With Justice For None (Nalifan and Company)

[Rogue 9]

I'm more worried about Karesh, honestly. Though who would take the soul trap and yet leave all the valuables and fail to interfere with Nalifan's ability to recover and strike back by removing his money and magical equipment?

I think I know what's going on, but I don't want to post a major spoiler in case I'm right. IO, check your inbox.

[LadyTevar]

Kaeryn would also be scared to find Karesh's soul is missing. A pity no one thought to cast a 'tracer' on it, in case this happened. Just a little contingency spell that would cause a message to be sent out to Kaeryn or Nal in case someone tampered with the bottle.

[Imperial Overlord]

There are places in Westgate where eyes watch from shadows, but no questions are asked. A man can pass through without notice as long as his outwards appearance is suitable. So it attracted no notice when an anonymous member of Gaheris' Vara'Dome rented small dilapitated building in one of these places. Cloaked and hooded figures passed through from time to time, but petty crimminals were far from unknown in Westgate. If they were more than petty crimminals, well no one sane wanted trouble with the Night Masks.

Inside the slowly rotting building a lithe blonde man watched the door, leaning in a chair against the wall. A corridor lead to the expanded kitchen area behind him. The furnishings were simple and battered, but it was clean inside and all the leaks and holes had been plugged. A woodstove in the second room pumped out enough heat to beat away the night chill.

Three men played cards in the next room as they talked strategy. The card game was secondary, a honing skills useful for undercover work while they talked strategy. Jhain was contributing from his place in the next room while he watched the only obvious entrance.

"Beshada's brats," Gaheris swore as he tossed in his cards. Staying in character required a lot of practice. The others smiled. Together they constituted the lion's share of the leadership of the Vara'Dome.

"Those the breaks," Morfindel said. The dark haired elf smiled. "Any word about the smuggling?"

"No," said Crisen. He was a big man with the look of a brawler, which in his case was accurate. He could kill with anything from his teeth to his fists to a cudgel to a halberd to a repeating crossbow. "There's been a lot of work, but less stuff coming in. At least less ordinary stuff coming in."
He tossed some coppers into the pot. "Call."

They spread their cards out on the table. The two Hierophants in Crisen's hand got him the win. He gathered up the tiny pot with a quite whoop. Gaheris gathered up the cards and began to shuffle. "Any word when Astinius will be back?" Morfindel asked.

"He said soon," Geharis replied as he expertly shuffled the cards. "He was badly shaken."

"By a crowd," snorted Crisen.

"I'm not saying he doesn't have problems, but with the hell he has been through I don't blame him. At least he tries. And he does manage to do some good."

"He isn't the only one who's been chewed up and spit out," said Crisen. "The rest of us aren't fading violets."

"Cut," said Gaheris.

"He carries the weight of three people or more when he can," said Jhain. "And sometimes he needs to be carried. He's a damn good mage and we know where his loyalties lie."

Gaheris changed the subject. "So they're bringing in something special. The only question is what?"

"Can't get that close," said Crisen. It was an unfortunate truth. The Night Masks had far more soldiers and assassins than the Vera'Dome. One had to be be very careful and very paitent when doing shadow work.

"Something big," said Jhain.

"Or someone," thought Gaheris. He recalled that conversation he had with Nalifan. "Maybe they are bringing in out of town talent for a big move."

"Always the optomist," snickered Crisen. "Maybe they're bringing in some heavy magic."

"Like that's more optomistic," said Jhain. "Just imagine: Night Mask assassins equipped with the darkest Thayian magics."

Morfindel mimed a shiver. "So its probably bad," said Gaheris. "On that much we are agreed. We have to get closer."

"How?" asked Morfindel. "Without getting our people killed."

"I have the seed on an idea," said Gaheris. "Give me a little time to smooth the edges off of it and I think we have a way."

"People coming," said Jhain. "In harness unless I'm badly mistaken."

"Watch?" said Geharis as everyone went still. Noisy was not how the Night Masks did things. Jhain sifted closer to the boarded up window, which had a few convienent gaps. "Five. Full plate-"

A corrosive, clinging darkness filled the building. It was just what they could manage not to scream in agony as dark power touched their souls and their flesh. They were doubled up in pain when the lighting bolts splintered the front door and tore a hole in the wall beyond.

A figure in black plate wearing a tabbard depicting the raised gauntlet of Torm stepped in. He was armed with a battle axe in each hand. Jhain jumped up and kicked him back into the wall. The warrior rebounded, axes swinging. Jhain dived, rolled, and jumped up out of the way. One blade nicked his left tricept.

The axeman was fast, very fast. So was Jhain and the supernatural power backing his strikes allowed him to shatter stone. He moved in. An axe shattered his right shoulder in a spray of blood and bone fragments and drove him to his knees. The other broke open his skull and splattered his brains over the floor.

Gaheris threw a bucket of water at the axeman. The water had been blessed by a priest of Torm and it reaction when it struck the axeman was dramatic. He uttered a terrible wail and steam blasted out of the armour's joints. The axeman staggered back as Morfindel darted forward with a long, thin bladed dagger in his hand. The elf seized the axeman's left arm and jerked, exposing the armpit. The blade went into the gap.

Blood spurted out and the axeman quivered and then dissolved into mist. The man behind him stepped into the gap. In one hand he held o rod of gold topped silver and the other held a spiked mace. Morfindel dodged a mace blow by leaping back.

Crisen stepped forward with a two handed warhammer. "Get back, for Tyr's sake!" he bellowed. The plate armoured warrior uttered a word. There was a blue-white flash as lightning erupted from the silver rod. The bolt narrowly missed Geharis, scorching some of the skin on his left arm, but struck Crisen full force. The big man was knocked to the ground, smoke rising from his burnt flesh.

"The Triad is nothing!" the mace armed warrior hissed. "There is nowhere beyond the reach of the Black Hand of Bane!" The mace came down with and awful finality. Two more plate armoured warriors stepped in behind the Banite.

Geharis and Morfindel dived to the side, pulling a small rug aside to reveal a trap door covered by an illusion. Geharis dived down, closely followed by Morfindel. The paladin broke his fall with a rung. Morfindel hung from the inside of the trap door and locked it. The two rapidly climbed down.

"How did they find us?" Morfindel hissed.

"Maybe magic. Maybe someone got sloppy. Maybe they have someone that good. We'll find out latter." They didn't talk about the comrades they had abandoned above. They couldn't have saved them. The only thing they could have done was thrown away the opportunity that had been bought in blood. There would be time to grieve latter.

Gaheris unlocked the trap door on the other end of the tunnel and looked around. Nothing but empty and smelly sewer tunnel. They dropped down into the sewer and Gaheris resealed the magically concealed door. A twist secured the lock. "Let's move," He began to head down the sewer.

"Where to?" asked Morfindel.

"Away. Then we go topside and find out what in Hades is going on."

[Imperial Overlord]

Nalifan chose a tunic of violet silk and ebon breaches. A vest of gold inlaid brocaide went over it and then a leather over robe cut for easy movement completed the outfit. A sword belt containing a blade of ordinary steel and a hand crossbow completed the outfoot.

He walked over to his mirror and admired his image. He smiled. "On to business," he said softly. He incanted the words of his scrying spell. He focused his mind on Karesh. Nothing.

Too many reasons for that. He could have taken it to destroy Karesh's soul and succeeded. Karesh could be shielded from scrying. The soul stone could be so far removed on a distance plane that his spell couldn't reach it. There was a tracer spell on it, of course, but that could have been triggered or dispelled by now. He could have gone to his death after that.

But that was unlikely. He had reinforced his defences after being driven out of his home twice. There would have been a trace if the soul stone had been taken. The most likely happening was that it had been on him when he died and he would find it with the rest of his possessions.

He scanned now for Trizkel and the mirror went murky. He would have to be some place hard to reach for that result, but unfortunately Trizkel was difficult to scry and faerzress, for example, made scrying even harder. Another useless result. He switched to another subject.

Kaeryn seemed to be in good health. He switched again. Mikos was sitting down at a table with his brother and parents. Kuuni was nothing again, but she was almost impossible to scry anyway. Fadina.

This was interesting. He was sitting in a sundrenched courtyard of large house without her mask, reading a book. Probably somewhere in Calimshan by the architecture. She looked up directly at him and her lips moved. Words came to him.

"Nalifan."

"Hello," he replied.

"Everything alright?"

"No. Sometime in the last twenty-three days I died at least once."

She started. "Sometime in the last ten days then. I was with you until recently."

"Really? Please elaborate."

"One of my contacts found Ilythiiri remains and I sent a letter to you about it. You and Trizkel came down and we went on an expedition. We found the ruins, but there wasn't any magic there. I went about my business, Trizkel had somewhere to go, and you stayed to study the ruins out of personal curiosity."

"Where did Triz go?"

"I don't know, but you seemed to expect it. It was private."

That wasn't helpful. "And I stayed despite there being no magic?"

"Yes. You wanted to know more about the Ilythiiri." That was something he might do. Drow history was lies mixed with truth and one could hardly evaluate the faerie version as they didn't like talking about it or writing it down. Archeological and necromantic investigation were two of the more reliable tools at his disposal for finding information about that era.

"And that was?"

"Ten days ago, almost exactly."


"Thank you." Some questions were answered, but not enough. That still left the issue of where to track his footsteps, either at his last known location or where the first clone had been stored. "I'll contact you latter if I need further assistance."

"I am at your disposal arch-mage," she said with a wry grin. The mirror fogged and then his reflection was staring back at him. He shrugged. None of the new information was particularily useful. Best to go with the original plan.

He stepped outside his bedroom and found Laerasis waiting for him. She was wearing a suit of blackened mail over leather, with a rucksack swung over her shoulder. She carried a quiver full of javelins, had a buckler strapped to her arm, and had a heavy flanged mace stuck in her belt. Her hair was contained in a braid and coiled about her head.

"You look ready."

She inclined her head. "Whenever you wish to depart lord."

"I'll be a few more moments." A rucksack was packed with dried meat and hard cheese from the kitchens, as well as his travelling spell books and a small bag of gems and several platinum trade bars.

"Ready yet?" she asked.

"Almost." He grabbed her and held her close.

"My lord," she smiled, "one could easily get the wrong idea?"

"Really? And what would that be?" He intoned the triggering words of a spell and they were gone.

Teleporting long distance through faerzress required enormous skill and power. Nalifan had both. The a crack of displaced air both drow appeared at the edge of a great underground vault. Crystals in the ceiling glowed poisonous green, pale pink, or luminous yellow. A shifting, hazy curtain of light bath most of the ceiling in unnatural colours. Ahead of them was a semicircular city half obscured by a forest of giant mushrooms. The city had its back to a dark river. Beyond the river was the wall of a great cliff that reached nearly five hundred feet above the city. A roadway was guaged out of the cliff, forming a steep path straight to a building shaped like an enormous spider at the end of it. On the sides of the cliff, near the top, clusters of towers and minarets had been carved out of the rock. The highest towers extended above the cliffs themselves.

"Behold, the land of my birth. The City of Halth Nethan."

[Rogue 9]

A full bucket of holy water? Ouch. I wonder how one would calculate the damage on that. I had to do a stopgap mass holy water damage estimate a couple days ago, actually, when the clerics in the party I'm DMing blessed the entire water-filled room that a hulking corpse was waiting in.

(Yeah, I know it shouldn't have worked, but they had wandered into a dungeon way the hell too tough for them and needed the break.)

[LadyTevar]

Another great chapter!! Keep up the good work, you have me highly intrigued

[Rogue 9]

I'm reconstructing Gaheris in full, mainly for your benefit but also because I want to use him again. Giving him a couple more levels, as two years have passed since the end of Tycho's campaign, if this is 1375. (This'll put him at rogue 7/paladin 11.)

[Imperial Overlord]

I'm reconstructing Gaheris in full, mainly for your benefit but also because I want to use him again. Giving him a couple more levels, as two years have passed since the end of Tycho's campaign, if this is 1375. (This'll put him at rogue 7/paladin 11.)

Roughly what I was thinking, although I generally don't think in specific levels.

[Imperial Overlord]

The northern moors were not a safe place to linger. Too many of them were troll country or worse. The riders pushed their horses hard across the treacherous terrain, staying with the old worn routes and avoiding the mires and pools that dotted the landscape. A cold fog clung to the ground, obscuring visibility.

One of the riders pointed at the top of a low hill, barely visible through the fog. "There my lord!"

Ydrek squinted. He saw a dim shape in the fog. "Are you sure?" he shouted.

"Aye," the blonde bearded man answered.

"Then we will trust in your eyes Eyfen, as always! Ha!" he cried, urging his horse ahead faster. The lord and his retainers grew closer to the hill and more features became visible. A stout, square building of stone stood on top, surrounded by a low wall of earth and rock. A stable of turf and stone stood nearby. There were trees in the moors, but most of them were stunted and were mostly unsuited for use as timber. The warband slowed as they approached the gate.

Ydrek signaled a halt and then lead his horse slightly forward of his men. "Hail the shrine! We are peaceful travellers!"

"Then enter," called a voice and the gate opened. A man with more grey than black in his beard was revealed wearing battered plate armour. A greatsword with a blade nearly five feet long was held in his hands. "Be welcome and safe within these sacred grounds."

"Thank you," replied Ydrek. "I am Ydrek of Tolgrenhall."

The knight inclined his head. "Your deeds are known here, my lord. Your valour and your nobility have gathered well deserved fame to your name."

"Thank you sir knight. Might I have the honour of knowing your name?"

"No, my lord, I cannot give that to you. I am serving penance, for pride among other sins, and so I do not use it. You may address me as the Doorman, should you wish to speak. I assume you wish to see the seer?"

"Yes."

The knight closed the gate as the last of Tolgren's retainers entered. "I will see to your horses. Be welcome inside. I cannot speak to when you will be able to consult with the seer. His gift takes much out of him and is often unpredictable."

"Thank you sir knight," he replied and turned his horse over to the paladin's care. He and his men walked towards the stout front door. It was opened by a young man, maybe twenty. He had shoulder length blonde hair and a short, neat beard. He too wore a harness of full plate. "Be welcome inside."

Ydrek and his retainers found themselves inside a modest hall. Weapons of war and shields hung from the walls and two modest tables lined its sides. At the far end, near a fire, a white haired man sat on a wooden throne. A bandage was wrapped around his eyes and he was bundled in a fur robe.

"Who comes?" he called out in surprisingly strong voice.

Ydrek stood forward and spoke. "I am Ydrek Tolgren and I wish your council."

"Come closer," the seer called. "I am Talen, once called Ironheart, once a paladin of Tyr, but Grimjaws has found another use for me."

As Ydrek came closer he saw that his estimation of age had been incorrect. The man was ancient, his wrinkles almost buried in a neatly kept mane of hair and beard. "These young ones keep the shrine safe and attend to me, but my days of swinging a sword are over since I lost my eyes."

"Why live here seer? Surely Silverymoon would be a better choice for one in your condition?"

"Silverymoon has warriors enough to defend her. The frontier needs more and so I remain here, reminding others that these places and these people matter. But you did not come here to ask about my living conditions. You came here to use the gift Tyr gave me when I could no longer serve him as a warrior."

"Aye."

"I know what you seek Ydrek. I dreamed of it as your rode towards me. You are a great man, but you have not come here to do justice. Darkest vengeance is in your heart."

Ydrek's faced flush. "He deserves death and worse."

"Indeed he does. Your desires are impure, but your enemy's guilt is beyond a doubt. I will help you on one condition."

"Name it."

"You must show restraint to those you find around him. To them you must do as little possible harm to those you do not know to be guilty and spare those whose guilt is uncertain."

"And him?"

"A quick, clean death would be best, but I do not make that a condition."

"He'll get worse if I have my way."

"I know. You will find him in Westgate. Many paths are converging there."

"Westgate. You are sure?"

"No, I am not sure. Reading the present is hard enough and even the most accurate vision of the future is uncertain. But I am rarely wrong about such things. You will find him in Westgate."

"That's a long way away."

"Then you had better start riding."

[LadyTevar]

To them you must do as little possible harm to those you do not know to be guilty and spare those whose guilt is uncertain."

That's an awkward sentence. Maybe if you remove the "to them" at the start.

Otherwise, it's only making me wonder who the child's father is.

[Imperial Overlord]

To them you must do as little possible harm to those you do not know to be guilty and spare those whose guilt is uncertain."

That's an awkward sentence. Maybe if you remove the "to them" at the start.

It is. It is also something the seer would say, so it stays.

[Imperial Overlord]

Morfindel poked his head out from beneath the pile of debris and scanned the alley. "Clear," he whispered down. The dark haired elf pulled himself out and extended a slender arm down and pulled the red haired paladin up out of the chute. Like most elves, his slimness belied his strength. They headed to the alley mouth, just another pair of rogues hiding in the darkness.

"Ilmater's Mercy," Gaheris said softly. "The Abbey's burning."

"I see the Watch showed up," said Morfindel. "Silver will get you gold that they were convienently absent when this happened."

"How did they do it? They would have practically burst into flames if they so much as stepped through the gate. And there are always men on vigil."

"Magic, I guess. A lot more than a thieves' guild should possess. Maybe they've got a Manshoon clone."

"Don't even joke about that," Gaheris replied. "Even with an arch-mage, they are going to need foot troopers. I don't see knife men forcing a door held by a man in full harness. And how many vampires could there be? They've successfully concealed any evidence of their existence more signifigant than ambigious circumstance. They would leave more of a trace if there were more than a handful of them."

"We don't know enough," said Morfindel. "We've got to round up as many of our people as possibly and get them to safety. Then we can figure out what's really going on."

"You're right. Let's move."

"Wait," said Morfindel. "Someone's coming this way."

"Where?"

"There," he said pointing. "It's Streck."

The short, slender man emerged from the darkness to cross the street and then strolled quickly towards them. "Move," he whispered. They retreated deeper in the alley.

"Did you see what happened?" Gaheris asked.

"Only the tale end. They had at least a score of men in plate and a small swarm of crossbowmen. A mage lead them and he must have been damn strong. The Abbey went up quickly. They must have used magic or some kind of alchemy. Then they gathered in a group and vanished. The Watch showed up about that time."

"Perfect timing as always," said Gaheris bitterly. "That must have cost the Night Masks a lot, but nothing about this operation sounds cheap."

"There's more. They were wearing Triad markings?"

"Why?"

"The Night Masks don't own every man on the Watch. I was just talking with a friend. They've got orders to get every false Triad member. Guess how they are going to manage that?"

"Arrest everyone and hold them in cells until you can sort them out. Are they going to gift wrap us before they turn us over to the Night Masks?"

"No, the ribbons might get in the way of easy neck access. The gates will be watched, of course."

"How long have they been planning this?"

"Months at least. Lots of magic and slayers in plate harness who know their business. How in the name of the Nine Hells of Baator did the Night Masks lay their hands on that much professional muscle? Where did they get it? And who in Tyr's blessed name are they that they can be relied upon to do the job and keep their mouths' shut?"

"I don't know. Yet." Gaheris looked around again. "We were hit too. Drop messages in the usual places. Get our people to hunker down out of sight, not in the usual safe houses. I know how we can get out of the city."

"Alright," said the monk. "Take care of yourselves." He walked out of the alley.

Morfindel waited until he was gone. "What now? I take it your escape plan involves Astinius and teleporting?"

"Yes."

"So what do we do while he's finishing up whatever it is he's doing, blissfully unaware that we're under the hammer."

"I know a place where they won't look for us."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

[LadyTevar]

That was an ingenius and nasty little plan.

Now I'm afraid Nitram's getting ideas for his D&D game.

[Imperial Overlord]

The two drow walked along the side of the road towards the city gates. A long, plodding caravan compossed of a dozen drow, three score slaves, and a host of pack lizards was plodding away from Halth Nethan. Laerasis's eyes flashed to the forest of mushrooms nearby. Three times the height of a tall female they provided excellent cover. "So," she said, "just the one entrance to the vault? Besides the river?"

"Yes. The road leads from the bastion to the city proper. Only way through unless you can hold your breath for a long time."

"Kuo Toa?"

"None nearby. There are guardian elementals so even they are going to have problems going by river."

The lizards were close now. One turned its head and hissed at them. Nalifan gestured at the hobgoblin drover, who rapped it in the side of the head with an iron goad. The lizard resumed moving forward. "So how are things split?" she asked. "You never talk about your city's politics."

"Ahh." He pointed at the cliff-castles. "The leaders of the first settlers made their homes in the strongest defensive points, the cliff caves. They expanded and so on and so forth. The Temple of Lolth is technically seperate from the Eight and is the ruling body of the city, but when the ruling council is nine people, eight of whom are the leaders of the Eight . . ."

"I count eight cliff castles. The Eight I would presume?"

"Yes. Everything is administired through the Church of Lolth, which is really a bare framework of commoners. Almost all the power is lent by the Eight. City resources and revenues are sliced up with the church getting its share and the Eight getting theirs. This is in addition to barous private holdings and so forth. Basically, it works to keep the city relatively stable and the Matrons on top."

"Who has the largest slice?"

"House D'Azurentien."

"Since when?"

"Since I wiped out the procession of Matron Halezen, including her consorts and bodyguards during the silence of Lolth."

She smiled. "So I take it they are very familiar with you here?"

"I think we can count on me possessing a modest amount of fame."

"And inside the family?"

"Complicated. My mother seized power by promising higher status to the powerful males in my family and she kept her word. She was a ruthless, iron handed woman who had no compunction about recruiting non-drow allies or mercenaries if it helped her plans."

"What happened? I notice the use of the past tense."

"She repeatedly denied my requests to go on expeditions out of the city, so I left on my own. She sent a few family members to kill me, but that didn't work out. Then the Silence hit and she tried to summon and bind a demon to find out what was happening and it broke loose. I'm told she died quickly."

"What then?"

"My sister Nariel took the reigns of power. When I showed up again, the Silence was still on and I was an arch-mage so we managed to come to an accomodation."

"Which castle is D'Azurentien?"

"That one?" he said pointing to the second on the left.

"It seems intact. Whatever happened to the clone was probably not the result of a frontal attack."

"True." The were nearing the gate now. The wall was twenty feet high and guarded by a pair of bored looking males supervising a pair of morning star armed bugbears. All of them wore a stylized spider symbol and the mass of intertwined lightning bolts that was the symbol of House Falzsen. Laughter could be heard drifting down from the gatehouse above.

The guards barely spared them a second look as the passed. Then one of the male's eyes widened. Nalifan looked out over the busy streets and the stone buildings. The architecture of Hlath Nethan tended towards tall spires, squat cylanders, and large blockhouses. Black iron spikes and lattice work were common embelishments, with clinging faerie fire displays providing illumination in a variety of colours. "Welcome to Halth Nethan."

[LadyTevar]

For some reason, I do not like how the male needed a second, wide-eyed glance at Nal.

Perhaps his dear sister knows something about what's wrong.

[Umbras]

More likely Nalifan not in his usual attire to make his usual impression.

[Imperial Overlord]

For some reason, I do not like how the male needed a second, wide-eyed glance at Nal.

Perhaps his dear sister knows something about what's wrong.

The guard was wearing the symbol of another house so it is unlikely that he is connected to the Matron of House D'Azurentien. His double take may come from suddenly recognizing the infamous and mostly absent prince of House D'Azurentien who is walking around with no house symbol or it could be something entirely more sinister.

[Rogue 9]

http://www.sylnae.net/3eprofiler/view.php?id=14825

And I'd wondered what was up with the symbols of Torm and Tyr.

[Imperial Overlord]

The wind stirred the high grass as Imizael walked forward. The plane appeared to be as empty as far as the eye could see, a vast rolling ocean of grass. Once it had been mostly forest, but those days were long gone. Now it was the Shaar.

The air in front of her shimmered and danced. Another sun elf woman stood there, her expression stern. She wore her dark hair long in a braid and robes of cloth of gold embroidered with black runes. Mithril gleamed around her neck and on several fingers.

"Hello sister," said Imizael. "You look well, if not happy."

"Well met," replied Talindra frostily. "I have responsibilities. My time is not unlimited."

"Can we not fight? For once?"

"As you wish sister." Imizael walked over to embrace her sister. Talindra tensed and then ackwardly returned the hug. The sleeves of her robe slipped to reveal adamantine bracers. They broke away from here.

"I see you have become quite the walking arsenal," said Imizael.

"If you fought evil like I do instead of trying to give it safe haven you to would be heavily armed."

Imizael shook her head. Talindra continued. "I don't see why you do it. So a few drow claim to have turned their backs on evil. Some of them really mean it. Fine. Let them live, but watch them. To even suggest we should let them back into elven society is madness."

"So we should not even try?"

"High mage in your high ivory tower I see evil. I live with the results every day. It must be fought."

"Yes, the results. Two nations cursed to darkness and driven underground. Only one was guilty. The other had suffered under a gold elf lash. Remember dear sister? You are so interest in sites of corrupt magic? Have you been to Miyeritar recently? Oh, I forgot. After the Dark Disaster it is now known as the High Moor, a wasteland full of trolls and worse."

A muscle in Talindra's cheek twitched. "The Vyshaan were punished for their actions."

"At the end of the Crown Wars and there was no condemnation of the entire race."

"So we did not repeat the mistake we made with the Ssri'Tel'Quessir. That the curse struck the Miyeritari as well as the Ilythiiri was unfortunate."

"And driving all of them underground and condemning to life in the Underdark, regardless of personal guilt, that was unfortunate? Our ancestors discarded justice and we are still paying for it. How many poison pits still survive from the Crown Wars? How many more have the drow made? It needs to end. And if we do not hold out a hand to them, how can we blaime them for not crossing the gulf that seperates us?"

"Pretty words sister, but the only reason they have for crossing that gulf is to slit our throats and steal our heritage. Treachery is in their blood. Let them prove themselves first. No good will come of your endeavours."

"I'm sorry you think that way. So much for not fighting," Imizael said with a wan smile.

"We have chosen very different path," said Talindra in a gesture of peace. "You still have my love sister. I worry about you."

"And I you. May the Selidrene watch over you."

"And you sister."

[Rogue 9]

And she has Nalifan's bracers. Hell. To. Pay.

[Imperial Overlord]

The drow wandered Halth Nethan's dark streets. Slaves scurried out of the way and lower class drow made way for their betters. Every drow adult was armed with at least a short sword. Beggars crouched in alleys and bravos, including a few of mixed blood, prowled the street. Signs marked in Undercommon and in the Drow dialect advertised various shops and services. Cold, multicoloured flames clung to some of them, drawing the eye. Laerasis followed in Nalifan's wake.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To visit some people I know and gather intelligence before we meet my beloved family."

"Ahh." Screams of pain distracted her momentarily. She turned her head to see a human slave tied spread eagle on a platform having his limbs broken by a human overseer with an iron bar.

"Slave market," said Nalifan. "They usually kill a couple a week as a reminder to the other slaves that they are expendable."

"Pricey."

"Usually its a goblin or kobold. He must have really fucked up. They occassionally send one to the Temple."

The continued through Halth Nethan's twisting streets until they reached a gourd shaped building crowned with iron spikes. An eight foot tall shaggy humanoid with brown fur, fangs, and pointed ears stood guard. The bugbear was armoured in boiled leather and a spiked collar was fitted around his neck. A massive spiked club was in his hands. He bowed when he saw Nalifan.

"Great prince," he rasped in passable drowic, "my master will be pleased to serve you."

Nalifan inclined his head and walked through the open door. Rich, dark red carpet covered the floor of the shop. Shelves of books, curious, and exotic imports greeted his eye. A middle-aged male drow wearing a long indigo tunic shooed away an adolescent male. "Leave. The mighty prince commands my attention!"

The adolescent bowed low and left through the doorway than Nalifan had just entered. "Vezire," the arch-mage said warmly.

"Mighty prince," the other replied with a bow. "When you left the city so abruptly I believed you had become as stupid as a Menzoberranzaner and yet you returned with power, proving me wrong. It was foolish of me to misjudge you so."

"Yes it was." One of the kittens loafing in a wicker basket on the far end of the counter opened its jaws and unleashed a tremednous yawn. Nalifan reached over and stroked its head. The grey tabby rubbed its cheek against his fingers and began purring. The drow smiled.

"These are all related, one way or another to the first one you bought from me."

"They were good presents. Your advice was wise."

"Humans are not drow, mighty prince. They are not that different, but a cat is a fitting companion animal for both. The difference is drow enjoy them, but with humans they fill a void in their spirit. Strange. Physically they are hardy creatures, but they often just with and die. But enough or that. How can I be of service?"

"All in good time. This is Laerasis, she is the Mistress of my household."

Vezire bowed, although not as low as he had to Nalifan. "Mistress you have chosen wisely to side with such a puissant patron. It does me great honour to deal with such a formidable personage."

"You are very smooth," she said. "No wonder your shop does good business."

"Thank you, mistress. I have the honour of enjoying the mighty prince's patronage."

"What that means is that Vezire has all sorts of interesting things and not just the ones on display. More importantly, he knows almost everything worth knowing about the goings on of the city."

"I beg to correct the mighty prince. I know much, but not everything worth knowing."

"So this is why we have stopped here."

"Yes. In the past I shopped for gifts for my concubines here. Not only does Vezire have the most wonderful selection, it provides excellent cover. I think the Mistress of the household is rather severely garbed. She needs a more overt sign of my favor."

"I couldn't agree more, mighty prince. Perhaps a brooch of gold and platinum? See how the strands of different metals wrap around each other. Expensive and elegant."

"That will do," said Laerasis.

"How fares the city and House D'Azurentien?" Nalifan asked.

"The city remains strong. D'Azurentien has become the leading house. Your assassination gutted House M'lestar, killing the leading priestesses of a house that had always depended on clerical might. They have switched rolls with the Destanna and become their clients instead of the Destanna's masters."

"And the ruling council?"

"Even without your presence, D'Azurentien is the strongest house. Your sister has proposed an alliance of convienance with Kelisset and Nemerith. They are the dominant power block now and have taken a larger share of the tax revenues. They have also seized land, wealth, and trade routes from M'lestar and Tyresta."

"There have been no attacks, no internal struggles?"

"None that I have seen, mighty prince."

Nalifan pushed several platinum trade bars across the table. They were as thick as his thumb and as long as his middle finger. "This should cover everything."

"It does. Good hunting, mighty prince."

Nalifan's gaze narrowed. He slipped a garnet across. "Keep the last bit to yourself."

Vezire pushed it back. "You don't need to bribe me to keep my mouth shut. I look forward to your continued patronage."

"Thank you Vezire. I will remember that."

[LadyTevar]

ooooooo... Such a lovely interplay between both the sisters and between Nal and the shopkeeper. Bravo, my friend.

[Imperial Overlord]

Morfindel wrapped his scarf tighter around his mouth and nose. "Of all the possible safe havens, I was not expecting your leading choice to be a brothel."

Gaheris' expression was unreadable under his own scarf. "Not just any brothel, but one where the owner doesn't just pay protection to the Night Masks she's also in business with them."

"I forget. How is this plan sane?"

"She's also a worshipper of Ilmater."

"That's thin."

"She's been worshipping anonymously for years. She's given a lot of real donations. I don't know how she reconciles that with running a brothel, but she does somehow. As for the Night Masks, like it or not, for her they are the only game in town."

"You're gambling."

"I've looked closely at her. She's done what is necessary to maintain a close relationship with the Night Masks because she's out of business any time they say so."

"So she's going to stick her neck out for us?"

"She already has. Worshipping Ilmater isn't going to make her popular with the Night Masks if they find out."

The Blushing Rose was a large stone building in good condition. A sign depicting a bright red rose hung in front. A big masked man in leather and mail stood by the door, an iron shod staff in his hand. Gaheris flashed a gold coin into his hand. "We have business with Mistress Messina."

The doorman nodded and opened the door. A slim and elegantly garbed woman stood in the entry way. "Gentles, may I take your cloaks?"

"No," Gaheris replied. "We will speak to Messina. Now."

The woman's eyes narrowed, but her smile remained intact. "Of course gentles. I will be a moment." She turned and whispered something to a girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen, nearby. She headed up a set of stairs.

They did not have long to wait. A dark haired woman in a white gown descended the staircase with guard dressed in dark leathers trailing her. Her hair was short and dark and her skin was pale Time had left its mark in lines around her eyes and the beginnings of ones around her mouth, but she was still a handsome woman. "Gentles, you wished to speak with me?"

"Yes," rasped Gaheris. "Private business."

She considered them for a moment and then nodded. "Folow me." The slim woman retreated up the stairs. Morfindel and Gaheris followed, with two guards in tow. She lead them into a plainly decorated, but comfortable office and sat down behind her desk. A brass bell was close at hand. The guards took up stations just outside the door. A white furred cat, sleeping in a basket, took no notice of the commotion "Sit down," she said.

They did. "Now take off the scarves." The complined. "Who are you?"

Gaheris removed his holy symbol of Tyr from beneath his tunic. Messina stood, walked over to the door and shut it. She returned to her desk. The bell remained close at hand. "What do you want from me?"

"Sanctuary, in the name of the Triad."

"What makes you think I can give it to you?"

"Because people come in here and they don't leave for a long time."

"You've been watching me."

"Yes. I doubt the Night Masks would be merely intrigued. They burned down the Abbey of the Blinded Truth tonight."

She went even paler. "They did what?"

"You heard me."

"That place was a fortress. How did a bunch of assassins-"

"It wasn't just assassins. Now are you going to help us?"

"I wondered if this day would ever come. Yes, I will shelter you. One act of mercy to pay for another."

[Imperial Overlord]

Sylvetria stood in the saddle and surveyed the land. Vaasa was a cold and stark land, but still beautiful. Behind her were the mountains and the lands of her family. In front of her was a rolling sea of grass, marked with the occassional solitary tree. "Well met cousin."

She turned to see Saska coming up behind her. Her cousin was big and blonde, with a neatly trimmed beard. Like her he wore leather and mail and had both a lance and a bow on his saddle. "Well met."

"The steppe is unforgiving," he said, "but she doesn't lie."

"The steppe is a she now?"

"Yes. A hard, dangerous woman who can provide for you if you work at it hard enough and carry you anywhere."

"I think the analogy needs work cousin," Sylvetria said with a smile.

"Maybe so. You've been spending a lot of time riding the bounds."

"It needs to be done."

"Is that the only reason why you are doing it?"

"No. There are things I need to think about."

"Your elf lover."

"Yes," she replied, "my elf lover."

"It can't last," he replied. "Our lives are too short for this to work. You can't be more than a daliance for him. And what kind of children could you have? Their father will bury them and they will not yet be grown when you are aged and weak. There is no future for you. None. You had your affair. Now end it and find yourself a real husband."

"You seem very certain you know what is best for me cousin."

"You know the truth, you just don't want to admit it. Your place is here. Find a suitable husband, marry, have children, and hold the land for another generation. Or do you wish to lose more heirlooms?"

That stung. Armour, shield, and sword, all of them enchanted, had been lost when she had been take prisoner by Karesh of the Ten Thousand Blades. She snarled. "I will not be bullied cousin, or brow beaten into obediance. Whatever I choose it will be my choice! Mine!"

She touched the flanks of her horse, urging him into a gallop and leaving her cousin behind. She didn't know what kind of future she could have with Trizkel, but whatever it was the choice would remain hers. Whatever that would be.

[Imperial Overlord]

Razhal stomped into the building. The big man could move lightly when he chose to, but this was not one of those times. The two guards in plate harness rapped their gauntleted knuckes against their breastplates in salutes. He ignored them.

The storehouse had formerly belonged to a fallen merchant prince before they had taken it over. It would take a determined force to breach their defences, which none of their enemies could muster. Still, there was a question of their allies. He removed his helmet, revealing brutish, squashed features and ragged dark hair. Lightning bolt scars marked his cheeks. He snarled, revealing slighly pointed teeth. No one met his gaze.

He stopped half way across the room which had once been used for storage and bowed to the altar and the far end. Nothing in the universe deserved respect other than power. Orc raiders had taught his mother that lesson when they had raped her and slaughtered her family. He had learned that growing up an outcast whose life had no value. His enemies learned that when he broke their bodies and worked his will upon their flesh.

His master was shrouded in a black robe and was kneeling at the foot of the throne-shaped altar. He spoke. "Rise Ironhand."

Razhal did so. "Master, I crave punishment for my failure."

His master rose. He was a tall man, much of the shape of his body obscured by his black robes but Razhal knew that his was stoutly built and most of it was muscle. His master was clean shaven and bore a brilliant cyan lightning bolt tattoo on each cheek. On his forehead he bore the mark of a burst of jade fire. A smooth oval of polished jet marked the center. "How have you failed Imperceptor?"

"The weakling Gaheris and one of his lackies escaped."

"That is of no consequence. Let them leave. Even better, let them rally his pathetic Vera'Dome and come. They will only fail and end their lives at the foot of the Black Throne."

The man stepped forward. He lashed out with a fist encased in a spiked gauntlet. Heavy bones brokes and tooth fragments and blood gushed forth. Razhal swayed on his feet. "If you cannot heal yourself, I will heal you in the morning."

Razhel flexed his jaw, trying to supress the agonzing pain. He forced his mangled jaw to utter the words of a healing spell. Flesh and bone reknit and new teeth rose into place. "Your will, High Imperceptor."

"What is the state of our Night Mask 'allies'?"

"One was forced into mist form by one of Gaheris's lackies. We lost no others. They know many secret routes and safe houses. Everyone fears them."

"Good. We will teach the people of the city of fear something besides thieves that crawl in the dark. We shall bring the Black Fear of Bane to Westgate. Let the Night King build his empire. We will be ever present. None shall escape us. The Kingdom of the Night shall belong to Bane and it will be my gift to the Black Lord in celebration of his glorious rebirth. And then that treacherous lickspittle Fzoul will learn who is truely favored in Bane's sight."