lonelywood. “Where was he killed?” Sheyreiza inquired.

Isaniel spoke quietly, without passion or even emotion, and told them all she knew about the murder, Amy’s arrest and the state of affairs in Waterdeep. It became clear that Isaniel had joined Jain’n’s warband sometime after Sheyreiza had left and was an elf of Lonelywood now. Inthara seized on that information and immediately asked about the children, Shein’n, Tia and little Vraja.

“In Evereska.” Isaniel replied. The children were fine she assured them.

Sheyreiza asked Isaniel to bring Shein’n to her. “We have been separated from our children because of Jain'n for a long time.” Sheyreiza explained with anger creeping into her voice.

“Of course. I know.” Isaniel said flatly.

Inthara looked at Sheyreiza sharply and spoke to her in the drow dialect. “Sheyreiza, you cannot bring her here.” The sorceress reached out, took Sheyreiza’s hand in hers, and began to tap. You cannot take her with you. Inthara said in the drow code. She would be the price that you would have to pay to return to Her.

Instantly Sheyreiza knew Inthara was right. What had she been thinking? If Shein’n was in reach, the Spider Queen would want her heart. In the distance, a flash of lightening lit the gloomy, cloud filled skies of the east even as the sun began to set in the west. A moment later the dull, bass roar of thunder rolled through the park. As if on cue, the temperature began to drop as the sun sank towards the horizon.

“Isaniel.” Sheyreiza said gravely, “I want you to listen to me closely. You are not to bring my daughter to me. You are not to allow my daughter near me.”

“Alright.” Isaniel agreed slowly. “As you wish.”

Sheyreiza looked at her sorceress companion. “My daughter and Inthara's son should be given to Inthara.” She turned her gaze back to meet Isaniel’s. “Inthara will not be following me any longer. She will be a good parent for them.” The sorceress looked quickly to Sheyreiza, as if surprised but then nodded in resignation.

Thunder rolled through the streets again, louder this time, though there was no flash of lightening preceding it. All three women looked up to the sky.

“This is no weather.” Isaniel said ominously.

Sheyreiza knew in her heart the fairy elf was right. This was the beginning. For weal or woe, Sheyreiza was going to have the Spider Queen’s attention this night. In the distant west, the sun was dipping below the horizon. The darkness was drawing nigh.

“Isaniel,” Sheyreiza spoke quickly, “after tonight, if we meet again, you had best look to your life for I will not be the woman I am now.”

Isaniel looked down from the sky at the priestess. “Alright.” She replied, her voice heavy and tired.

Sheyreiza could feel divine energy crackling in the air. As the light of the setting sun set the western sky alight in the colors of fire Sheyreiza knew she had but a few short, precious minutes left of reason and love. She looked as hard into Isaniel’s eyes as she could. “Do me this one boon. Keep my daughter away from me.”

Isaniel nodded. “I will,” she promised with a bit more life in her voice. The thunder, the sun set and the desperate resolution in Sheyreiza’s eyes gave a sense of import to this moment that even the weary soul of Isaniel could not help but feel. “I have to depart now,” Isaniel said, looking back up at the storm clouds gathering. “Thank you for listening.”

“Fare thee well Isaniel of Lonelywood.” Sheyreiza replied as warmly as she could.

The woman looked back as she turned away. “Farewell,” she said in elven, “may Corellon watch over you.”

“He will not.” Sheyreiza said simply.

Isaniel smiled sadly and walked away. Sheyreiza waited for the fairy elf to disappear down the darkening streets of Silverymoon before turning to Inthara. “The thunder is a sign.” She said. “I know not if it is for me.” But she did know. She knew it was a sign for her. She knew the Spider Queen was waiting out there somewhere for the sun to set and for Sheyreiza to return to her.

“That thunder,” Inthara said, shivering, “Flower, my Heart, I'm afraid.”

There was no comfort Sheyreiza could offer her companion now. “You should be.” The priestess told her honestly. “Inthara, it is time you and I parted ways for the night I think.” The time had come.

“When you are ready to leave, to go into the Underdark, I have a final gift.” Inthara said, trying to hold back tears.

“I will see you again before I leave for the Underdark.” Sheyreiza assured her. She did not know if it was true, but if all went according to plan, it would be. That was the best that Sheyreiza could hope for and it was what she had to believe was possible.

“Go with the Maiden and Lolth, my Heart.” Inthara said, her words encouraging but her voice breaking with grief. “Good bye.” The sorceress began to weep softly. She picked up her book and satchel. “I should get inside.” Sheyreiza said nothing she just nodded and watched Inthara go.

Another roll of thunder, louder than the previous two, shook the streets. The local spellguard assigned to patrol the gate near the small park stopped beside Sheyreiza and looked to the sky. “’Tis a bad sign.” He said.

You have no idea how bad. Sheyreiza thought. And I envy you your ignorance.

***

Inside the barracks Inthara stripped off all her clothes, raised her sword, and began to dance slowly. She sang softly as she moved, channeling her sorrow into the song.

***

Outside, on the darkening western horizon, the last rays of the sunset glowed against the black clouds like embers in a dying fire. Sheyreiza was dressed and equipped now. Hastily applied red lacquer dripped across the plates of her once exquisite armor like blood spilt in battle. In her right hand she carried her long, black sword and on her left arm she wore her shield-bracer adorned with its two bebilith fangs. She turned her back on the fiery red glow in the western sky and looked into the dark of the east.

***

Across the avenue from the park where Sheyreiza stood, the cartographer Silin Klendry watched from behind the half closed shutters of a second floor window. Silin had met Sheyreiza when she came into his shop and purchased maps two days earlier. The appearance of a drow in his store, an actual living dark elf, had made his heart skip a beat but he trusted in the wards of Silverymoon’s mythal. If the dark elf’s heart was foul, the ward would have scared her off. Even if she somehow got passed the wards of the mythal, there were always the Spellguards and Knights. If she was here, she was undoubtedly supposed to be here. Her presence had captured his attention immediately, however. Something was going on. Something big. Something important. Something larger than his shop, his maps or even his life.

Silin knew Silverymoon and the people of the north now faced a threat like they had never faced before in his lifetime. The Shades threatened all the people’s of the world; human, dwarf, elf, hin. All faced extermination or enslavement. Knights marshaled and armies gathered. Spellguards walked patrols of golems through the streets. Great siege machines were built atop the walls, towers and fighting platforms of the city. Refugees from the east, where the coming shadow had already darkened the skies, filled the parks, temples and inns of the city. Still, it was the appearance of the drow that had given this desperate situation a sense of its place in history for Silin.

He had been awakened early this morning, before dawn, by the sound of a song so sad, so filled with grief it caused him to weep though he could not understand a single word. Looking out his bedroom window he had seen the two drow women, naked save for their swords, holy symbols and flowing white hair, dancing upon the snowy grass of the park across the avenue from his shop. Their dance was like nothing he had ever seen, their song like nothing he had ever heard. How many humans had ever seen such a thing? How many residents of Silverymoon had ever, in the history of the city, been in the right place at the right time to see two dark fey dancing through such a ritual and singing such an otherworldly song of lament? This was the stuff of fairy tales, legends, myths and midnight campfire stories, not the stuff of real life. The dancing of the dark ladies of Eilistraee was for the ribald tales of tavern bards sung to titillate their drunken patrons and tease coins from their purses; it was not something you saw outside your window.

Only one of the dark ladies stood in the park below him now. He could see her adorned as for battle, sword in hand. She stood staring at the east gate, oblivious to Silin. Her armor looked as if bathed in blood and she was terrible and beautiful, fierce and tragic, all at once. Silin did not know whether to love her, fear her or both. A song, elven, high and pure, reached his ears and Silin realized the other drowess must be singing nearby. Her song was even sadder than the one the night before. Again he could not understand a single word and he was glad. He was sure a clear understanding of a song this powerfully sad would strike him dead from grief if just as surely as a clear view of a nymph's beauty would strike him dead from awe. The fey, especially these dark fey of which so much evil was whispered, were simply beyond the ken of normal men. The drowess below him began walking toward the east gate. The Knights let her pass and she slipped through into the darkness beyond the walls.

Silin did not know her name. He did not know where she came from or where she was going. He did not know why her companion sang a song of lament while she walked east towards the threatening shadow. He did not know why the city's knights treated these dark fey as friend not foe.

What Silin knew was that he was a common man who, though threatened by imminent destruction at the hands of the Shades, was on the edge of greatness. Not his own greatness, but a greatness of moment. The myths and legends of future ages were being forged right before his eyes. He stood in the path of history and the souls of heroes were standing all around him. He could not touch them; that drowess would never know his name or remember him, but he would not forget her no matter how much or how little time he had remaining. This, he realized, was what it meant to be a part of history and fable. In years to come people would sing about this war, if there were people left to sing at all, and some might sing of these women or of their dwarven chaperone from the west. They would sing of brave Lady Alustriel, her chivalrous knights and powerful spellguard. They would sing of the allies who came from near and far; from the dwarven halls and the towers of the Zhentarim; from the Sword coast and from the Sembian coast. And here, in his second floor bedroom, Silin watched it unfold.

A sense of the greater universe gripped him. He felt the long emptiness of eternity and his own insignificance but he also felt something else; a sense of purpose. He was witness to the great events of his time that would become the legends and myth of tomorrow. Should he not give testimony to those events? Should he not preserve, as best he was able, all that he saw of these most momentous times? As others sacrificed comfort, life and soul to stop the shadow and save all that was good in this world, should he not do what little he could to create a record of their sacrifices?

As the gates closed behind the departing drowess Silin moved back from the window and closed the shutters against the cold night air. He picked up a candle and left his bedroom clad only in his night shirt and night cap. He walked downstairs to his work room where his drafting table was. The drafting table was large; over six feet long and four feet wide. Stacks of books and notes decorated the sides surrounding a plethora of unfinished maps in the center like mountain peaks around an alpine lake. Silin stared at the unruly pile for a moment. If he could survey the land, take notes upon it, and then reduce it to a map which others could understand, trust and use, could he not do the same for the events of history?

He did not know, but he knew he had to try. Holding his candle high with one hand, Silin’s free arm swept his drafting table clear of its clutter. Books and papers scattered across the floor. He reached into a drawer and pulled out an unused book, a pot of ink, and a quill. He set the candle down, took a seat, picked up the quill and began recording everything he had seen and experienced of the war. He might not be a great leader, a brave warrior or a dark and mysterious fey, but he could record their deeds. Outside, Inthara’s song continued. Though intent of purpose now, Silin was only human and the drow sorceress' song made him weep. Tears mixed with ink as he wrote. It was not inappropriate he thought, as history was often written in tears.

Tears …. and blood.

[Mikayla]

The Spider's Web

Into Darkness

Sheyreiza walked alone into the darkeneing east. She followed the road into the mountains to the pass where Hignar had teleported them just a few days earlier. There was no temple to Lolth near Silverymoon and though there might be an entrance to the Underdark somewhere near, Sheyreiza did not know where to find it. Her only guide was the coming darkness of night so Sheyreiza had walked into it. She walked until the sun was gone from the west and no light remained in the sky save for the twinkling of stars shining here and there through the clouds above. Satisfied that night had fallen, Sheyreiza left the road and walked up into the rocky terrain of the pass. There she found a large, rectangular stone with a nearly flat, horizontal top-face. This would be her improvised altar. From deep within one of her satchels she drew a sacrificial dagger of Lolth’s clergy. It had belonged to the Tanor’thal priestess she and Ariz’tel had killed near the Promenade. Sheyreiza had saved it all these years in case she had ever needed to infiltrate the Tanor’thal. She drew the dagger from its sheath and set about carving a spider upon the rock altar before her. It was said that Lolth could see through the eyes of any spider, even those that were simply drawn. Once the spider and its many eyes were carved, she etched the holy symbol of Lolth in the center of the rock’s top-face; a stylized form of Lolth herself in the guise of a female drider-like demon amidst a web. Her carving was crude given her tools and haste, but when she was done she was able to recognize both designs well enough.

From this point on there was to be no hesitation, no remorse, no half-measures and no second thoughts. To go back to Lolth meant going back to her body and soul. Whatever Lolth asked, Sheyreiza would do. Whatever Lolth demanded, Sheyreiza would give. Once this began, everything would be a test and Sheyreiza had to pass every time. Failure meant death, damnation, and the loss of any chance of her people coming to the aid of the Silvermarches to defeat the Shades. Whatever had to be done, would be done. Whatever had to be endured, would be endured. Whatever had to be sacrificed, would be sacrificed. This was Sheyreiza’s pledge to herself.

Steeled for what was to come, Sheyreiza looked skyward and raised the dagger aloft. “Mother of Darkness.” She said. “I have come to return to you.” She took a deep breath. “Lolth!” She yelled. “LOLTH!” She screamed. “Test me! TEST ME!”

A chill of fear swept through Sheyreiza. What if Lolth was not listening? What if she simply did not care? What if all of Sheyreiza’s noble resolve and sacrifice were but the self-indulgent daydreams of an insignificant person whose destiny was no greater than anyone else’s? What if Lolth did not answer? A cold laugh, more frigid than any arctic wind that ever sailed across the snows of Bremen’s run, echoed through Sheyreiza’s mind. Oh, you will be tested, daughter. It said. You will be.

The fear of insignificance was instantly lost, blasted into oblivion by the sudden realization that she had, in fact, garnered the attention of the Spider Queen. The fear of knowing the Spider Queen’s eyes were upon her was paralyzing. This was not some malign spirit of Jain’n’s Vyshaan ancestors who could be bandied with and defied. This was not the good hearted Eillistraee, who, though divine, radiated mercy and compassion. This was not the light of Corellon, the father of the elves, who smiled upon his children from Arvandor far above.

This was the cold, remorseless, cruel stare of Lolth, the Spider Queen, the Dark Mother of the Drow and the Weaver of their destinies. This was the gaze of the creature that was once Araushnee and who had thrown down Corellon and had nearly taken Arvandor itself. Sheyreiza’s struggles with Jain’n and Lonelywood were but the palest imitations of that titanic battle and now Sheyreiza felt as though she were but the palest imitation of the Spider Queen imaginable, withering under the gaze of the original. She froze.

To her left a beam of light appeared perhaps 10 yards away. She could find no source for the light. It was bright but pale having a silver or possibly even bluish cast. It looked like moon light though no moon was visible through the clouds above. Sheyreiza narrowed her eyes and watched the light for a moment, unsure of what to do. A beam of cold white light like moonlight was not a usual manifestation of the Spider Queen or her servants, it was the manifestation of Eillistraee, Lady Silverhair. Sheyreiza turned to face the light but she did not step towards it or move away from her make shift altar. There was warmth coming from the pale light now and Sheyreiza became certain this was not a sign from Lolth; this was a sign from Eilistraee. What was Lady Silverhair doing sending her this beam of the moon’s radiance?

She did not have to wait long for the answer. The light spoke to her in a beautiful, soft feminine voice. She did not know if the voice was real or just in her mind, but she could understand it just the same. She did not know if it was Eilistraee herself or one of her servants, but the intent was made clear enough. Do not walk into darkness my child. Do not walk into evil. Step into the light Sheyreiza, and return to
goodness.

Her heart raced and her eyes narrowed. Was this really Eilistraee or her servants come to save Sheyreiza? Or was this a test of Lolth? Both? It did not matter. Sheyreiza knew what she had to do.

“No.” She said with a hiss. “I will not. I have followed your Chosen and I will follow her no more.”

Is she not entitled to make mistakes…like you?

A stab of pain shot through Sheyreiza’s chest as she realized her own hypocrisy in condemning Qilue. Had she not made many mistakes herself, all the while trying to do what she believed in? Why then should Qilue be damned for being less than perfect? Were not all mortals less than perfect, Sheyreiza included? With an act of will Sheyreiza forced these thoughts back and quashed the pain building in her chest. Yes, I made mistakes, Sheyreiza thought, and I will be damned for them. So be it.

“It does not matter. She is weak.” Sheyreiza said, her every word an act of defiance.

No child, it is you who will be weak if you give in to the darkness. It takes strength to choose good. Come into the light. Be strong - choose to be good.

Sheyreiza nearly wept. The power of the voice’s words cut through her mental defenses like the sharpest arrow. These were her secret fears. Was she not weak for going back to Lolth? Was she not less than perfect in faith and deed? Had she not failed time and again?

She closed her eyes against the light and grit her teeth. An audible growl came from deep inside her. The voice was tearing her apart but she held fast to her commitment. “No.” She snarled. “No. You are good Lady Silverhair, this I know,” she admitted, “but you are not our savior. You will not save our people. You are good, but you are weak. It is your mother’s strength we need now. Only she can help us survive.”

Darkness cannot defeat darkness. Evil cannot win. Evil is not stronger because it will always turn in upon itself.

“No.” Sheyreiza replied simply. She tried to push the light away from her by force of will, to shut her mind against the penetrating voice of Eilistraee’s manifestation. She growled as she struggled pushing and pushing. Slowly, gradually, she felt progress. The light was leaving, but in that moment she realized that what was leaving her was Eilistraee’s grace; she was pushing away her connection to the Goddess. She felt Lady Silverhair’s grace leave her body but it was not quite gone. It was in her eye now, in the sapphire that had replaced her long lost left orb. Into that strange gem had passed all the gifts that being a member of Eilistraee’s clergy bestowed – her divine spells, her power to destroy undead and lycanthropes, her power to walk unseen amongst the creatures of the wild. How strange, Sheyreiza thought. What now?

Something tickled her leg and she looked down. A stout bodied, thick legged, green-furred spider the size of an outstretched hand was climbing up her body. In place of its pedipalps it had grotesquely oversized mandibles. The horrid creature climbed onto her face but she did not move or even flinch. This was a sacred creature of Lolth’s, and even if it was here to poison her to death, she would not defend herself against it. Everything this night was a test and Sheyreiza had committed herself, body and soul, to passing that test. The spider looked into Sheyreiza’s eyes with a merciless, alien gaze and Sheyreiza knew fear. Still, she did not waver. With no warning, the spider’s oversized mandible bit into Sheyreiza’s left eye socket. She staggered backwards but uttered no scream and raised no defense. The fiendish arachnid tore the sapphire orb from her face leaving a bloody, gaping wound behind. It scuttled down her body and deposited the orb on a rock.

Sheyreiza knew instinctually that if she picked up the orb and put it back in her eye she would take Eilistraee’s grace back into her. She could return to the light. Eilistraee would still have her, she had but to choose good. Without hesitating Sheyreiza raised a high heeled boot and stomped on the sapphire as hard she could. The impossible happened – the abyssal star sapphire shattered like glass.

Good bye, child. The voice of the light whispered as the pale moonlight faded into darkness.

The spider stared up at Sheyreiza until it caught her attention again. The moment she looked at it the creature scuttled off. Sheyreiza followed. She wanted to stop and bandage her bleeding eye socket but she dared not lose track of her arachnid guide, if such was what it was. They walked for miles and the rocky mountain pass gave way to forest. With but a single eye to follow the scurrying spider and watch out for danger Sheyreiza quickly lost track of which direction they were traveling. In short order she knew she was lost with no idea of which was the city or the mountain pass was. The forest grew darker as they traveled. The trees here were larger and more gnarled than those at the edge of the mountain pass. A sense of great age filled these woods. It made Sheryeiza uncomfortable. This was not a place for her. The spider led on, however and Sheyreiza followed.

Ahead the spider darted into a particularly dense cluster of old trees whose hoary trunks rose up from a veritable nest of snaking roots at their base. The trees were so close together their branches were intertwined in countless places along their length. Sheyreiza cautiously climbed through the nest of roots and the lowest branches. As she entered she became aware of a soft glow emanating from deep inside the arboreal cluster. Its light must have been damped to the rest of the woods by the surrounding trees as she had seen no sign of such a light as she approached. Sheyreiza moved towards the cluster’s center. There, on the ground, in a cramped clearing between the trees was a small campfire burning in shallow hole. Sheyreiza almost took a step into the clearing when she suddenly saw three sleeping people sitting in a triangle around the campfire. She had almost missed them entirely; enchanted cloaks draped over the resting trio blended into the surrounding terrain so well they were nearly invisible. Sheyreiza knew at once these were fairy elves. No wonder she felt uneasy here. The spider had led her into the woods of her mortal enemies. This test was as clear as the test of the sapphire orb. The elves did not move though and Sheyreiza realized they were all in reverie.

Crouching just outside the clearing, Sheyreiza evaluated them. There was one adult female, one adult male and one child. The child was perhaps 10 or 11 years old but Sheyreiza could not determine its gender from casual observation. It was no matter. Quietly, she sheathed her long sword, set down her claw-shield and drew her sacrificial dagger. Her steps muffled by the magic in her boots, she padded softly over to the adult female. Always take the most dangerous opponent first. She had been taught. And if you have no way of judging how dangerous your opponents are, take the senior female first. Sheyreiza crouched behind the resting elf woman. With a fluid grace humans could only envy Sheyreiza placed her left hand over the woman’s mouth, jerked her head back and used the serrated edge of her blade to cut through her throat. As she did, Sheyreiza pulled the woman backwards stretching her out of her seated position, rolled her to the side and then sat atop her. While she cut the woman’s throat she kept her eyes on the man. If he stirred from reverie she would have to act fast. The woman beneath her jerked and kicked but Sheyreiza’s armored bulk kept the struggling woman’s body pinned to the ground and her arms pinned to her side. The struggles did not last long but Sheyreiza did not stop cutting when the woman stopped moving; she kept sawing until she felt her knife hit bone. Sheyreiza had been taught many ways to kill someone silently and this was amongst the crudest, but it was also amongst the most effective. Once satisfied the woman was dead Sheyreiza stood and padded silently over to the man. She knelt behind him and executed the same maneuver. The man was stronger and so his struggles were more violent, but his will to live was weaker and the struggles ended faster. When he was dead Sheyreiza approached the child. Boy or girl, innocent or not, it had to die but a death like its parents had suffered would be too merciful. Sheyreiza had killed the adults quickly and efficiently because she was afraid of waking one and having a real fight on her hands. Who knew what the adults were capable of? The child, however, would present no such danger.

Knowing Lolth would not want the child to go in a quick and relatively painless manner Sheyreiza decided to do what she could to inflict a bit more terror on her victim. The bloody drowess knelt before the resting child. She reached out with one hand and shook the elf’s shoulder. Quickly the child emerged from reverie. It blinked its eyes and looked at Sheyreiza. The drow priestess was a bloody mess and her one empty eye socket showed clearly in her otherwise beautiful face. It was a sight so horrible, so perfectly cut from the nightmares of the fairy elves that the child could not help but scream. Sheyreiza smiled. That scream, that fear – that was what Lolth wanted. The child screamed for its parents but the scream fell only on the ears of Sheyreiza, the green spider and perhaps Lolth.

“Your parents are dead child.” Sheyreiza said in the surface elf dialect. She pointed to the two lifeless bodies, their bloody, ruined throats all too visible in the flickering fire light. “And so are you.” The child screamed again, stood and turned as if to run but Sheyreiza caught it by its hair. She yanked back the child’s head and cut its throat. A bright crimson stream of hot blood sprayed into the air. Satisfied it was a mortal wound, Sheyreiza cut no further. Instead, she spun the child around to look upon its two dead parents. In the few moments it had left, she wanted the child to understand as much as possible what had happened. The child screamed again and flailed at Sheyreiza but it was in vain. Its blood continued to flow and gradually its beautiful golden eyes rolled up into its head. When the child was dead Sheyreiza examined it. It had been a girl. Lolth would be happy; the sacrifice of females was more valuable than males.

Though the three were now dead this scene was not yet finished. Sheyreiza prowled around the cluster of trees searching the dark forest with her keen eyes. Nothing moved. Her sharp ears heard nothing stir. She went back into the clearing at the center of the cluster. Near the campfire was a small pile of deadwood the elves had set near the flames to dry. Sheyreiza picked up the largest piece, sat down, and began carving the symbol of Lolth on it. When she was done, she proceeded to cut the hearts from the bodies of the dead elves. This was no easy task but Sheyreiza had been taught how to do it long ago. Sheyreiza’s lifelong respect for the dead had led her to learn the skill well; when she took a heart she did what she could to minimize the damage to the body. Though Sheyreiza hated these surface elves, she saw no point in defiling their corpses any further than absolutely necessary. Unless of course, Lolth wished it, in which case Sheyreiza would do whatever the Spider Queen wanted and she would do it with a vengeance.

Half an hour later, Sheyreiza had harvested all three hearts. She knelt before the fire pit and placed them to her side on one of the dead person’s cloaks. Across the fire pit she placed the log she had carved with the symbol of Lolth.

“Great Goddess, Mother of Darkness, hear me!” She called in the twisted words of the abyssal fiends. Raising her bloody knife towards the sky she chanted the prayer of sacrifice. At the climax of the prayer, she placed the three hearts on her carved log in the fire. The three bloody organs sizzled but did not alight. Sheyreiza knew how dense a heart was and how difficult it was to burn. This small fire would never be hot enough and Sheyreiza could not afford to gather more wood and make a bigger one. Suddenly the three hearts burst into blue flames so intense Sheryeiza could barely stand to look at them. This was Lolth’s fire. The Goddess had heard her prayer and accepted her sacrifice. Sheyreiza felt the strength of the Goddess fill her. It was a feeling akin to channeling the Goddess’ power in a divine spell. Her body shuddered with pleasure, her cheeks flushed, her eyes fluttered and a sensual warmth filled her thighs and nether regions. She nearly came.

Something tickled her thigh, distracting her from the pleasurable sensation of the Goddess’ power. She looked down and saw a spider running across her legs, then another. From the tree branch above her a spider dropped to the forest floor next to her. The spiders scuttled towards the bodies of the three elves. More spiders emerged from the tangled roots of the surrounding trees and more began to descend from the branches above. Some dangled on webs, others simply dropped to the ground with a soft plop. Dozens were entering the small clearing now, some as large as Sheyreiza hand, some as small as the tip of her littlest finger. All scuttled towards the bodies.

More followed. The dozens became hundreds. The hundreds became thousands. So many arachnids were dropping from the trees above it sounded like a rainstorm; so many streamed from the tangled roots around the clearing it seemed as if the forest floor was alive. The thousands became tens of thousands, perhaps more. The swarm was beyond all counting or even estimating. They crawled over Sheyreiza and around her. She sat still, just watching. The Goddess was here, or one of her servants was, and all of this was beyond Sheyreiza’s power. The spiders swarmed over the elven bodies and began eating them. Their ferocity was unlike anything Sheyreiza had ever seen from a swarm of small spiders. In a few moments, the bodies were lost from sight completely as the tide of arachnids washed over them. More spiders followed. A few were larger than her outstretched hand. Many had mandibles of unusual size. As they joined in the feeding frenzy Sheyreiza heard a cacophony of crunching and snapping. They were eating the bones.

A few minutes later and the frenzy was over. The spiders retreated, the tide receding back into the dark of the night. Sheyreiza watched in awe. There was almost nothing left of the three elves she had murdered save for their ruined cloaks and a few bits of bloody clothing here and there. A jeweled comb, with bits of blood-matted hair stuck to it marked the spot where the woman’s head had been. A silver buckle with bits of bloody leather still attached to it marked where the man’s torso had been.

“Malla tlu Lolth.” Sheyreiza said. Honor to Lolth. The goddess’ swarm and her fire were clear signs that Sheyreiza had passed this test. Sheyreiza doubted this would be the last test, however. Surely more would follow. As if reading her mind, a single spider reappeared in the clearing; the green furred spider with the oversized mandibles. It stared at Sheryeiza for a moment and then exited the clearing. Sheyreiza stood and followed. As she left she kicked the carved log into the fire pit and made sure it burned. She did not want to leave any unnecessary signs of her passing or of the Goddess’ involvement. The hearts were gone, completely incinerated by Lolth’s flame and the bodies were utterly devoured. In the flickering light of the campfire, Sheyreiza caught a glimpse of her hands and armor. She was covered in blood. Gore from the three elves, both from the throat cutting and the heart extractions, dripped from her armor. Her hands were slick with it. Holding them up to the fire light she was reminded of her hands earlier in the day when they had been awash with red paint. She smiled, knelt down in the clearing, and wiped off as much blood as she could. She knew this blood would be on her soul, for all eternity; this had not been killing in an act of war or self defense – this had been murder. And she had a strong suspicion the killing had just begun.

***

Inthara Despana danced naked around her sword in the empty barracks room where she was being housed. She had been singing her song of grief and lament for Sheyreiza for hours now; she was treating this night as the night of Sheyreiza’s death and she was mourning her Heart. Inthara knew she had to let Sheyreiza go but it simply was not that easy. Inthara loved Sheyreiza. She loved her whether Sheyreiza followed Eilistraee, Lolth, or anyone or no one. The love was unconditional it seemed.

Exhausted, she stopped dancing and knelt by her sword, tears running down her face. “Dark Maiden, Eilistraee, one of Yours goes to sacrifice herself for the good of others.” Inthara said her voice a whisper. “Do not look unkindly upon Flower, but love her as she deserves. She is My Heart, my soul.” The tears came freely now and Inthara felt her heart breaking. She could no longer hold back her feelings or hide them behind the songs of lament that she knew. Inthara pleaded with the Goddesses. “Sheyreiza Auvryndar, Flower. She goes back to the darkness willingly to help against the war that comes. Maiden, you are kindness and love. I have felt your power and for a brief time, was Your Yathrin. I only wish to be happy and see those I love happy. Please, I beg you; watch over her and our children. She has given Shein'n to me to care for because of what her goddess, the Spider Queen would do, would demand her to do. The same reason she does not want me to follow her into the Underdark. We must get the alliance with the Ilythiiri of the Underdark and for that a Yathrin of Lolth must go…” Inthara stopped as her grief over came her. She pressed her hands to her face and wept bitterly. Wiping her eyes, she struggled to go on with her prayer. “Please watch over her where ever she goes.”

The sorceress stood, drew her sword from the ground and sheathed it. She pulled her symbol of Eilistraee off and set it and the sword upon the bunk next to her. Gently, she wrapped the two up in a blanket, covering them. She stepped back from the bed, turned away from it and knelt on the rough wooden floor. She wiped her eyes again and bowed her head. She took a deep breath. She knew what she was about to do was heresy, but she was desperate. The world was desperate.

“Lolth,” Inthara whispered. “Dark Mother. Queen of all the Drow, I have rarely prayed to You. I now have reason to do so; for another. One who will be Yours again seeks Your favor. She is strong and proud. A fine leader and beautiful. She will do you proud. Sheyreiza Auvyrndar is her name. She is worthy of You. I ask You, even though I am not following You to grant her this favor. I know what You ask of Your priestesses; absolute loyalty above all else. I ask You to do this to aid the survival of the world. Your children, the Ilythiiri are needed to defeat an enemy that has the power to control all, including the Underdark. The enemy has powers that grant them control over the shadows themselves and they do not tolerate rivals, above or below. If Your children aid the surfacers, they will get slaves, wealth, and the trust of the surfacers. They will also bring a magic that is unknown to most on the surface into Your web. You glory in the chaos of life, of battle and conflict. This war will spread chaos and destruction over all of the north of Faerun. The Ilythiiri will strike from below and behind, in the ways You have taught them. For millennia, You have guided them and made them strong. The Ilythiiri culture is the strongest and most powerful, in wealth, magic and glory, of any in the Underdark. I am and always will be an Ilythiiri. A daughter of a proud heritage.”

Inthara paused, took a breath and swallowed hard. She knew that Lolth would not want to hear this next part, but she had to say it. She also knew that by revealing her feelings, she might well doom herself to the altar. “Dark Mother, I love Sheyreiza. A love You consider as weak, yet I will follow her anywhere for it. To Sheyreiza Auvryndar, I pledge my loyalty and heart, forever and for all time. For her, I will swear the Oath. Spider Queen, You are might in the Underdark and Matron of the Ilythiiri gods. Aiding us in this will show all your might and glory. Yours will be a triumph on the battlefield. You will spread chaos amongst your enemies. Please, aid us. A soul is coming to You, willingly. Take her as your Yathrin.”

Her prayer completed, Inthara stood and scrubbed her red-rimmed teary eyes. She splashed water on her face from the wash bowl and set about dressing. She unwrapped the blanket concealing the sword and holy symbol. The symbol was the one Sheyreiza had given to her. “Eilistraee, this symbol will go to a yathrin that will honor you, as Sheyreiza wished. Please forgive her.”

Grief overcame Inthara again and she fell on the bed weeping. “Forgive me, Mother.” She whispered between tears.

A cold voice answered her whisper. It was neither female nor male, it simply was. “Forgiveness is for the weak.”

“Forgiveness is a chance for redemption.” Inthara answered.

“Redemption is non-existent.” The voice countered.

“It is a second chance.”

“One you will never take.” The genderless voice said coldly.

Inthara looked up from her tears, an expression of fierce defiance upon her face. “For My Heart I would risk my very soul.”

“Your soul is hardly yours.” The voice replied. The image of a half demon fucking Inthara appeared in her mind.

“He did not take it or give what was promised. The symbol can and will fade if
I wish.” Inthara snapped, forcing the image from her head.

“But you do not wish it.” The cold voice said smugly.

“A promise not fulfilled is a promise broken and void.” Inthara retorted angrily. I wish to have more children.” She looked around the room but saw no one. “Who are you to speak to me so?”

Her answer was a cold laugh that chilled her to the bone. “Do you not know me my seriso?” The presence receded as it laughed and it was gone.

Seriso. Lover. Only one person had ever called her that; Hartex Claddath. Hartex had been the elder boy of Qu’ellar Claddath. He was an assassin and warrior who had served with and for Sheyreiza in Skullport many years earlier. But the voice could not have been his. Hartex was dead. Inthara had been there when he fell paralyzed by the spells of the Skulls while a burning warehouse collapsed around him. He could not be alive could he? And how could he speak to Inthara? How would he have found her? And if he knew where Inthara was and had heard her prayers, that meant that he would be able to find the person who had left him in that burning building to die; Sheyreiza.

***

For many miles Sheyreiza followed the strange green spider. It moved quickly, scuttling along the forest floor, rarely in a straight line. Sheyreiza’s instinct was to move slower, more cautiously, but the spider would not slow down and she knew she could not afford to lose sight of it. It led her deep into woods she knew were the home of darthiir. She could feel their presence. At times she thought she could even smell them, though that may have been a trick of her mind. While the spider’s path was anything but direct, Sheyreiza was eventually able to determine that they traveled north for the most part. Gradually, the fairy elf taint passed from the woods. Larger and larger spider webs appeared between the trees, their beautiful, intricate strands draping between the gnarled old trunks of the forest. Eventually the spider led Sheyreiza to a pit of sorts. Perhaps a hundred yards across in either direction, its steep, grassy slope descended twenty feet or more down to a hole that led into darkness. Old, decaying tree trunks lay like along the slope like ladders from a quarry. Sheyreiza surmised they must have fallen as the hole’s sides collapsed little by little over the years. The green spider climbed up into a tree beside her and spoke in a voice heard only in her mind.

Ahead you will find a band of heretics. You will slay them, except for the leader. The leader you will capture and take to Mantol Derith where you will put him upon the altar there and give his heart to Lolth.

A band of heretics? She would be outnumbered then. It did not matter. That was what Lolth called upon her to do, so that is what she would do. “It will be done.” She said aloud. She did not equivocate ; there was no point to it. She would either succeed, die in the attempt, or fail. And failure would mean death so truly the only alternatives were success or death.

The spider dropped from its perch and scuttled down the slope. Without pausing, it disappeared into the darkness of the hole. Sheyreiza followed. Cool, dank air greeted Sheyreiza. Her eyes opened up and her natural darkvision took over. She found herself in a steeply descending cavern that smelled of guano. The spider was scurrying forward so she followed quickly. Only years and years of scrambling through the passages of the Underdark between the stalagmites and rock formations allowed her to keep pace. The descent leveled off and the smell of guano receded. They were passed the entry areas where the bats would gather. Now they were in the cavern proper.

A terrible grinding sound came from the passage in front of Sheyreiza. She raised her shield and peered down the passage. The rocks were moving. For a split second she thought it was a cave-in, but then she realized the rocks were moving upwards. They piled atop one another until a vaguely humanoid form was achieved. A featureless head, a body, two arms and two stubby legs, all comprised of rock held together by clay. It was, if she was not mistaken, an earth elemental. It was also huge.

Sheyreiza went into a fighting crouch. Keeping an eye on the earthen beast, she examined the lay of the passage. This thing would be far stronger than she and capable of bending even her enchanted plate if it landed a direct blow. She would have to move fast and keep from getting cornered.

The elemental did not attack straight away, however. It moved to bar Sheyreiza’s passage. A mouth appeared in the otherwise featureless rock that served as its head. “Sheyreiza Auvryndar.” It said, its voice the rumbling, crumbling bass of a rock-slide. “I have a message for you.”

“Oh?” Sheyreiza replied. She could not keep the surprise from out of her voice. Still, she kept on her toes with shield up and sword ready. “What message? From whom?”

The giant rock monster lumbered back and forth but did not advance. Its tongue-less mouth opened and spoke again. “Turn back Sheyreiza Auvryndar. It is not too late. You may yet be saved. You need not take this path.”

Sheyreiza narrowed her eyes. “Consider your message delivered and your duty done then.”

Surprisingly, the rock monster settled down and dissembled. Clay crumbled and rocks tumbled and in a few moments, there was naught but a mound of loose earth and stone where just seconds before had stood an enchanted creature. Sheryeiza advanced on the inanimate pile of clay and rock cautiously. With one foot, she reached out and kicked a stone. It began to meld into the rocky floor of the passage. All of the stones did. In a few seconds they were gone, melding magically into the sandstone passage. In their wake a symbol formed upon the ground; the hammer of Moradin. It glowed for a few moments and then faded into legible runes: A soul is a precious thing to waste, do not let yours be taken.

“You waste your time, God of Dwarves.” Sheyreiza said aloud. “But your effort and concern are noted.” There was no reply and Sheyreiza was happy about that. The green spider reappeared and scurried down the now open passage beyond where the elemental had stood. Again, Sheyreiza followed.

Her arachnid guide took her on a long journey. Hours passed. Her feet ached and her body grew tired. Her attention started to drift and that, she knew, would be fatal in the Underdark. She redoubled her efforts to focus. More hours passed and still they moved. Through passages narrow and wide, shallow and tall, clear and congested. Sheyreiza drank what water she had as they went and periodically dug through her satchel for bits of her rations. Still, the spider led on and still she followed, pushing herself to the limit. She would not fail. Time lost all meaning. She trailed the spider now like an animal, not like a drow. Her senses became attuned to the Underdark and to following her arachnid guide. Though walking nearly in a stupor from exhaustion, she kept walking. Periodically she would lose sight of the spider and her heart would race, waking her up from her trance-like state. She would scramble about the passages, moving too quickly and too loudly until she found her guide again. Then she would sink back into her trance-like tracking.

The sharp sound of metal on metal woke Sheryeiza from her stupor. The heretics are just ahead. Said the spider in her mind.

Sheyreiza nodded. Up ahead she could see a stream flowing through the Underdark. There was a ford ahead as well, comprised of stones that stuck up through the fast flowing dark waters. The sharp sound of metal on metal rang out again and Sheyreiza was able to pin point the sound as coming from just beyond the ford. As she attuned her ears to the cavern she could hear voices now, male and female, speaking in drow. They were too far away to understand. Sheyreiza knew that caverns did odd things with sound, so she knew she could not reliably judge the distance of the heretics by their voices. Quietly she crept forward, sword in hand. At the streams edge, she bent down. With one hand, she cupped some of the ice cold water and splashed it on her face. She cupped more water and brought it to her lips.

She was awake now and her mind moving again. There were several of them, at the least, and only one of her. She would need an advantage. Her divine spells were gone, pushed into her sapphire orb and crushed under her boot. She reached down and touched one of her rings while whispering a command word. The power of the ring made her invisible. Magically concealed against ordinary sight, she moved across the ford to stalk her prey.

There were five of them; four males and a female. Two of the males were sparring with each other. One used a sword and buckler while the other used two blades, one long and one short. The two-sword user fought with a style that seemed familiar to Sheyreiza but she could not place it. To the side, sitting amongst some rocks, were a male and female. They cheered on the two sparring males, though with more blood lust than good nature. Beyond them, the last male kept guard on the passage that presumably led deeper into the depths. The heretics were more concerned with what lay below in the Underdark than what might descend from the surface. There was some wisdom in that, but it would have been wiser still to assume threats would come from either direction. As the proverb said: He who watches his back meets death from the front.

Sheyreiza listened to the banter and watched the sparring long enough to determine that the man with the two swords was the leader of this little war band. Like all elves and drow, his age was nearly impossible to determine by his appearance. Whatever age he was, however, he had led a hard life. Tiny scars criss-crossed his face here and there betraying signs of violent encounters and not always victorious ones. Scars or not, he was still standing. Sheyreiza would treat him with as much caution as she dared. Still invisible, she moved behind the male and female spectators. From the fetishes and trinkets hanging on her cloak, belt and tunic, Sheyreiza surmised the female spectator was a mage. Attack the most dangerous first. With no priest evident, that meant the apparent wizard.

Sheyreiza brought her long sword up and struck down against the woman’s neck. Flesh gave way to adamantine and Sheyreiza felt her blade strike bone. She struck again to be sure and the woman fell in a bloody spray. The attack dissipated Sheyreiza’s magical concealment. The heretic closest to her was a drow, and true to his blood he did not hesitate. His sword was out and sweeping toward Sheyreiza in an instant. The blow was wide and long in coming. Sheyreiza batted it aside with her fang-shield, stepped in and swung her blade into the hapless heretic. The man staggered under her blow. Sheyreiza danced around him, keeping his stumbliing, bleeding form between her and the other unwounded heretics. She slashed again and the wounded man fell for good. The male who had been serving as a sentry came next but his skill was no better than the man who had just fallen. Sheyreiza dispatched him quickly, uttering a quick prayer of thanks to Lolth that the heretics were not as well trained as they might be.

The leader with two swords came on the attack after the sentry fell. His sparring partner tried to join in the attack but Sheyreiza kept dancing so as to keep one of her attackers on the far side of the other. Two-swords rushed in and Sheyreiza recognized his attack routine. Using her knowledge, she slipped the man’s blades and charged past him. His sparring partner did not expect Sheyreiza to simply slip past so easily and he was caught off guard. It proved a fatal mistake – Sheyreiza put down the sparring partner quickly and permanently. Two-swords pivoted and came at Sheyreiza again as his sparing partner fell into the cold dark stream clutching a ruined throat. Sheyreiza flipped her sword a quarter turn in her hand and a got a new grip on it. As two-swords came in swinging, she parried his attack and then backhanded him with the flat of her blade. He staggered, but came back again. She parried with the blade this time and backhanded him with her fang-shield. He staggered backwards further, but regained his footing and charged in on the attack relentlessly. This time Sheyreiza used her footwork to slip his assault and she landed a blow from the flat of her blade squarely on his jaw. The scar-faced drow stumbled sideways on rubber legs and collapsed.

Keeping her sword at the ready in case of deception, Sheyreiza knelt by the scar-faced man and examined him. He was alive, but unconscious and probably would not remain alive for much longer. Though she had hit him with the flat of her blade, that blade carried an enchantment strong enough to burn through bebilith carapace. On the scar-faced man, it left a huge burn along the left side of his face where it had struck him. Scorched skin peeled back revealing angry red tissue. Blisters formed around the edges of the open wound and Sheyreiza could see he needed aid. Unfortunately, she had no healing powers now that she had lost Eilistraee’s grace. She reached into her satchel and drew out a vial of healing potion. She rolled scar-face over and poured it into his mouth. When that one was down, she repeated the process. Between the two potions, the wound on the side of his face closed, though she suspected it would leave another scar he could add to his collection.

The man was still unconscious though, so Sheyreiza took the opportunity to strip him. He seemed familiar. Something about his eyes and his movements and the way he fought. Even his relentless determination seemed familiar. She searched his bags and found a black silk mask; the sign of Vhaerun. If she had any doubts as to these being heretics, the doubts past. Searching his pockets she found a medallion on a chain. She pulled it out and her jaw dropped open in shock.

It was a Qu’ellar Auvryndar house symbol. She had not seen one since she had been captured and thrown in the dungeons of Battlehammer Hall. The dwarves had taken her entire collection of house symbols, amassed from the drow she had killed, and melted them down. Her own Qu’ellar Auvryndar symbol had gone into their fires. A thought crossed through her mind. She narrowed her eyes and looked closely at the scar faced man laying unconscious before her. She rolled him over to get a better look at him. The face, with its plethora of tiny scars and its freshly healed burn wound was unfamiliar. Or was it? She tried to imagine a boy she once knew, a baby, and tried to imagine what he would look like if grown. This could not be him, could it?

She splashed water on the man’s face and eventually he woke. He was nearly naked now, his armor and clothing stripped from him.

“Bitch.” He said, spitting in her direction. Sheyreiza ignored him and looked into his eyes. That was what she had found familiar. Perhaps she knew his fighting style but it was his eyes that were truly familiar.

“What is your name?” She asked.

“Go to the pits.” He responded defiantly.

“I am looking for someone. You may be him. If so, I am not here to kill you. What is your name?” Sheyreiza asked again.

The man regarded her for a moment and then looked around. He seemed to count the bodies. “Ulost. Ulost Claddath.” He grimaced as he looked up her ruined left eye-socket.

Sheyreiza frowned and ignored his unease at her wound. “What is your real name?” She asked, letting a bit of menace creep into her voice. He repeated his first answer. She leveled her sword. “Too bad, that is not who I am looking for.”

“Tanias.” He said quickly.

Sheyreiza’s heart skipped a beat but she tried not to betray her excitement. “What is your surname?”

“I do not have one.”

She held up the Auvryndar house symbol. “Where did you get this?”

He smirked. “Fine. I am Tanias Auvryndar, what of it? I don’t care if you kill me - you can still go to the pits you spider-kissing whore.”

Sheyreiza took a long look at the scar-faced man. Calling him a man was perhaps pushing it; boy might be more appropriate. She knew Tanias Auvryndar would be no more than 34 or 35 years old now – adult in body but still young in mind. She knew his age because Tanias Auvryndar was her son, the babe she had born so long ago in Qu’ellar Auvryndar. This was the child who Matron Shyntlara had given to Sheyreiza’s older sister to be raised. This was the child whose memory haunted Sheryeiza for the rest of her days. It was his eyes she thought of all those years ago in Lonelywood when she was wrestling with her faith; innocent, new born eyes that had looked upon Sheyreiza like no other eyes ever had before - with love and trust. She had failed to return that love and she had betrayed that trust. She allowed her sister to raise the child and in that world, that meant allowing her sister to beat and cajole the child into submission, to subject him to Lolth’s will and to the domination of Her clergy; to cast him out into a cold, heartless society where a child’s love for its mother was ruthlessly exorcised with the lash of a whip, and where a mother’s love for her child had to be left in the dung heap with her afterbirth lest the Goddess demand the child be put upon the altar.

Somewhere along the line, however, Tanias had broken free of his family’s grip and the grip of their tyrannical Goddess, just as Sheyreiza herself had once done. She wondered if his heresy and escape were inspired by her or if he had ever even heard of her.

She stood and sheathed her sword. “I am not here to kill you Tanias.” She said plainly. “I am here to save you, to help you.”

The boy frowned. “Sure you are. Like you saved and helped them.” He said, gesturing to the dead bodies around him.

“They could not be saved,” she replied, “but you can be. You are special.”

The boy’s mouth opened but no protest came out. Her flattery caught him off guard, as it was meant to. Vanity was ever the weakness of the drow. “You are one of those moon-worshippers aren’t you?”

Sheyreiza smiled. “Yes, I am.” She lied. “And I know you can be saved. I have seen it.”

“Seen it?” He asked incredulously. “How?”

“The Goddess herself directed me to you.” That was not a lie so much as an incomplete statement. A goddess had guided her to him, just not Eilistraee.

“Why you? Are you the Goddess’ chosen savior of all drow-kind?” He asked sarcastically.

Sheyreiza looked him dead in the eye and spoke softly. “No. I am your mother.”

The boy narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“I am your mother.” She repeated.

“Liar!” He barked out. “My mother is a spider-kissing bitch who never cared for one moment about me.”

Sheyreiza kneeled down before him. “I was a spider-kissing bitch. But you are wrong about the rest. I did care for you. I was just too weak to do anything about it. For that I am sorry.” The speech came naturally to Sheyreiza. She had practiced it for years while she lived in Lonelywood, fantasizing that one day she would be able to find her boy, save him from the cold grasp of whatever heartless deity he followed and then bring him into the light and love of Eilistraee. Now she had found him, but circumstances were somewhat different. It was not to the light and love of Eilistraee she was going to take him. He did not know that, however. Not yet. “I was weak, and scared, and selfish. I did whatever I thought I had to survive. I was wrong. I am sorry.”

The boy snarled. “You are not my mother! My mother is not a simpering, moon-worshipping weakling who makes pitiful apologies!”

“I am neither weak nor pitiful now, but I do make you an apology.” She stood. “There was good in me, even if I was weak. Thanks to others I was given the chance to see that good grow, to nurture it and break free of the Spider Queen. In gratitude to my rescuers and Lady Silverhair, I have come to give you the same chance. I have come to give you hope. I have come to give you love.” The lies came ever easier as Sheyreiza spoke. Had she never ventured to the surface, had she never worshipped Eilistraee or loved Jain’n, never would she have been able to understand love, trust and affection so well; never would she have been able to spin such a beautiful and inviting web of lies.

“Who is my father then?” The boy snapped petulantly.

Sheyreiza drew in a deep breath. That was one secret she had never revealed to anyone, not even the father. Now seemed like the time, however. “Hartex Claddath. Your father was Hartex Claddath.”

“What?” The boy exclaimed. “That’s impossible! It cannot be.” The boy scrambled to his feet and backed away from her. “He never said anything to me. He never said a thing. And he would have! He would have!”

The boy knew Hartex? Sheyreiza could barely restrain her own shock. It explained the familiarity of Tanias’ fighting style. Clearly Hartex had trained him, at least somewhat. Though she could scarcely believe the two had met, Sheyreiza knew why Hartex would never have told Tanias he was Tanias’ father. “He never said anything to you because he did not know.”

Tanias blanched. He knew she was telling the truth. “Why?”

“I was keeping it a secret. Secrets have power, but that power is lost upon revelation.” She shrugged. “I had planned on telling him, but I ran out of time.”

“Ran out of time?” Tanias growled. “You mean you left him to die in a burning warehouse don’t you?” Sheyreiza looked up sharply. “Yes, bitch, I know how he died. You left him for dead in Skullport. A burning warehouse collapsed upon him and he took the fall for your crime, isn’t that so?”

Tanias was well informed. It seemed he had gotten around in his few years. Sheyreiza simply nodded. “Yes, that is so.” She admitted. “But that was a long time ago, when I was still a spider-kisser and before I came to the surface. Before I came to know Lady Silverhair. Before I changed.”

Tanias stared at her awhile. Gradually, his body relaxed and he leaned back against the rocky wall of the passage. “And now what?”

“And now we travel.” She pointed into the passage beyond which led deeper into the Underdark. “Gather rations and water, but nothing else. We’ve a long journey ahead.”

Tanias shook his head. “That passage leads further into the Underdark. I thought you moon-worshippers lived on the surface.”

“The greatest temple to Lady Silverhair in all the world is beneath the surface. It is called the Promenade of Eilistraee and it is in the caverns near Skullport.”

The boy scoffed. “Skullport? Do you know how far that is from here? We will never make it, you and I.”

“Yes we will.” Sheyreiza assured him. “We are not walking all the way. Transportation by boat has been arranged. We simply have to make it to Mantol Derith, near the Darklake. From there, we ride.”

“Mantol Derith is full of spider-kissers.” He spat.

Sheyreiza nodded. “Yes, it is, so you had best do what I say and play along, or they will not only get a moon-worshipper for their altar they will also get a worshipper of the Masked Lord.” Tanias frowned, but set about collecting the water and rations as instructed.

[Mikayla]

Chapter 13 - The Spider's Web

The Test of Lolth

In Silverymoon, Inthara went her morning preparations listlessly like an animated corpse shuffling through its master’s halls. She went outside to the small park and sat upon a bench there. She began to sing her song of lament again, not caring who heard or who watched. Off an on throughout the day she alternated between singing her grief and crying. When the song got too sad, she would bury her face in her knees and simply weep until she could sing again. Hour after hour passed in this way. The folk who lived near the gate, like Silin Klendry, could not help but take note of the beautiful, exotic creature who poured out her heartache with such anguish that they too felt it in their souls. The patrolling Spellguard and knights who had at first been distrustful of the drow were now moved nearly to tears by Inthara’s plight. There was nothing they could do though. Many would be lost in this war, indeed, many had already been lost. It was likely, they thought, that no one now living who remained living through this war would be untouched by the hands of Lady Loss. All would know grief, even if victory could be snatched from the shadows.

When the sun set Inthara finally rose and headed back into her room along the wall. She did not notice it, but the chain on which Sheyreiza’s holy symbol of Eilistraee hung had broken. The holy symbol fell from Inthara’s neck on to the grass and there it lay until the next morning when an entirely different drow would find it. Gryndal Xiith, now called Orthea’xiad, had come to Silverymoon.

***

The journey to Mantol Derith was a long and hard one and took many days. Sheyreiza did not restrain Tanias but neither did she arm or armor him. When there was fighting to do, she did it. Naturally, she could not travel day after day without rest. Though she was semi-aware in reverie, she knew only too well that one could still fall victim to treachery. Every time she sat down to rest she would enact a casting and pretend to invoke both the power of Eilistraee and of one of her rings. She said nothing of it, but the implication was clear – she was casting alarm spells and wards. For his part, Tanias did nothing to harm her. Whether he believed in her implied spells or believed she meant him no harm, one thing was for certain: she was a far better fighter than he was. Alone in the Underdark he stood little chance of ever making it to civilization again. With her, at least there was a hope of survival. All he had to do was give her the slip or kill her when they got to a sizable settlement. Well, assuming there was some way for him to avoid being enslaved. For the moment, being the prisoner of a moon-worshipper was not the worst fate that could befall a lone heretic drow in the Underdark.

As they traveled they occasionally spoke. Though reluctant to give any ground to Sheyreiza emotionally, she could tell he was coming to accept that she was in fact his mother. At first he used the word ‘mother’ sarcastically, but as the journey wore on it simply became what he called her. Sheyreiza would not have called his use of the term affectionate but it was no longer hostile either.

Skirting around Menzoberranzan they eventually came to the entrance of Mantol Derith. Entry into the trade enclave was made via a magic carpet that would levitate visitors up into the main cavern from the long trench below. To activate the magic carpet one had to know the secret word. Sheyreiza did not know the word but Tanias did. Frustrated with his mother’s inability to get the carpet to move or to get the password from the guards above he suggested they not even go.

“We have to go.” She said succinctly. “Our contact is there. Do you really want to travel the rest of the way on foot? Do you really want to brave the labyrinth?”

Tanias relented and gave her the password. They rode the magic carpet up into the great cavern of Mantol Derith under the watchful and suspicious eyes of the drow, duergar, svirfneblin, human and half-orc guardians who patrolled the edges of the trench. Sheyreiza informed him they would be posing as a traveling priestess and her servant. Tanias was skeptical, but he had little opportunity to object.

Mantol Derith’s main cavern was a roughly rectangular space, several hundred yards across on its long east-west axis, and perhaps two hundred yards across on its shorter north-south axis. It was divided by a 50’ wide trench running north-south. At the bottom of that trench, some 100’ below the main cavern, was the corridor where Tanias and Sheyreiza stepped onto the magic carpet. Above, in the main cavern, guards walked the edges of the trench always ready to repel unwanted guests from below. The four corners of the cavern were apportioned to the four main trading groups; drow, duergar, svirfneblin and surfacers. The drow occupied the northwest corner. There they traded drow-enchanted goods for slaves and luxuries not available in Menzoberranzan. Their enclave consisted of a market where the deals were done, a fortified warehouse built into the cavern walls, and a temple, also built into the cavern walls. South of the drow was the surfacer enclave. Here depraved humans, half-orcs and worse traded their kin into slavery and sold what other rarities they could gather from the surface above to the denizens of the Underdark. Their quarter was the least well guarded, the least disciplined and the most divided; it was also, however, the most populated by far; the only thing remotely resembling an inn was located in the south wall of this quarter. To the east of the surfacers was the Duergar enclave. Here the stout folk of Gracklstugh sold blades, armor plates and other metal goods, usually in bulk. Their biggest customers were the drow, who often traded for un-enchanted duergar weapons with duergar weapons they had enchanted. It was an efficient system; the duergar craftsmen might make and sell a handful of un-enchanted blades. The drow would buy these blades, enchant them, use some, and sell the remainder back to the duergar. Both groups also traded the raw materials necessary. The duergar were renowned as miners of course but the drow had their own sources of mithral and adamantine and were not above trading. In the northeast corner of the cavern stood the enclave of the svirfneblin. The deep gnome settlement had been here for ages and it survived the destruction of Blingdenstone. While the Matrons of Menzoberranzan exacted their revenge upon Blingdenstone, the drow Chief Negotiator of Mantol Derith was still bound by the rules of the enclave and by common sense. Accordingly she had made no move against the svirfneblin. Some say this was why she was poisoned. The svirfneblin, for their part, remained to trade despite the egregious harm done to their kin. After Blingdenstone was destroyed, a few survivors escaped to the surface and a few more fled deeper into the Underdark. These refugees still needed to trade however, and there was still a market for their gems and magic. The drow allowed the trade to continue though everywhere else they were hostile to the gnomes. Some said this was a sign of drow practicality. Others said it was simply the reality of Mantol Derith – though they were influential, the drow did not rule here.

As the magic carpet came to a stop Sheyreiza stepped off and started walking towards the drow quarter of the cavern. “Are you mad?” Tanias asked her in hushed but urgent tones. “Those are Lolthians over there.”

“I know.” Replied Sheyreiza. “I have to go check in with the high priestess however. How would it look if a Lolthian priestess, which I am pretending to be, did not check in with the temple when she arrived?”

Tanias’ eyes went wide. “The temple? You are mad! I will not set one foot in that cursed place!”

“Yes, you will.” Sheyreiza informed him in a stern voice. “It would not do for my servant and battle-captive, you, to be parted from me. I am your mistress while we are here. If you wish to make it out of here alive and un-enslaved, you had best play your part well. If not, then we will surely end up on the slave auction block or the altar.”

The scar faced boy mumbled a curse and a protest but nodded his acceptance. Sheyreiza led him past the so called Mushroom Market where the H’tithet drow of Menzoberranzan carried on their trade, selling weapons, armor and other magics of the City of Spiders but no mushrooms. They passed into the temple and Sheyreiza was immediately assaulted by familiar smells long since forgotten; exotic incense, acrid brazier smoke, coppery blood, sweet perfumes. She flushed with the memories the smell brought on. How long since had set foot in a proper temple to Lolth? Ten years? More?

There was little time to reminisce however. A priestess in black and purple armor approached. In the four corners of the room, Sheyreiza could see warrior had already taken up firing positions. If things did not go well here, they were not likely to make it out alive. Such were the tests of Lolth.

“Vendui’” Sheyreiza said in greeting. The priestess looked Sheyreiza over, her eyes pausing on Sheyreiza’s eyeless socket before dropping to the pommel of her sword. The silver pommel was engraved with the symbol of Eilistraee. “A trophy.” Sheyreiza said in attempt to cut off any inquiry.

“Of course.” The priestess replied with non-committed aloofness. Her gaze turned to Tanias who stood unarmed and fidgeting nervously. “Another trophy?”

Sheyreiza nodded. “Yes, in a manner of speaking.” Sheyreiza took the priestess’ measure. From her house symbol Sheyreiza could tell the woman was from House Faen Tlabbar of Menzoberranzan. She was not yet a high priestess, a Yathtallar, she was but a priestess, a Yathrin, like Sheyreiza had been. Sheyreiza decided to treat her as an equal for the moment. “I am the Yathrin Elvaelayl Tlabbar. I have come to see the Yathtallar.”

“Vendui’ cousin.” The priestess greeted in return. “Elvaelayl is it? You have been missing a long time.”

Sheyreiza held up the house symbol she wore around her neck. “I have been serving with the Tanor’thal of Skullport and Karsouth’yl for some time now. It could not be avoided.”

“Of course.” The priestess smiled but there was no warmth or welcome in it. “I am Yathrin Yasharaya Tlabbar. Perhaps you remember me? I was much younger when we first met.”

“I do not remember.” Sheyreiza said, trying to play it safe and avoid getting caught in a lie.

“Too bad.” Yasharaya sighed, though there seemed to be little surprise or insult in her voice. “The Yathtallar Ghenni’salla Tlabbar, our aunt, is in the temple. I will tell her you wish an audience.” The priestess looked over Tanias, admiring his form with a lascivious grin. “He is attractive. I can see why you kept him.” Sheyreiza frowned just slightly. “I’ll be back in a moment.” The Tlabbar Yathrin said with a little laugh. Sheyreiza had been told long ago by one of her Skullport entourage, Vel’meth Tlabbar, that the Tlabbar females were usually gifted with a wantonness that made succubi look like prudish hags. Yasharaya seemed to be a fine example of that overt sexuality.

Yasharaya signed to the guards who maintained their watchful vigilance upon Sheyreiza and Tanias. The drow trusted no one, least of all other drow. Satisfied the newcomers would be guarded, Yasharaya exited through iron doors to the temple. Sheyreiza slowly paced about the room taking in the tile mosaics along the walls which depicted various stories from the founding of Menzoberranzan, including the destruction of the eye-tyrant Many-Eyes, the defeat of the dwarven Black-Axe clan and the founding of the city itself by Menzoberra the Kinless. There was also a large statue of a slender, beautiful drow priestess who bore than just a passing resemblance to both Yasharaya and Sheyreiza, standing regally with sword outstretched. The attached plaque identified the statue as a commemoration of Yathtallar Ghenni’salla’s victory over the heretics here as well as her defeat of their legion of undead and fiends. Sheyreiza wondered how much of it was true. Regardless, it was clear this Ghenni’salla was a high priestess who enjoyed unchallenged dominion over this temple.

The portal to the temple opened and Yasharaya appeared. “The Yathtallar will see you now, Yathrin Elvaelayl. Alone.” Yasharaya looked at Tanias. “I suppose he can stay with me for the moment.” The priestess smiled and looked at Tanias with undisguised lust.

Sheyreiza walked between the heavy metal doors of the temple’s portal and entered the chapel itself. Her heart raced as she took in the scene; a black altar sitting on a dais before a flame pit and a statue of the goddess. Eight braziers burning incense around the altar. Dark patches of dried blood from countless sacrifices stained the floor while the delicate white webs of spiders decorated the walls. A crimson pentagram was inscribed upon the floor below the altar dais and eight burning candles were set equidistantly upon its outer perimeter. Though not as grand in scale or as rich in appointments as the Qu’ellar Auvryndar temple, this place bore the same heavy, ominous feeling of dread and power. Here, the Goddess was strong and ever-present. This was Lolth’s consecrated ground. The altar called to Sheyreiza. She could feel its hunger. The altars of Lolth were bloody, ravenous things. The worship of Lolth called for frequent sacrifice and the plethora of temples in cities like Ched Nasad and Menzoberranzan meant the cities had an insatiable appetite for sacrificial victims. Most were slaves, bought in markets like Mantol Derith, but some were drow. Of those, a few were battle captives, but the bulk of the drow to be placed upon Lolth’s altars were culled from the city’s native population. Because of the high demand for sacrifices, virtually any crime could land the offender upon the altar. Indeed, often it seemed as if the high priestesses fabricated crimes and offenses so as to supply their need for victims. A high priestess unable to feed her altar with others would soon be feeding it herself at the hands of her ambitious subordinates. That hunger, that drive to feed the altar, to sacrifice lives and souls to Lolth, this was the very pulse of drow society and no where did Sheyreiza feel it as strongly as she did when in the presence of a consecrated altar. The altar was not a living thing. It was not an animated magical construct. It was simply decorated stone. The more elaborate altars of the powerful houses were enchanted to capture souls, but even then, the altars themselves were simply enchanted stone. Still, the mere sight of one evoked the sense of hunger that Lolth’s church had; Lolth would have her meat and her meat was lives and souls. The altars were her mouths and the bitch was eternally hungry.

A lone figure kneeled before the dark, sanguine, altar. The figure’s form was largely obscured by a glittering dark blue piwafi cloak that resembled the morning sky just before dawn, but under the rich piwafi Sheyreiza could tell it was a female. Long white hair streamed down her back across the dark sky of her cloak like a wayward cloud. There was the slightest tinkle of jewelry as the figure stood.

Sheyreiza kneeled on one knee and made an obeyance to the altar. “Malla tlu Lolth.” She said aloud. Honor to Lolth. She bowed her head to the figure at the altar. “Vendui’ malla Yathtallar.” Greetings honored high-priestess.

“Rise.” The figure commanded.

“I am …” Sheyreiza started, but the figure interrupted her.

“Did you bring the heretic leader with you?” The Yathtallar asked.

Sheyreiza’s eyes narrowed. “You know of this?” Sheyreiza responded, her surprise evident in her voice.

The figure at the altar whirled to face Sheyreiza. The high priestess was a tall, slender drow of uncommon beauty – not unlike Sheyreiza. Years ago Sheyreiza had taken the form of Elvaelayl Tlabbar, a tall slender beauty of Qu’ellar Faen Tlabbar. Looking upon the high priestess was not unlike looking into a mirror, though in this case, it was a very deadly mirror. The high priestess was dressed in blue-lacquered armor that matched her deep blue eyes. The armor’s revealing cut denoted it as ceremonial; it was far more provocative than protective. Still, Sheyreiza did not doubt it was highly enchanted and capable of turning most blades in those places the armor did cover. In her right hand the high priestess held a coiled whip whose barbed lash ended in a dagger-like knife. In her other hand she held a longsword sheathed in a jewel encrusted scabbard. Sparkling gems, intricate pendants and fine platinum jewelry hung from the woman’s ears, neck and hair. Sheyreiza admired her style, beauty and wealth. A pang of jealousy mixed with the anxiety that now grew in Sheyreiza’s breast. She wished for such regalia as much as she feared the process of getting it.

“Of course I know.” The woman snapped. “I am the high priestess here? Do you not think I know what goes on in my temple?”

Sheyreiza bowed her head deeply. “My apologies Yathtallar.”

The high priestess seemed to relax a bit. “I am Yathtallar Ghenni’salla Tlabbar, and I know why you are here, Sheyreiza Auvryndar.” The high priestess paused for effect. “Heretic.” Ghenni’salla nearly spat as she said the word. Sheyreiza’s blood ran cold. She knew the moment of revelation would have to come, but here it was – she stood now before a Yathtallar, a high priestess of the cruelest and most fickle goddess there was – as a heretic seeking redemption. “You will have your chance.” The high priestess said as if reading Sheyreiza’s mind and fears. “You will have it because Lolth says you will have it. If you fail however…” The high priestess did not need to finish her sentence. “We will prepare the male. You prepare yourself. Remove your weapons, armor and other things. You will meet the Goddess’ judgment naked. You are to pray, there, in the center of the pentgram. When you have made your prayers, you are to take reverie there.”

Sheyreiza nodded her understanding.

The high priestess walked to the doors of the temple with a confident strut that made Sheyreiza love her and hate her at the same time. She wanted that power. She needed that power. She would have that power.

“I will be informing Tanias that he is to be sacrificed by you.” Ghenni’salla said before leaving.

Again Sheyreiza nodded. “Good, he should know what is going to happen to him.”

Ghenni’salla glared at Sheyreiza. “The male should only know what Lolth deigns for him to know and only that.” The high priestess snapped.

Rebuked, Sheyreiza bowed her head. “Of course malla Yathtallar.” Ghenni’salla scowled at Sheyreiza for a moment, then turned and left leaving Sheyreiza in alone in the temple. Slowly and deliberately Sheyreiza disarmed and disrobed. She set her things in neat piles around her in the pentagram. Her sword she drew from its sheath and lay on her right side. Her fang-shield she lay to her left. Before her, she piled her armor, with the engraved breast plate on top. Behind her she placed the satchel that contained her vials of potions. She had to follow the high priestess’ instructions but she did not have to do so blindly or stupidly. Unless Ghenni’salla directed otherwise, Sheyreiza would sit in the pentagram naked but keep her weapons, armor and enchantments close at hand.

Folding her long, shapely legs beneath her, she sat amidst her possessions in the center of the magic circle. Black candles burned slowly around her and the smell of incense filled her head. She closed her eyes and began praying silently to Lolth. As she did she focused her thoughts outward searching for the thread of elven consciousness that ran through the world unseen and unfelt by all but the Tel’Quessir. It was to this thread of consciousness that the minds of elves, fairy and drow alike, turned to in reverie. The thread touched all elves, but not all elves touched it in the same place or at the same time. Indeed, some elves were so separated from their kin that they never touched the greater consciousness at all, though it was around them just the same. Sheyreiza had often found it difficult to make contact with the greater consciousness and as a result frequently slept like a human rather than entering reverie like an elf. This time, she slipped from prayer into trance and found the thread easily. Or so she thought.

***

Sheyreiza stood atop a low dais set in a landscape of endless gray stone that stretched into opaque mists so similar in color the border between the two was lost to the naked eye. Though the dais and the stone appeared to be part of a cityscape, no sign of any city or settlement was present; just the slowly swirling mist. Though she had disrobed and disarmed when she knelt down in the temple, here, she was wearing her armor and in her hand was her sword. She narrowed her eyes as she often did, though one eye was missing. Something moved in the mist but it was just deep enough to be unrecognizable. Whatever it was, it was huge, perhaps the size of a surface dweller’s house. She stared deep into the mist trying discern the nature of the thing but it moved too quickly and was gone.

“Welcome,” said a voice behind her. The voice was male and familiar. Sheyreiza turned. A male drow came out of the mists. He was tall for a male, his long white hair pulled back from his face and tied securely so it would fall down his back. He was well muscled, though still slender and graceful, like a dancer. His features were sharp and his eyes sharper. Sheyreiza knew him at once, though she could not believe he was here.

“Hartex.” She said simply.

“Yes. Hartex. That was my name once.” He said thoughtfully. “I had almost forgotten.”

He is mad. Sheyreiza thought.

“Thank you for reminding me.” He smiled. “Time does not flow in the abyss as it does in your world. It has been an age since anyone called me by my mortal name.”

“The abyss? Then you are dead?”

Hartex voice filled with menace. “Do you not remember leaving me to die in Skullport, Sheyreiza? Do you not remember sacrificing me to the Skulls to cover for your crimes?”

“I thought you escaped that fire.” Sheyreiza’s eyes widened a bit. This was one soul she would have rather not had to meet, but it was just like Lolth to arrange a meeting between murderer and victim.

He tilted his head. “Did I? I seem to remember dying there.” He paused and looked down for a moment in thought. “No matter.” He shrugged. “I am dead now.”

“Good.” Sheyreiza said. It was probably not wise to taunt him, but she was glad he was dead and such joy at the suffering and loss of another was something Lolth would like.

“In life, I served you Yathrin.” Hartex said resuming his pacing. “In death I serve Her. Red eyes devoid of any warmth, feeling or soul looked Sheyreiza over with undisguised malice. “You are to be judged Sheyreiza.” Hartex announced. “I will be one of your judges. There will be three others. They will each be along in turn.” He resumed his pacing around her, looking over her naked form as if appraising a brothel slave. His gaze initially made Sheyreiza shrink, but she rose to the moment. She arched her back and held her head high. She was no brothel slave. She was a priestess and she would not be cowed by some specter from her past. “Each of your judges will ask you questions.” He informed her. “They will test you. Then they will judge you. These judges will determine if you are worthy to return to Her or not. Do you understand what I have explained to you?”

“Xas.” Sheyreiza replied defiantly. Hatred, power, lust and revenge. Two of these she desired. Two filled her soul. “Let me be tested. Let me be judged.”

“As you wish.” Hartex smiled. Hartex strode purposefully up to the dais. A beam of light the shade of fresh blood appeared beside Sheyreiza. Hartex held out a hand to it. Now, meet your next judge.” Hartex gestured to the red beam and figure appeared in the light; a female drow in the regalia of a high priestess. She was beautiful. In fact, she was more beautiful than any female drow Sheyreiza had ever seen save perhaps Qilue Veladorn. This woman’s beauty was not the celestial, silver-haired deific beauty of the Chosen of Eilistraee however. This woman was predatory. Feral. She was the animosity and vengeance of the drow come to life. Her ruby red eyes were the eyes of a fiend, though a spectacularly beautiful one. Her face, her skin, her entire appearance was flawless but held such menace that even the bravest, most ardent admirer would have feared laying with the object of his admiration. There was a familiarity to her though. The line of her nose, the set of her jaw, the cut of her hair, all these things struck familiar chords in Sheyreiza’s mind.

“She is you.” Hartex said simply, answering the question in Sheyreiza’s head. “She is you as you should have been. She is you as you would have been had you not turned from Lolth.” Hartex turned to look Sheyreiza in the eye and laughed. “If you are found unworthy, she will subsume all that you are and she will replace you.” This thought clearly amused him. Hartex stepped off the dais and walked a few yards away near where the circle of Sheyreiza’s sight ended and the swirling mists began.

The woman in the light stepped toward Sheyreiza and smiled. Delicate fangs framed her seductive smile. Sheyreiza’s eyes widened. This woman was familiar because she was Sheyreiza as Sheyreiza used to be – this was Sheyreiza’s original body, the one she had given up in Skullport when she took the form of Elvaelayl Tlabbar. Only this woman before her was not quite the same. Sheyreiza had been attractive, even beautiful, but not like this; this woman was Sheyreiza’s old form perfected as if sculpted by the hand of Lolth herself. This creature was the very embodiment of what Sheyreiza had once hoped to be. To aspire to such perfection now seemed a folly. To see the lost opportunity this woman represented sent pain stabbing through Sheyreiza’s chest. Could she really have been this woman? Could she really have achieved such malign perfection? Had she really lost such an opportunity?

The apparition of Sheyreiza’s alternate self slid an arm around Sheyreiza’s waist. She leaned in close as one might with a lover. Sheyreiza could smell her and feel her heat. The apparition brushed her lips across Sheyreiza’s cheek and ear sending a bolt of electric sensuality through her. “I am going to show you something.” The apparition purred. “I am going to show you the power of lust. I am going to show you that lust is more powerful than love and that love does nothing but make you weak.” The apparition slid behind Sheyreiza, her arm still wrapped Sheyreiza’s waist, her lips still gently brushing Sheyreiza’s ear. “Gaze into the light,” she whispered, “if you dare, and I will show you the power of lust and the weakness of love through your own past.”

With a brief scowl, Sheyreiza turned to face the sanguine beam. A light appeared deep with in the shaft as if far, far away. It grew larger, as if coming closer and Sheryeiza saw it was growing to form a picture. The picture was bright, almost too bright to look at. Sheyreiza squinted with her one good eye and kept her focus on the expanding light. Through the glare she could see a snow covered landscape. It was, if she was not mistaken, the far north. It was Lonelywood. Rocks appeared in the picture and then trees. Sheyreiza recognized the sacred circle of Lonelywood. A figure coalesced. It was Jain’n, her former lover. He held his sword high and his shield to the fore. He was charging across the snowy circle at someone. Memories flooded through Sheyreiza and her heart raced. He was charging her! This was the moment, this was his betrayal. This was when she had acted to stop the sacrifice of the strange drow woman to Shevaresh. This was when she had finally defied Jain’n, refusing to follow him silently though he would do honor to bloody Shevaresh. Sheyreiza raised her left hand instinctually as if to shield off Jain’n’s blow but the blow never came. Hot anger flowed into her veings. The picture changed.

Jain’n stood atop a mound in the northern wastes. Sheyreiza knew his kin were buried beneath that mound. Her lover held a small child of dusky skin and light hair. It was their daughter, Shein’n. She was small, but a toddler. Sheyreiza was being banished from Lonelywood and had come to see Shein’n one last time and say good bye. She wanted to explain to Shein’n that she loved her and that she was leaving because of the spirits and Jain’n, not because she did not love Shein’n. She wanted her daughter to know she was not leaving willingly. Sheyreiza wanted her daughter to know she was loved.

The ancestors who were banishing Sheyreiza from Lonelywood and separating her from her daughter would not let her have even this simple accommodation. Using their powers, they pushed Sheyreiza from the woods before she could speak to her daughter. Sheyreiza did not even get to say a simple good bye. She was simply removed.

“Love made you weak.” The apparition whispered into Sheyreiza’s ear. “Love for that man cause you nothing but pain. Your love for him allowed him to use you. You loved him and he used to you bear him a child, and then he took that child from you and threw you away when he no longer needed you. Love made you weak. Love made you a fool.”

The vision of Lonelywood dimmed and something new formed in the beam. Sheyreiza saw the large room at the Burning Troll in Skullport where she had spent many an hour and cycle. In the vision, she lay upon a divan before a fire. Hartex was there as well, massaging her back and shoulders. She reached out to him and heard him moan. She aroused him, undressed him and then she walked away. She felt the surge of power and pleasure she felt as she watched an enraged Hartex stalk into the streets, swords in hand, killing anyone and everyone that crossed his path. How much blood flowed because of her little game? She saw a later encounter, Hartex mounting her in front of the fire in the patrol’s room at the Burning Troll. So skilled he was and not just at massage or lovemaking. The vision changed and she saw all those things she had obtained from Hartex through the power of his lust for her; he trained her, he protected her - he killed for her. Each vision caused a sensation in her body like the touch of a lover. Like the touch of Hartex.

The vision changed again and she saw herself naked with Jain’n. The picture merged and she was all that Jain’n had done for her out his lust; saving her from the dwarves, training her, giving her gifts and also killing for her. One by one she was taken through visions of all her lovers, all the men who had lusted after her and had done what she needed or what she wished because of it. There was the prisoner who had offered to help her escape when the Valsharess disappeared and the prison-castle came under attack. It was a brief affair, but his lust gave Sheryeiza the power to escape. Then there was the bald headed brute on the Darklake. He was the most despicable of all her lovers. It was an insult to her people to call that foul beast ‘drow.’ She wondered if perhaps his ancestors included humans or orcs. Or rothe. As they wandered for what seemed like ages on the Darklake she gave herself to him to prevent being raped by the entire crew of escapees. In so doing, she gained the brute’s protection and he saved her for last as they killed the others one by one for food. She had worshipped Kiaransalee then and had at her beck and call a shadow. The brute had not known this, and when the time came that his hunger outweighed his lust, Sheyreiza’s shadow had helped her overcome him. Until then, however, the brute’s lust had helped her avoid being raped, killed and eaten. There was also Gryndal Xiith, her young convert in the Promenade. His lust flattered her, made her feel strong. There was more to it though – there was purity and strength to Gryndal’s new found faith and Sheyreiza used his lust for her to draw that out.

As the visions displayed her past lovers Sheyreiza realized they all something in common: each of them had power that she wanted. At Zhennu Orbb, Hartex had the power to make her peers thing twice before trying to undermine her. At the dungeons, her fellow prisoner had the power to set her free. On the Darklake, the stinking brute had the power to keep her alive and keep her from getting raped. In Skullport, Hartex had the power to fend off their numerous enemies. On the surface, Jain’n had the power to release her from the dungeons of the dwarves and the webs of the Spider Queen. At the promenade, Gryndal had the power to re-inspire her faith. All had power and that was what had attracted Sheyreiza and all of it was made available to Sheyreiza through the power of their own lust for her.

For a brief moment Sheyreiza considered what she was attracted to. The answer was simple and obvious; power. It was power that opened her legs to men, the weak need not try. She smiled to herself. It all made sense now. For most of her life she had fantasized not about handsome patrons with smooth skin, silken hair and muscular bodies, but about demons. Scaled, clawed, black-eyed beasts of terrible demeanor and horrifying power.

Each vision continued to give her greater and greater sexual arousal, as if each vision was a thrust into her by the very lover she was seeing. The pleasure she derived from each vision built up the feelings of the last, one after another. All of the visions were beautiful but she kept coming back to the time with Hartex in the Burning Troll. She remembered watching from the second floor window as he slew children in the streets. She was masturbating as he did. It was not the killing that excited her so much as the power she had exercised over him. She had caused that. Though she held no blade, she had killed all those people just the same. His lust for her had driven him into a killing frenzy. The thought of his excited her so much she came. A powerful orgasm swept through her body and though she tried to maintain her demeanor a soft cry of ecstasy escaped her lips.

The visions in the beam faded away as the wave of pleasure from the orgasm diminished leaving only a pleasant tingling sensation in Sheyreiza’s fingers, toes and nether region. “See what lust has done for you.” The apparition whispered, coming around to face Sheyreiza. “Lust made you strong. Lust gave you power. Love only made you weak.”

Sheyreiza nodded her understanding and agreement. “Lust is powerful. Love is foolish and makes one weak.”

The apparition smiled. “Now, tell me what you want.”

“To serve Lolth.” Sheyreiza replied dutifully.

With a smooth motion the apparition backhanded Sheyreiza across the face. “A worthy follower of Lolth’s has ambition.” The apparition snapped, her voice changing from smooth seduction to cold rebuke in an instant. “Have you no ambitions of your own?”

Sheyreiza put a hand to her mouth and felt blood flowing from her lip. “I have my own ambitions.” She snapped back petulantly. A moment ago she had felt on solid ground as she recognized the power of lust and the weakness of love. Now the apparition’s rebuke left her uncertain and doubting. She struggled for an answer to the question. “I will have my revenge. I will take my power. I will lead my people.” The words seemed right but the answer felt hollow.

“And if the Goddess does not help you?” The apparition asked.

“Lolth helps those who help themselves.” Sheyreiza replied.

The apparition smiled faintly. “Yes She does. Now we will look at your ambitions. I will show you what you could be if you are found worthy.” Deep inside the blood red beam of light another vision took shape. Sheyreiza saw herself outfitted in the regalia of a Yathrin of Lolth. She approached an altar to the Goddess. Instead of praying, she disrobed. The shadow of a demonic figure appeared. Sheyreiza lay across the altar while other clerics of Lolth gathered round, also naked. The shadow of the demon fell upon her and she knew the demon was taking her there on the altar. She screamed in pain as the unseen demonic figure tore into her beautiful but delicate body. Her sister clerics cast healing spells to keep her alive as she was penetrated by the impossibly large and violent fiend. When the beast was done with her she was cast off the altar like so much refuse. Her sister clerics began dropping snakes upon her bloody, naked form as she writhed helplessly on the ground. The snakes covered her body completely. She screamed and screamed again as the snakes entered her in every way conceivable. Around this unholy, unnatural scene the other priestesses chanted. When they finished, the tide of snakes receded until only a handful were left. These remaining few had come together, their fanged, reptilian heads separate but their long sinuous bodies fused together halfway down their length. They had become a whip of fangs. Suddenly Sheyreiza realized she was witnessing her own initiation as a high priestess, a Yathtallar, of Lolth. A wave of sexual arousal came over her at the thought of such success and power. A Yathtallar. The high priestesses were the undisputed rulers of drow society. While the arcanists challenged their spellcasting ability and the warriors challenged their martial prowess, no one challenged the raw power of the priesthood. The elite core of high priestesses held the power of life and death over all other drow at the behest of Lolth herself. They were the guides of the society and culture and the rest of the drow lived to serve them. Sheyreiza could be one. Sheyreiza would be one.

“I will do anything and everything to achieve such heights.” Sheyreiza said aloud.

“This is but the beginning.” Said the specter of what Sheyreiza might have been.

The vision changed. Sheyreiza was adorned in the regalia of a high priestess and she sat upon a drift disc traveling in stately fashion through the streets of Ched Nasad. Surrounding her was an elite guard of female warriors. A vanguard of male warriors and heralds cleared the path before her and a larger body of warriors and wizards trailed behind. She was not just a high priestess, she was an Ilharess, a Matron Mother. She was the Ilharess of Qu’ellar Auvryndar.

The vision was so powerful, so arousing, Sheyreiza came again. Her one eye rolled up into her head momentarily as the orgasm rolled through her body. She nearly fell but by shear force of will, kept herself up.

The vision was not over however. The drift disc procession came to a halt at the doors of the ruling council’s chamber. Sheyreiza and an honor guard approached and entered. This was to be expected; Qu’ellar Auvryndar was the fourth house of the city and thus had the fourth seat on the ruling council. In the vision, Sheyreiza did not stop at the fourth seat however, she continued to the head of the table where the Matron of the First House, Aunrae Nasadra, normally sat. No creature save the old Matron Yvonnel Baenre of Menzoberranzan, who lived for perhaps 2,500 years, ever held such power or undisputed rulership in Lolthian drow society as Aunrae Nasadra. Aunrae’s word was law and her rule was undisputed.

In the vision Sheyreiza sat in the First Chair and suddenly Sheyreiza knew Aunrae’s rule was over. The Sheyreiza of the vision was First Matron of the City, Qu’ellar Auvryndar was First House of the City. Matron Sheyreiza smiled and showed long slender fangs at her canines. A group of noble drow approached the throne. At their lead was a high priestess and she was followed by several other priestesses as well as male warriors and wizards. They all bowed in respect to Matron Sheyreiza, the lead high priestess bowing deepest of all. When the high priestess looked up, Sheyreiza recognized her; the high priestess was her daughter, Shein’n, as an adult. Shein’n would come to Lolth. The other females and males behind the adult Shein’n were Sheyreiza’s other daughters and sons.

“I…” Sheryeiza blinked. “I am First Matron of the city? And I have stolen my mother’s gift? I am immortal?” Such an achievement was almost beyond imagination. House Nasadra had ruled Ched Nasad since its founding nearly 5,000 years ago. In this vision, however, Sheyreiza undid all that. Sheyreiza was the first Matron. Auvryndar was the first house. She had succeeded where all others of her city had failed for nearly five millennia.

From off the dais Hartex chuckled. “You might become First Matron, and you might become immortal. But there are other ways of achieving immortality than your mother’s vampiric blood. Better ways. That Baenre bitch lived for over 2,000 years.”

A vision of Matron Yvonnel’s weathered, lined face came into her head. “Matron Baenre was a hag though. She lived long, but she aged poorly.”

Hartex smiled wickedly. “Yes, but you do not have to. Look into the vision. Are you a hag like she was? Or are you beautiful? More beautiful than even now?”

He was right. In the vision she was not a hag, she was more beautiful than any drow female she had ever seen, Qilue Veladorn included. As visions of immortality, eternal beauty and total dominion ran through her mind a powerful orgasm swept through Sheyreiza’s body and sent her reeling off the dais. She stumbled on the gray stones as waves of pleasure rocked her; pleasure at the thought of such success, at the thought of such power, at the thought of her revenge upon anyone and everyone. Nothing could be better. Immortal, beautiful, powerful. Lust and power. Lust for power.

With her orgasm fading Sheyreiza regained control over her body and staggered back to the light. She was smiling now at the tingling aftermath of her climax and her new epiphany about her own motivations. The specter gave her a fanged, knowing grin. “Now you have seen your possible future. I have no more visions to show you.”

Sheyreiza licked her wet lips and looked at the apparition with heavy lidded eyes. The orgasms had taken quite a toll on her and she looked not unlike she had in the vision when the demon had taken her. “You have shown me enough. You have shown me rise to rule my city. What more could there be?”

The specter of her alternate self walked by then paused. “There is one thing more.” The specter whispered. “Yorthae.” The specter let the word hang in the air and walked off the dais with a strut that made Ghenni’salla look like a heavy-legged dwarf.

Speechless, Sheyreiza turned to watch her go. Yorthae? Sheyreiza knew the word. It was from High Drow, the language used primarily by priestesses in their rituals. It referred to the Chosen of Lolth. No Yorthae had existed in centuries, or perhaps even in Millenia. Indeed, Sheyreiza could not remember any tale that clearly identified any Yorthae in all history. Had there ever been one? Yvonnel Baenre, the Matron who had lived and ruled for over 2000 years had not be Yorthae. Sheyreiza did not even recall Menzoberra the Kinless, the high priestess who had founded Menzoberranzan and ultimately, Ched Nasad, being labeled as Yorthae. Sure she must have been, but then, why had no one said so? Could this be Sheyreiza’s ultimate destiny? To be Yorthae? To be the Chosen of Lolth?

The possibility was too much to consider seriously. Though possessed of a great ego, Sheyreiza dared not presume the specter was truly telling her she could be the Chosen of Lolth. It would be blasphemy to inquire about it or to even acknowledge the specter had said it.

Hartex approached the dais. “Your next judge is here.” He pointed to a figure emerging from the gray mists, a figure she recognized at once. It was Tanias. He was not clad in rags, like she had left him, but in supple leather armor. There was no burn from where she had slapped his jaw with her blade. This was not his physical body, but something else. It was his soul perhaps or maybe just a clever illusion.

The pseudo Tanias walked directly up to Sheyreiza. “I have but one question for you mother.” He said. “If neither of us had fled our house as heretics, would you have ever cared for me more than you care for any other male of the house?” He narrowed his eyes and leaned in closely. “Speak the truth mother, for I will know truth from lie.”

His question hit Sheyreiza hard as did his admonition to tell the truth. Did he want her to say she loved him? Was his soul looking for a mother’s love? It would have been easy to say she loved him but that would be a lie. And what if this was not Tanias’ soul, or what if Lolth was really behind this as she seemed to be? No matter what Tanias might wish, Lolth would not want Sheyreiza to love him. It would be easy to say she never loved him, but that too would be a lie.

“The truth is I do not know.” She said slowly. “The moment when you were born, I looked into your eyes and saw something I had never seen before. I felt something I had never felt before. To call it love would be an exaggeration, but, under the right circumstances, it could have become love. At least, I think it could have. All I know of love is what I learned on the surface and most of that was a lie.” She bit her lip for a moment while she thought. “As for what I would have felt had we not fled the house, well, that depends. Had you proven yourself worthy, I would have felt pride at having given the House a valuable male. Had you proven yourself less than worthy, I would have felt shame and I would have felt the need to erase that shame by erasing you.”

Tanias’ nodded ever so slightly. “You’re answer is perfectly you, mother.” Without another word he turned and walked away to join Hartex and the specter of the alternate Sheyreiza by the edge of the mist. Hartex smiled briefly at Tanias, then looked to the beam of red light behind Sheyreiza and nodded. “Your last judge is here.”

Sheyreiza turned to the light. A small figure, a child, toddled out of the light. It was a very young girl, perhaps four or five years old. Upon seeing Sheyreiza it smiled and ran to her. “Mother!” The child was Shein’n, Sheyreiza’s daughter by Jain’n. She looked different than she had when Sheyreiza last in Lonelywood. Her dusky skin was black now and her straw colored hair had turned white. She looked purely drow. Shein’n jumped into Sheyreiza’s arms and began kissing her. “Mother, I missed you so much!” Shein’n said. “Where have you been? Daddy says you were bad and you had to go but I miss you. I love you mother, even though daddy says I shouldn’t. And I know you love me too.”

A bolt of heartache tore through Sheyreiza but her mind clamped down on it in a split second. Sheyreiza knew she could bear this child no love now even though she had before. She had to reject the child. No, she had to do worse. She had to cause the child harm. She had to do the worst thing she possibly could to Shein’n; she had to damn her. Anything less than the worst would not be enough for Lolth and it was Lolth Sheyreiza had to please now, not her daughter.

Sheyreiza pulled Shein’n off of her and set her down. “Why are you here?” Shein’n asked taking Sheyreiza’s hands into her own. “I do not like this place. I do not like those people over there.” She said, nodding to Hartex, Tanias and Sheyreiza’s alternate apparition. “Why did you bring me here?”

Kneeling before the girl Sheyreiza spoke as emotionlessly as she could. “I am going to teach you Shein’n. I have much to teach you. I will come for you and I will teach you all those things your daddy does not want you to know.”

“No.” Shein’n said simply. “You would teach me bad things. I don’t want to learn bad things. I don’t want to learn evil.”

“I will teach you, Shein’n.” Sheyreiza said coldly.

Shein’n smiled. “No you won’t. You won’t do that. That would hurt me and you would not hurt me. You love me.”

“I do not love you Shein’n,” Sheyreiza asserted, “I have no feelings for you.”

Shein’n’s beautiful eyes suddenly lost their innocent youth and gained a wisdom far beyond her years. “If you did not love me, if you had no feelings for me, I would not be here right now.” The enormous truth of that statement hit Sheyreiza like a warhammer. She stood, gazing down upon the child, her mouth hanging open. “My soul has come because your feelings called it.”

Sheyreiza narrowed her eyes. “Then I shall kill those feelings. I will teach you the Way of Lolth. I will damn you. Remember that.”

The child smiled at Sheyreiza’s threat. “No. I am not really here, just my soul is, and when I awake in the real world, I will not remember any of this.” The child let go of Sheyreiza’s hands and walked over to join the other three judges at the edge of the mist. “Hello brother.” She said to Tanias, who greeted her in return.

Hartex called out to Sheyreiza. “Are you ready to here the judgment?”

Hear the judgment? What tests had she faced? One question from Tanias? A brief encounter with Shein’n’s spirit? Hartex and her alternate apparition had asked nothing, they had only shown her visions. And that was their test. She realized. Her response to those visions was her test. Her responses were not scripted, or even influenced by Lolth or the judges. Her responses were her own as was her hatred that fed her lust for revenge and power. This was from her. It was not a spell, a drug or the influence of this place; it was the darkness that lay in her soul. That darkness was not Lolth, that darkness was not her teachings, that darkness was nothing foreign at all; it was Sheyreiza’s own essence. Her soul, it seemed, was dark and her heart was black. This was what the visions revealed – those visions were not displayed for her benefit, they were shown to her a test of her soul. Would she feel a longing towards Jain’n – or hatred. Did she want a reconciliation – or revenge. Did visions of power scare her – or excite her.

Hatred. Lust. Power. Revenge. These were not just pillars of Lolth’s faith, these were what lay at the bottom of the dark well that was Sheyreiza’s soul. For better or worse, this was what she was. This was who she was. The visions had drawn that out. All she had to do was but choose to follow her natural inclinations.

“I am ready. Judge me.” Sheyreiza announced defiantly.

[Mikayla]

Chapter 13 - The Spider's Web

Judgment of the Spider Queen

“I am ready. Judge me.” Sheyreiza announced defiantly.

Shein’n walked up first. She looked upon Sheyreiza with great sadness. “You would betray me to Her. You would give me to Her even though you know how bad that would hurt me. You would sell me into damnation for your own ends.” The girl-spirit wept. “It is my judgment that you deserve to serve the Spider Queen and be damned yourself.” As her judgment was pronounced, she began to fade into nothing. “Good bye mother.” Sheyreiza narrowed her eyes and steeled her heart. There would be no remorse, no regret, and no second thoughts. There would be only devotion to the Spider Queen. If that meant damning Shein’n’s soul to a fate worse than death, so be it.

Tanias was next. “Mother, you are a heartless, cowardly bitch more interested in saving your own skin than in the welfare of your children.” He spat. “It is my judgment that you are a perfect whore for the Spider Queen.” He turned on his heel and walked away. “I hope you rot in the demonweb for sacrificing me. You deserve it.”

The fanged apparition of Sheyreiza strutted her way up to the dais as Tanias disappeared. She looked ready to seduce or stalk Sheyreiza, perhaps both. “You are not perfect.” She said, smiling as she made her accusation. “There is a tiny spark of light in the depths of your black heart. Not like me. My heart is perfect. I am flawless. I am you perfected. I am the all the hatred in your soul. I am your lust for power. I am your lust for revenge. I am all these things without the rest that taints your soul. No love. No fear. No regret. No pain.” She laughed and the laugh was as cold and bitter as the winds of the far north. It sent a shiver down Sheyreiza’s spine. Ruby red eyes gleaming with the malice of fiends stared at Sheyreiza from the incomparably beautiful, predatory face. The apparition sighed. “But you have mastered it.” She said, not quite with admiration, but perhaps with respect. “You are no longer in its grip. Those feelings you have had, those weaknesses you bore, you have learned to use those to your advantage.” The apparition paused to look at Shein’n and Tanias. “You use them against your children.” Sheyreiza nodded. She had used all she knew of love, friendship and good to lure Tanias to Mantol Derith. With Shein’n, here in this place, she had tried to lure her daughter into the servitude of Lolth, playing upon Shein’n’s motherly love. “You will be allowed to keep that knowledge so you can better use it against your enemies. So you can use it for Lolth.” The apparition stepped closer to Sheyeiza. “It is my judgment that you are worthy to serve our Queen.”

Before Sheyreiza could reply Hartex spoke. “And that is my judgment as well. You are fit to serve the Goddess again. You have passed the test Yathrin Sheyreiza.” She turned to answer him but she felt something cold sweep over her. The apparition of her alternate self stepped into Sheyreiza and she felt her merge with Sheyreiza’s soul. She was one with her future again. She could be what she was supposed to be. She would be what she was supposed to be.

The gray mist nearby swirled faster, coalescing into a swirl of silken gray webs. The strange strand of webbing reached out from the mists and wrapped around Sheyreiza’s waist. Another swirl in the mist coalesced and that strand also reached out to Sheyreiza, this one wrapping around her legs. More strands formed, reached out and wrapped around her body. All around the dais intangible mist was becoming tangible webs. They came at her from all sides and from above as well. A sticky strand wrapped across her mouth. Another fell across her nose. Sheyreiza fought to control the panic rising within her. She was being cocooned, like a fly in a spider’s web. Strand after strand wrapped around her, pinning her arms to her sides and tying her sword to her bound legs. A strand fell across her eyes and she found it hard to seem. More strands came down upon her, crushing her, cutting off her sight and making it difficult to breath. She could not see clearly but something was moving around her. Whatever it was, it was large. She guessed it was whatever had appeared in the mist moving just beyond her sight when she first arrived. It was circling her now and fear coursed through her. She felt its cold, alien presence. Something reached up between her legs and entered her sex, but it did not stop. It stabbed into her, through her, lodging in her belly. She tried to scream but the scream was muffled by the webbing. Her body shook in pain and fear but there was nothing she could do; she was bound and impaled. Something hot and burning flowed from whatever had penetrated her. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she wished for unconsciousness or death. The pain spread from her loins and belly throughout her body. Tightly bound within her silken cocoon and impaled upon some monstrous needle, she writhed in agony as the burning pain consumed her. Her skin burned last, seeming to cook within the cocoon. It felt like the fireballs she had endured during the siege of the Promenade, though infinitely worse. She began to transcend the pain as it drove her mad. Her whole body was on fire, inside and out and there was nothing she could do so she did nothing. She simply screamed from inside her mind and gradually the pain lessened. Her skin tingled. Then her limbs. Soon the tingling spread throughout her body and finally to her loins. Whatever had impaled her was gone. The fire was gone. The pain of the wound was gone. She could feel herself changing, and oddly, she could feel the armor she wore and the sword she carried changing as well.

Something tugged at her and she realized the webs were being stripped off. Hartex came into view, huge strands of torn webbing in his hands. He was freeing her.

For a moment she left her body. She could see the scene from above like a spirit hovering over the corpse of its former shell on some foggy battlefield. Then she was looking through eyes again, though not her eyes. She was looking at a woman entombed in a cocoon of spider webs. It was the beautiful and terrible apparition of her alternate self, with its ruby eyes, perfect face, flawless skin, silken hair and purely predatory demeanor. A hand reached out, her hand, and pulled away webbing from the cocooned woman. Sheyreiza realized she was looking through the eyes of Hartex and that meant she was looking not at her apparition, but at her self. She had changed. The cocoon, the impalement, the fire burning her body – all of these had been her metamorphisis. Like a spider that had molted, she was wearing a new skin now. The skin of her apparition. The skin of Sheyreiza Auvryndar, as sculpted and perfected by Lolth. Pride and joy filled her.

Her armor and sword had changed as well. The armor was still red and black, but the sloppy red lacquer was gone replaced by a perfect coloration that seemed to go deep into the very metal itself. It was as light as ever. The runes along the plate edges had changed. Gone where the graceful elven runes which spelled out hymnals of love to Lady Silverhair. They had been replaced by the runes of fiends from the abyss and they spoke of Lolth’s hatred, power, lust and vengeance. They spoke of Sheyreiza. On the breast plate her heraldry had changed as well. Gone was the sword wrapped in a rose standing before a crescent moon. In its place was a thorny rose, as wicked looking as it was beautiful, wrapped in the strands of spider’s web. Sheyreiza knew instinctively that this was who she was and who she was meant to be. She donned the armor piece by piece admiring its fit and form.

Her sword was gone. In her hand was a Morningstar with a handle made from a single great bone and a dark metal head that glowed with a malign power. Tiny abyssal runes were etched all around the head of the weapon. On the bone handle handle were similar etchings along with foul and obscene art.

She saw Hartex again. Her perception had reverted. He was standing before her, strands of torn webbing hanging all over him and piled at his feet. “You are free Yathrin.” He said. She could see him perfectly. She had both her eyes again. Both of her ruby red eyes.

Sheyreiza could not help but laugh and her laugh was as cold and as wicked as that of her apparitions. Sheyreiza was indeed becoming what she could become; what she would become. She ran her tongue over her teeth but felt no fangs. It seemed there was still a ways to go. Good. She thought. I want more victories like this. More achievements. More power.

“I have one more gift for you.” Hartex said in low voice. “You need not take it, but if you do, you must agree to the price before I tell you what either the gift, or the cost, is.”

Ordinarily Sheyreiza would never enter such a bargain with anyone, let alone a demon, but this was no ordinary time. She was in Lolth’s favor – she would accept what ever Lolth was willing to give and she would accept whatever price Lolth wished to demand. “I will take the gift Hartex,” she said smiling, “and I will pay the price.”

He smiled in return. “Good. The gift is my service. The price is one child from your loins, sacrificed to me, every one hundred years. The child of yours that you sacrifice shall be used to form my body in your world. Also, you will be given the gift of a child from my seed. A further sacrifice will be required to initiate that.”

A half-fiend child was powerful gift indeed. Sheyreiza was aware that only the most blessed priestesses were gifted with demonic children, most commonly draegloths. Sheyreiza was not in the habit of trusting demons, but she somehow she knew most of what Hartex said was true. “How long will you serve me?” She asked, licking her lips playfully.

“I will serve you one year in every five, for so long as you keep making the sacrifices. Do you wish to see my true form now?”

“Of course. Very much so.” Sheryeiza replied.

“Very well.” Patches of Hartex’ skin began to lighten, and then erupt. It sloughed off in great, bloody wet pieces as the body beneath swelled ever larger. Limbs sprouted from his torso and his face ripped apart, the gory bits falling to the ground. Sheyreiza watched rapt in fascinated horror. In a few moments, the drow Hartex was gone, replaced by an enormous demonic spider.

“You have become a bebilith.” Sheyreiza said aloud. “Magnificent. That is a great reward. You are truly favored by Her.”

Not just a bebilith, but a greater bebilith than any you have yet encountered. Replied Hartex’ voice in Sheyreiza’s mind. She reached out and stroked his legs with their stiff bristles and terrible hooked claws. She had felt such legs before on the creature she fought at the promenade. This was a powerful demon indeed, even if the boast about being a greater bebilith was but an empty boast. Any bebilith was a creature to be respected and feared. The giant spider began to dwindle. It shrunk and it changed shape. In mere seconds, the drow Hartex stood before her again.

“Is that as painful as it looks?” Sheyreiza asked.

“Everytime.” Hartex answered, though it was clear he did not care. “I cannot come into your plane without being summoned however, mistress. To summon me, you must perform a ritual. You will need the blood of a darthiir and the bones of a male. You must draw a pentagram with the blood, place the bones in the center of it, and then call me by my true name. When you do this, I will be able to come to your plane and serve you there.”

“Time for you to return to your son, Great Mistress.” Hartex said.

He called her ‘Great Mistress.’ Was it true? Did she really have a bebilith at her service? No, she had a greater bebilith at her service! Truly she was favored by Lolth. Naturally, the bebilith would turn on her the moment she showed weakness or failed Lolth, but that was to be expected. So be it. Her reign as the demon’s great mistress might be long or it might be short, but it would be glorious.

“I will summon you soon then.” Sheyreiza purred. “And I can think of many ways you can serve me.”

The lust was clear in her eyes and her words. “Of course, Great Mistress. As you know, I am quite the talented masseuse and an even more talented lover.”

That was true, Sheyreiza knew. No lover she had lain with, not even Jain’n, had the physical skill Hartex had. He had been trained in the drow art of the deep rub massage and someone had also trained him in the art of sex. “I look forward to it.” She whispered.

“You flatter me, Great Mistress, but it is time for you to return.”

Mists gathered round both of them now and all went dark. When Sheyreiza could see again she was kneeling in the center of a pentagram in the temple of Mantol Derith, right where she had been when she had slipped into what she thought was reverie. Had it been a dream? She wondered. She reached up and felt around her left eye socket. She had an eye. She looked down upon her naked body. Her long, sinuous tattoo of calcified webbing still wrapped sensuously around her limbs and body, but the body itself was not the one she had gone to reverie with. She now had the body of her apparition. She smiled and broke into a laugh. This was too wonderful to believe but it was true.

Acrid smoke tickled her nose and set her senses reeling. In front of her was her armor. It was no longer piled neatly like she had left it; instead, it sat upright, as if a person was sitting in it. Strange reddish smoke poured off of the metal as if it had just been dipped in some foul quenching pool after being forged. It was the armor she had seen in her vision. On the floor next to it lay the Morningstar she had seen. Her old sword was gone. Sheyreiza picked up the dark weapon and felt Lolth’s power flow through her. Its name came to her instinctively; Lolth’s Blessing. Like her perfected form and armor, it was a gift from the Goddess herself. Sheyreiza slung the weapon from the sash that served as her baldric and retrieved the rest items from the floor.

Armed and armored, Sheyreiza stood looked about the temple. Ghenni’salla was watching her. “Make yourself ready.” The high priestess ordered. “I will bring Tanias in now.” Ghenni’salla walked to the metal doors of the temple and opened the portal. In the outer chamber, Yasharaya was naked, save for her jewelry and a thin sheen of sweat glistening on her dark skin. She sat astride Tanias who was also naked and sweating. While the four chamber guards watched, the lusty priestess rode Sheyreiza’s son. Sheyreiza smiled. One of the guards made a noise with his throat and Yasharaya looked up smiling to see Ghenni’salla in the doorway.

“Bring the male in. Now.” Ghenni’salla commanded.

Yasharaya dismounted Tanias. The naked priestess’ grin went from playful to wicked. She signed to the four guards who came out of the corners and stood Tanias up. The guards dragged him into the temple where he saw Sheyreiza in her new guise. Though she had been re-formed by Lolth, this form was familiar to Tanias. “Mother?” He asked in shock. His face flushed and he looked at Sheyreiza adorned in her Lolthian regalia with mix of terror and hatred. “You bitch! I knew you lied, I knew it!” He struggled but he was already bound securely and in the grip of the four guards. Sheyreiza pointed to the altar. He kicked and cursed but the warriors did not let loose of him. Yasharaya threw on a black silk robe and joined Sheyreiza. There, the two women, aided by the guards, secured Tanias to the black stone with adamantine chains. When they were done Sheyreiza dismissed the warriors who left the temple area immediately. The rituals of Lolth were not for males to see except as sacrifices.

“Tanias,” Sheyreiza said looking down upon him. “You are right.” She explained. “I did lie, though not about all of it. I am your mother and Hartex Claddath is your father. The rest of what I said and implied, however, was a lie. Once I was a moon-worshipping heretic, but no longer. Once I meant to save you but that time has passed. Once I would have taken you to the Promenade, but now, I will send you to the demonweb. I wanted you to know this Tanias. I wanted you to know your mother is damning your heretic soul to Lolth’s hell.”

Rage and fear boiled in Tanias. “Go to the pits, whore!”

I surely will, Sheyreiza thought, but you will go first. Sheyreiza drew her sacrificial knife and carefully carved the symbol of Lolth on to Tanias’ chest above his heart. When she was done with her bloody etching, she began to chant the prayer of sacrifice in the abyssal tongue. Nearing the finish, she raised her dagger high with both hands, poised over the immobilized body of her son. As she invoked Lolth’s aid she looked down upon Tanias. For a moment his eyes changed. They became the eyes of the new born babe she had seen so long ago. They were the eyes of an innocent child. They were the first eyes Sheyreiza had ever seen that did not look upon her with fear, hatred, contempt or jealously. They were the eyes that first gave Sheyreiza a hint of something beyond the teachings of Lolth, something she would later learn was called love. They were the eyes that haunted her dreams these many years, staring at her helplessly as if to say, “Why didn’t you save me mother. Why didn’t you love me?”

As Sheyreiza looked into those eyes she completed the prayer of sacrifice. She did not hesitate or waver; she brought her knife down into Tanias’ chest. He screamed and she brought the knife down again. Reversing her grip on the bloody knife she began the process of removing his heart. Somewhere during that process Tanias’ screams faded to raspy, ragged breaths and then they too faded, this time into nothing. Tanias Auvryndar was dead at his mother’s hand. From his still warm chest Sheyreiza pulled his bloody heart.

“Malla tlu Lolth!” She cried, holding the organ up high. Flames erupted from the pit behind the altar and she cast the heart into it and the heart was consumed. A shadow appeared above the altar. It took the shape of a giant arachnid. The shadow was cold and otherworldly. Fiendish. At its darkest point the shadow coalesced into substance and the fore part of a bebilith descended from the ceiling of the temple. The demonic form sank its fangs into the body of Tanias and drained its blood. When the body was exsanguinated, the beast brought its wickedly hooked pedipalps to bear. Savagely it tore through the corpse’s flesh feeding the pieces into its obscene arachnid mouth. In moments all that was left were the bones. The forepart of the bebilith receded into the shadow on the ceiling and then the shadow faded into nothing.

“Malla tlu Lolth.” Sheyreiza uttered. A beautiful, terrible, smile crossed her face. She knew what to do with Tanias’ remains. She cleaned out one of her satchels and put the still bones of her dead son into it. Tanias had served her well as a sacrifice and his bones would serve her well to summon the demon-spider Hartex had become. All she needed now was the blood of an elf.

“Congratulations, Yathrin Sheyreiza Auvryndar.” Ghenni’salla said with more than a hint of surprise and malice in her voice. “It seems Lolth has found you worthy. Welcome back.”

“Bela’dos malla Yathtallar.” Sheyreiza replied with a slight bow.

“Malla tlu Lolth. The Dark Mother has truly favored you.” Ghenni’salla’s voice was laced with jealousy now. Sheyreiza could not help but be pleased. Ghenni’salla recovered quickly however. “You are not a Yathtallar yet, you are but a Yathrin; a Yathrin with business to attend to on the surface. Now, get out of my temple.”

Sheyreiza bowed deeply to Ghenni’salla and walked out with a strut that exuded a predatory confidence. She walked out the main doors into Mantol Derith’s main cavern and took a deep breath.

She had done it. She had returned to the Spider Queen's favor, and now it seemed, the Spider Queen favored Sheyreiza like she had favored few others. There was a price of course; along with the favor of the Spider Queen came the attention of the Spider Queen and no one could please that fickle bitch forever. Still, whether the end came sooner or later, the journey would be worthy of song and tale for millennia to come – it would be glorious and it would be bloody. Many were going to die. Many were going to suffer. With Menzoberranzan and Ched Nasad’s help the shades might be defeated, but Lolth was going to exact a terrible price and not just of Sheyreiza; many would pay for the honor of Her aid.

Sheyreiza looked down upon the etched, spike head of her morning star. Yes, it would be a bloody ride; a very, very bloody ride. Sheyreiza was prepared, however. She felt a strong connection to her Goddess. She intoned the words to a spell she knew well. Lolth’s power coursed through her body and erupted from her fingers in the form of black flames which adhered to her morningstar’s head. Wrapped in darkfire, it was even more fearsome than before.

The new Sheyreiza, the more beautiful Sheyreiza, the more perfectly predatory Sheyreiza began to laugh and that wicked laugh sent shivers of fear through those that heard it even her jaded, depraved drow kin. The Goddess was with Sheyreiza, and any who heard her laugh that cycle felt Her power in their bones. A champion of the Spider Queen had been born.

[Vendrin]

A most wonderful story as always Mik. Glad to have played my part in it.

[Killthorne]

.......




~Killthorne~

[poe1]

mee-oww!

[Zakharra]

You wrote a wonderful story Mik. Just perfect.

*cries*

[Misty]

wow.

just.. wow.


Amazing!





And I hope my char NEVER meets Shey again!

[PensivesWetness]

Yeap, we're f*cked...

utterly amazing, Mik dear....

[Sandermann]

Very good Mik, very emotive

And I hope my char NEVER meets Shey again!

Oh I hope mine does, that will be interesting

[Mord]

Utter and complete filth from start to end.

Naturally I approve immensely.

[Mizbiz]

A wonderful and powerful narrative. Brava, Mikayla.

[Tynndahl]

"Very gripping.." - Filare, Dripping Dagger

"i laughed , i cried..." - Lord Ricpeth, Shadowville

"...could'nae put it doon from de get's go's..." - Shug Hammerfell, Dwarf

" ...a definite must read for evil types... and demon lovers.." - Halastar

"..see this as a shoe-in for the ALFA Lit award... " - anonymous

[Mikayla]

"Very gripping.." - Filare, Dripping Dagger

"i laughed , i cried..." - Lord Ricpeth, Shadowville

"...could'nae put it doon from de get's go's..." - Shug Hammerfell, Dwarf

" ...a definite must read for evil types... and demon lovers.." - Halastar

"..see this as a shoe-in for the ALFA Lit award... " - anonymous

**Laughs, then copies these down and adds them to the liner notes of her memoirs, which she now suspects will be the most popular memoirs in Candlekeep...so long as she keeps up the demon-sex.**