The Whirlwind

[Imperial Overlord]

The elves have known their share of tragedy and sorrow. Over centuries of life they have learned to live with loss. Their funeral processions are achingly painful, their laments will touch even the hardest heart. And yet, despite this, they live their every day lives with joy. In battle they display a fierce, vivacious energy and a spirit that can only be described as heroic. To be an elf is not to deny tragedy, but to defeat it.

Nesayash, On Elves


Every drow is a sneaky son or daughter of a she-spider. The ones that aren't never make it to age five. Don't let any of them tell you different, especially the priestesses of Eilistraee. They try so hard they even manage to fool themselves.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow


Arinyaniquis pulled back his hood as he entered the roadside inn. He wore the semblance of a veteran armsman, a short bearded human whose hair was more grey than black. He was of average height and lean, with a pucked scar under his left eye. A sword, a weapon a discharged armsman would legitimately own and wear while travelling, hung on his belt.

He shook off the rain and walked forward, feeling the weight of staring eyes. In other circumstances his art would have shielded him from the weather, but in human lands he had to be discrete. He walked up to the bar, which was attended by a tall and lean human with a shock of dark hair.

Arinyaniquis pushed a triangular silver coin, loot taken from the bodies of slavers, across the counter. "A beer. And whatever you're serving that's hot and fresh."

"We have fresh river eels," the innkeeper replied as he filled a mug and passed it over. The beer was adequate.

"Done." Arinyaniquis pushed another coin across. "Heard anything about the road south?"

"Yeah, had a few travellers come up. Pretty good. Hung some bandits last month." He shrugged. "Good as it gets."

"True," Arinyaniquis responded.

"Lot of people heading south," the innkeeper continued. "After the Thunder."

"That what they're calling it?" Arinyaniquis asked.

"Mostly. Lot of people deciding to move. Got the landholders nervous. Of course, you're not carrying much for someone on the move. Visiting kin?"

"Yeah. Sister's family in Neridian."

"Heard some bad things coming out of Neridian."

"Really?"

"They're saying that-" the innkeeper stopped dead as the door opened.
Arinyaniquis turned. Three men and a woman walked in. Two of the men wore mail, the third wore steel breastplate, greaves, and vambraces. The woman wore a black leather cuirass over dark blue travelling clothes. Power crackled around her and the man in plate.

The man in plate walked to the bar, shoving Arinyaniquis out of the way. "Whatever passes for your best beer and wine for the lady. Now."

"Yes lord," the innkeeper croaked.

Arinyaniquis moved away. The mindknight was in a foul mood and probably looking for a fight or an excuse to beat a commoner. The mindknight turned and glared at him. He wasn't a big man, clean shaven, with light brown hair. Lean athletic build. "You any good with that sword?" the mindknight asked.

Well, if he wants to fight someone why not me? He'll actually get what he deserves. "Yes," the elf replied. "Better than you." Everyone suddenly found an urgent reason to move as far away as possible.

The mindknight drew himself to his full height. His retainer's tensed. The psilord looked seemed rather bored with the whole affair. "Just kill him Rayon and get it over with."

The mindknight drew his blade. Azure light flickered along the edges and along the runes running its length. A weapon from the time of the mage lords. Arinyaniquis drew his own blade, disguised by illusion to appear unexceptional.

The mindknight was fast. The elf barely had time to parry and fall back. A few more exchanges and Arinyaniquis got his measure. He was used to hacking down his opponents with a combination of brute strength, speed, and magical prowess. He was not used to fighting anyone who could equal or exceed him in any of these catagories.

He let the mindknight unleash another heavy, descending strike and then severed his sword arm at the wrist. The tip of his blade found the Rayon's neck and was thrust through the gorget. Blood would have gushed from the neck wound if it hadn't frozen in his veins.

The others were just beginning to react. Arinyaniquis kicked an armsman out of the way and then sliced through the armour of psi-force guarding the psilord, slicing through her shoulder and going deep into her lung. She fell.

The armsmen were easy. Thrust through the heart of the one still standing and the one on the ground dropped his weapon. "Mercy!" he cried.

Arinyaniquis turned to the innkeeper. "Going to have to pass on those eels." He turned to leave. "You do whatever you want with this one," and stepped into the night. He had a lot of distance to cross before dawn.

-------------------------------------------------------------


Vargo tapped his fingers on the map in front of him. He had retired to his personal quarters and changed into a blue silk lounging robe. Everyone was assuming that they would be able to mass forces in the south and stomp the elves into paste when they obligingly showed their head.

"You're not that stupid. You will notice a huge numbers of wyverns nesting at the city and a host of psionic shields. If you keep coming, it will be because you are confident that you can evade notice or that you can win a battle. Or you will go somewhere else. And that leaves anywhere. So where do you want to go? If you want to plunder the ruins of the mage lords it will be to Neridian and the elder cities. If you care about your brother elves that will be west. Here. What once was their last stronghold before we broke them to the lash. Or the north if you believe in old wives tales. So here. I had best make sure I am ready."

He rose up out of the chair and headed for the four poster bed that dominated the other side of the room. An elf woman with dark hair that reached half way down he back was sitting on it wrapped in a fur robe. She shivered as he approached. Vargo smiled, showing too white teeth.

"Its time Yanara," he said. He wondered briefly about how Yendranfel felt about having his grand daughter serve Vargo in such a manner. Not to happy about it, Vargo decided. She slipped off he robe and Vargo pushed her face down into the bed, his hands closing around her neck. His excitement mounted. Most of the time his partners managed to get enough air to survive. Most of the time.

[LadyTevar]

Every drow is a sneaky son or daughter of a she-spider.

Oh, that's just priceless I'll have to remmber that quote.

[Imperial Overlord]

I cannot imagine an elf living long in captivity. I imagine they would simply loose the will to die. Unfortunately, inform gleaned from the drow indicates I am only partially correct. Some elves do, unfortunely, live lives of bondage deep beneath the earth and there are a handful of elven slaves in Thay. Their misery and suffering is undoubtedly beyond human comprehension. May Ilmater have mercy on their souls.

-Nesayesh, On Elves


Drow are connoisseurs of suffering. There dialect is rich with words to describe the different gradations and varieties of physical and emotional pain. It is disconcerting to say the least to find out most drow consider torture to be a fitting topic of light conversation and that the victims of their cruelty can be mentioned in the same breath as their sexual assignations.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow


Trizkel let a low whistle.

"What is it?" Nalifan asked. The adventurers were on the road to a city visible a half dozen miles away. "Not all of us put out an eye to bond with a piece of magical head jewelry."

"There are wyverns swarming over several towers near the center of the city. A lot of wyverns."

"What do those towers look like?" Nalifan asked.

"Like they have aeries on the top, if that's what you're asking."

"Yes, that was the point I was getting around to."

"I think we're expected," said Mikos.

"This is there idea of a trap?" said Sylvetria in disgust.

"No," said Nalifan. "They're massing strength for a battle. They know we're coming this way and they're expecting a fight. They're used to just whipping out the clairovoyance and aura reading if they want to find their targets. They aren't used to have to think, to anticipate. They're used to knowing. A millenia of unopposed rule has made them stupid. "

"You have a plan?" Mikos asked.

"Who do think you're talking to?" Nalifan asked. Sylvetria snickered. Trizkel laughed. "Of course I have a plan." The arch-necromancer paused for dramatic effect. "We attack." Jaws dropped. "Got ya," the drow said with as smirk. "Serious, we bypass them completely. Plenty cities in their empire. No reason we have to start over there. Let them flail around and try to figure out what the big bad alien elves are up to while we dig up the secrets of the mage lords and maybe knock over a vault of three."

-------------------------------------------------------

Yendranfel walked into the room. Yanara had her back to him. She was wearing a loose robe of blue silk and rubbing the bruises around her neck. "Grandfather," she said.

"I am sorry," he said.

"Why do we bother with these feeble gestures?" she asked. "We are the pawns of men and women have no mercy for their own race. We are nothing but fodder for their sick games. What is my suffering? I'm merely raped by the least depraved overmaster to hold our lives in the palm of his hand. We both know what you have endured. What others have been through. How others have died. What is likely happening to Laerasis and Lasirian at this moment."

"I could put a blade into this throat," said Yendranfel.

"Will that kill him?"

"Perhaps not beyond his ability to survive," said Yendranfel. "He has been studying on how to cheat death. It appears Typhu wieghs on his thoughts."

"Even if that kills him, the overmasters will pick his bones clean and then they will find his workings. Psilords are not forbidden magic, but they all fear it and hate it. Far too much of his collection is in elvish. They will recognize that much and they will certainly read your aura impressions in his workshops and libraries. They will destroy us all, in whatever ways they find amusing. We must hope that our oppressor lives."

"All these things are true."

"And so we must endure the least depraved overmaster since your grandfather's time and that vile monastic torturer, gleaning additional straps of magic and passing on what we know, planning for the always future date of our escape."

"Yes."

"And watching the light in each new generation's eyes die. Raising children knowing many of them will be raped and tortured for sport. Is it no wonder we have so few? That we are dying? That we are going through the motions of attempting the impossible? We are going through motions of life while knives cut our flesh. We should just let go. Fall into the void and let our race end."

"Perhaps. And perhaps these intruders bring change. Two of them are elves."

"Really?" life flickered in her voice.

"Truly. One is an mage, another a mindnkight. The psilords hide their fear behind bravado, but what if they are the first of many? What the dawn of our long night approaches. Perhaps we should hold on, just a little longer."

[Imperial Overlord]

As with everything else they do, elven festivals are art and joy and light. They are exquisitely planned, yet open and free flowing. Mere words are inadequate to describe them. One should attend them if fortune allows.

-Nesayesh, On Elves

There are two kind of drow parties. The first includes entertainment, intoxicants, sex, and celebrating well past the party goers physical limits. The second involves killing some of the other party goers. The trick is to be able to tell the difference between the two.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow


Nalifan watched the commoners scuttle out of his way with a sense of nostalgia. The social structure of the Achenoi was both obvious and familiar. The psilords and the mindknights formed a ruling aristocracy with vast authority of the rest of the people. The rich and fortunate protected themselves by seeking the patronage of a psionicist who could shield them from the deprevations of others just as lesser drow became clients of noble houses.

Teledran was an old city, steeped in cruelty and decadence. Ancient, crumbling stone buildings withe elaborate facades stood next to the bright painted houses of the merchant princes. Tall towers were converted to wyvern aeries and were now empty, having sent their contents south where they thought the drow would be. Former manses were now decaying tennements, host to hordes of the poor a step above the street. History, half destroyed, was there for those who chose to read it.

The adventurers wandered the streets and found marvels. The palace of the overmaster, the facade stripped and the stone repaired, capped by a crystal dome seething with stored energies. A towering fountain of white marble with statues to worn by time and the elements to be recognized. A square, in front of the overmaster's palace, with two pillars ten feet wide by thirty feet tall in the center. The pillars were bathed in amber light and composed of skulls with deformed, almost nonexistant jaws and malformed bulging craniums.

"What matter of creatures are those?" Sylvetria asked.

"Mind flayers," Nalifan replied. "Illithids. Psi masters, eaters of brains, slavers, resistant to sorcery, and former rulers of an empire that stretched through the cosmos. A monument of triumph, preserved against the ravages of time. And in a city that is not their capital. I wonder what beautifully macabre spectacles can be found within Neridian's walls?"

"I have heard tales of the illithids," said Sylvetria. "Nightmare stories. How could they have succeeded in revolt if there were so many of them?"

"The Uprising," said Trizkel. "At the height of their power, the illithid's chief race of slave warriors rebelled en masse, at a point when the mind flayers had stretched themselves to the thinnest. They had learned the psionic arts and shielded their thoughts and their masters had become greedly and reckless. The Illithid Empire imploded."

"Indeed," said Nalifan. "It would have certainly made reinforcing this place, especially with the energy needed to do so because of the Great Ward, a low priority. I wonder how many gith soldiers there were here, culling the populace in their master's name, waiting for the moment to turn on the illithids and put them to the sword?"

"Enough," said Mikos. "Enough for the psilords to finish the job. But they didn't build the Wards."

"Yes" said Nalifan. "Mages built the Greater Ward, probably to try and block the illithids from this word. That failed. They through everything they had at them in defence, even binding demons. That failed. At some point the demons turned on them and they bottled them up in the Lesser Ward. And then the illithids finished them off. Psionic warlords rose from the ashes, because they had power and could hide what they were, and roost among the ruins. Or so my leading guess runs at the moment."

"All this talk is making me thirsty," said Sylvetria. "Lets find us a tavern and find out what passes for good beer in this place."

It didn't take too long for the adventurers to find a place. It was two stories tall, a plastered over rectangular building with gaudy yellow paint and tasteless purple trim. A sign depicting a wine bottle hung from the front, along with letters that Nalifan translated as "Golden Palace." There was a hitching post for horses. The adventurers entered, and found themselves among a clientel that seemed to consist mostly of the merchant classes and the psi aristocracy. They found a table and Nalifan paid for a round of beer and wine with plundered currency.

The server, a slim young man with short cropped brown hair, hurried away. Sylvetria watched him go. "Not bad, if you like them skinny. Those blowsy white shirts don't look right on men."

"Trouble," Trizkel whispered. "Off to my left, almost behind me. They suddendly have gotten really interested."

Nalifan was sitting across from Trizkel and was able to look without being obvious. Four men, three of them carrying them obviously armed and dressed in what they had learned was the prevailing style of the psi aristocracy. Tall boots, breeches, and loose fitting tunics with billowing sleeves, topped by a leather vest often fashioned to resemble a cuirass.

These ones wores silks and velvets, with silver rivets in their leathers and gold rings on their fingers. Their hair fell almost to their shoulders and they wore light, slightly curved duelling blades. All except the fourth, who carried no weapon larger than a knife.

The server arrived with a decanter, a flagon, and several goblets and mugs, all of fine glass. One of the young aristocrats got up and headed to the table. He was blonde and pale with bright red lips, courtesy of cosmetics. "Excuse me," said the man, "me and my friends couldn't help overhearing you and we have a question." The others giggled.

Nalifan recognized them, of course. Some things remained the same, across the lines of worlds and species. They were rakes, pleasure hunting priviledged young men who weren't nearly as clever or as tough as they thought they were but almost as dangerous. Nalifan had never been one, despite his personal inclinations in that direction, his adolescence having been too restricted. He did, however, know the type very well. "Yes?" drawled Nalifan.

"Me and my friends, were wondering," said the blonde, "what langauge you were speaking?"

"I didn't know you were scholars," Nalifan said. Trizkel's hands danced. Trouble? he signed.

Yes, Nalifan replied while pretending to fiddle with his wine glass.

The blonde smiled. "Why yest we are. Appearances can decieve and all that." The red head behind him snickered. The dark eyed man with no weapon was giving Nalifan a look that was really hazardous to his health.
"And the langauge?"

"An old and dusty one," Nalifan said. "We're just practicing."

"Of course you are. Lots of psilords drink in taverns with their armsmen."

I hate rigid caste societies, thought Nalifan. It makes inconspiciously moving around freely as a mixed group so much harder.

"One of my eccentricities. Like not having you beaten with an iron bar for slighting my honour. That one I'm more inclinded to wave," said Nalifan with a smile.

"Sure," said the blonde. The red head and the brunette had gotten up, but not drawn their weapons. Weaponless was still sitting. "I might be inclined to believe you if you could recite your parentage and training."

"Certainly," said Nalifan. He made a slight gesture with his little finger. One moment the mindknight was smiling cockily and the next blood was spraying from the blonde's throat and Mikos had a bloody dagger in his fist. The illusion around Nalifan dissolved. For a moment everything was still and then the tavern room exploded into motion.

Trizkel grabbed the brunette by the sword arm and rammed him head first into the wooden table with enough force to fracture his skull. The red head drew his blade, but Mikos caught it with his dagger and rammed his short sword into his left thigh, stomach, and heart. Servers and customers began to run toward the exits.

A sword of silver energy materialized in front of the weaponless man and struck at Nalifan. The drow as too quick and all it struck was his formerly occupied chair, blasting it to flinder. Nalifan intoned a spell and rays of ruby flame struck the soulknife in his face and chest. The charred corpse toppled over backwards.

"Well that settles the issue of the bill," Nalifan said.

"True," said Trizkel as he tossed the mindknight away to slam into a wall.

"What about the rest of the city?" said Sylvetria.

"I was thinking of sending the overmaster and whoever gets in between him and us to an early grave," said Nalifan. "Say before sunset?"

"Motion seconded," said Mikos with a smile.

"I think its unanimus," said Trizkel as his illusion faded and he drew his swords. "Let us show them that we are not to be triffled with."

[LadyTevar]

... They can't even have a DRINK without starting a fight?!

*shakes head* Nal... Nal... what *am* I going to do with you?

[Imperial Overlord]

In war, elves aim to strike swiftly and suddenly, with overwhelming force employing both bows and magic and fading away before the enemy can retaliate. Should they be drawn into close quarters battle and charge in to swiftly dispatch any enemy, their speed and skill with swords and spears serve them well. As always, the elves are conscious of the damage they can do to the world around them and at times will restrain themselves to avoid it.

-Nesayash, On Elves


In all my years of wandering, I've never seen a people so willing or so skilled at destroying a city as the drow. As always, for most of them, the suffering and death of others is feast to be savoured and a dying city is an opportunity for them to gorge themselves.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow

Nalifan rose into the air above the streets of Teledran, the energies of defensive spells crackling around him. Ordinary citizens were fleeing in panic away from the Golden Palace and the beings that were emerging from it. Trizkel took to the air as well, hovering a dozen feet below the arch-necromancer. Sylvetria and Mikos were now the only human beings on the street.

Nalifan flew towards the overmaster's palace. A dozen guards were assembling in the square ahead of them, lead by a pair of Mindknights who were easily distinguishable by the energies they were channelling to augment their defences and enhance their bodies. Nalifan uttered an initiator and a streak of blue-white flame shot from his hand and into the center of the guards. The spell detonated in a tremendous blast of blue-white flame, in which the images of dancing skulls could be seen. Charred bodies lined the cobblestones when the flames cleared, clad in steel hot enough to burn flesh and partially obscured by the waves of heat that distorted the air.

One of the mindknights was down, having being struck directly and slain. The other had been at the periphery of the blast and partially shielded by the bodies of his fellows. He staggered, but kept his feet. Nalifan uttered another spell and a spray of black streaks erupted from his hand and struck the Mindknight. The impacts buckled armour or sliced flesh. Blood oozed down his armour, but the Mindknight stood. An arrow sprouted from his throat and he fell. One hundred yards away Mikos lowered his bow and joined Sylvetria in a loping run. They had better things to do that waste time with the small fry.

The overmaster's palace was surrounded by a fifteen foot wall and the entrance was barred by a wrought iron gate. It wasn't seriously intended to resist siege or attack. Trizkel descended to meet the guards on the other side. The overmaster's forces were undoubtedly aware they were under attack, a benefit of having so many people with developed telepathic abilities as officers, but they were still in the process of attempting to assemble their forces and could easily be destroyed piecemeal. There were ten armed men waiting for him as he touched down in the courtyard with Ruinbringer in one hand and Mindeater in the other. He engaged in a burst of superhuman speed, a deadly weapon in each hand and his flesh shielded by the full might of his psionic arts. Blood sprayed and limbs and bodies fell.

Mikos cleared the the wall by walking up it, the soles of his boots sticking to the wall as if he was walking on a well laid floor. He stopped at the top and looked around. More guards were coming towards them from behind. Either fear of the overmaster or devotion to duty compelled them to try to attack. His bowstring sang, his hands a blur as they moved. One fell with a through and through wound in the thigh, another with a pierced lung, a third with a shaft through his eye, a fourth with one in his heart, and so on until there was another dozen men sprawled on the cobbles wounded or dead. Movement caught his eye. "Nal," he said. "Wyverns."

Sylvetria managed her crossing into the courtyard by smashing the gate's lock with her enchanted hammer. Sparks flew and metal growned and broke. She kicked the gate open, her eyes of Trizkel. His eye was on the front gate, but the Eyes of Arachnae allowed him to see all.

Two wyverns descended from the gutted aerie towers that had been placed in several spots in the city. On their backs were mindknights clad in crystalline plate and armed with with lance like weapons of solid silver. Nalifan watched the approach. "Kill one," he ordered, "but leave the other to me."

Mikos shrugged. "Sure." Arrows leapt from his bow, two striking the wyvern in the chest, a third passing through a wing and the fourth lodging in the base of the throat. The draconic creatures possessed tough scales and the range was long enough that the power of most arrows would be considerably lessened by the time they impacted, but Mikos's shafts sunk deep into the beast's flesh. The wyvern gasped, blood spurting from its wounds, twisted in mid flight, and then fell, slamming itself into a crumbling stone building with enough force to collapse the roof. Dust rose from the wreckage.

Nalifan rose as the other one flew closer. It diverted course, aiming directly at the drow. Nalifan smiled. "Let's see what that lance can do," he said softly.

The mindknight pointed the lance at Nalifan and a blast of silver lightning flashed through the air and struck the drow, jolting Nalifan but otherwise doing no harm. Nalifan uttered a spell that hammered both rider and beast with a massive sonic pulse, shattering bone, bursting organs, and turning flesh to pulp. They both fell as the drow uttered another spell and the lance was pulled out of the dead man's grip and towards the arch-necromancer moments before they splattered all over a city street. The lance came to rest in the drow's hand.

It was six feet long and solid silver from blade tip to butt, consisting of a smooth shaft that tapered towards one end that was capped by a foot long blade. It was of a construction unknown to the drow and had almost managed to overcome his own formidable resistance to magic. He stroked the weapon for a moment and then turned back to the fight. Trizkel had turned Ruinbringer against the doors of the Overmaster's palace, with the predictable results of chopping them to pieces. Sylvetria was a few feet behind her husband to be and Mikos was hanging back, ready to pincushion any foe foolish enough to reveal himself.

Well, there was more than one way to make an entrance. Nalifan uttered the initiator of more powerful version of the blasting spell he had used on the wyvern rider. The air was filled with the discordant screech as the crystal dome on the top of the overmaster's palace exploded. "Now the blood can start flowing in earnest," he said smiling as he headed for the gaping hole in the roof.

[Imperial Overlord]

In the beginning there was the Abyss. The first things in our universe were spawned in primal chaos and they abandoned the Abyss to make new homes and new domains shaped in the image of their desires. The only thing that was left to the Abyss was chaos and evil, which remains its nature to this very day. The demons it spawned are devoid of any morality at all, which left that terrible place, and draw their strength from the primal energies of creation. No wonder that they are so terrible and the whole multiverse creaks under the strain of the Blood War.

-Asker Akesh, Going into Night Darkly


Some say that creation and destruction are inseparably linked. I once mentioned it to Nalifan and he agreed. He explained that he created new magics to better destroy his enemies and work his will upon the world. I would say that the answer was dismaying, but I was already pretty sure that this would be his answer. In many ways Nalifan is a difficult man to predict, in others he is utterly predictable. This will be of small comfort to his enemies, but since most of them deserve what he will do to them I sleep easily enough. It is the poor people who might be caught in the crossfire that I will weep for.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow


Overmaster Synya was watching four of her pretties dance when she got the telepathic message that her city was under attack. The dancers were matched pair of one man and one woman. They were slender, naked, and covered in sweat and blood. Their bodies were marked with the scars of earlier contests.

They danced around each other, bound to her will. In their hands they gripped glass shards which cut them as they cut at their opponents. Synya drank in the anguish as she compelled them to fight on, feeling the waves of fear, pain, and despair roll over her. Then it happened.

They are here! They're heading straight towards the palace! It took her a moment to identify the voice. Zestin, one of her garrison commanders. With a snarl she blasted her pretties into unconsciousness and stormed out of room, leaving them to lie bleeding on the tile. Streams of blood from the unconcious bodies began to circle the drain in the middle of the floor.

As the overmaster exited her abattoir, her deputy Highmaster Helistar was drawing men to him. Like Synya, he was a tall blonde, but beyond that and their psionic prowess, the resemblances ended. Helistar was a Mindknight, one of the strongest, and he was not content with his position. One other overmaster was mindknight and he intended to be the next.

A score of men assembled around, half of them mindknights and psilords. He had no intention of committing his forces piece meal against the killers who were slaughtering there way through everything in their path. He was going to gather enough force to crush them dead.

He gestured with his crystalline axe towards two lieutenants, Haska and Krale, a psilord and a mindknight respectively. They approached. Haska was wearing court apparel, but Krale wore crystalline plate. Such armour wasn't good enough for Helistar who wore antique, spellwrought plate armour from the time of the mage lords. "Hold the antechamber of the great hall," Helistar commanded. "I will direct reinforcement to you and strike the enemy from the flank when they engage. We'll-"

A discordant howl tore his ears followed by the sound of shattering crystal. He looked up in horror to see the dome collapse, massive pieces of hardened crystal falling towards the floor while razor sharp fragments flew through the air. Two of his men were crushed to a pulp and another nearly decapitated. More were wounded. Chunks of crystal shattered off his armour.

Nalifan hovered where the dome once stood. Helistar opened his mouth to give orders and killing sorcery struck him and his men. Bodies shrivelled and collapsed as red mist rose out of them, the terrible product of Nalifan's withering spell. Pain wracked the highmaster as some of his own blood seeped out of his body as fine red mist and his muscles contracted in agony. His spell laden armour shielded him from the worst of the spell.

He was now commanded only the dead. He opened his mouth and unleashed a stream of potent acid at the drow. It struck Nalifan in the side, dissolving a hole in his leather outer coat and soaking through the enchanted clothing underneath. The dark energies Nalifan used to supplement his vitality regenerated most of the damage almost as fast as it occurred. The drow snarled and pointed the lightning lance at Helistar.

Argent lightning flashed and struck the highmaster full on. A smoking corpse toppled to the debris strewn floor. "Nice," Nalifan hissed. No psionicist made this weapon, just as the armour worn by the highmaster was also the product of arcane sorcery. Personal hypocrisy obviously didn't bother the overmasters.

As Nalifan descended to the palace to continue the slaughter, Trizkel went up the the front. A dozen men came down the hall armed with swords, axes, maces, and similar tools of mayhem. He was a blur as he charged into them, stabbing, hacking, lunging, killing. Blood spray painted the walls and the floor as the drow swiftly slaughtered his way through the pack. Sylvetria was just a step of two behind him and Mikos had the rear.

A pair of psilords at the end of the tunnel struck him with blasts of telekinetic force strong enough to shatter bone. They failed to overcome his resistance. He unleashed a gout of acid and turned them into quivering and screaming piles of meat.

More massed to stop them in the next hall, a small army of men with mindknight champions and psilords striking from the rear. Power blasts failed to bite against him, although Sylvetria realed back. Crossbow bolts bounced off Sylvetrias bespelled armour and deflected off his force shields.

He unleashed another blast of acid, killing of maiming a score before charging in. None could withstand him. Sylvetria was a few steps behind. Her hammer smashed through armour and wrecked flesh and she swung it with consummate skill and inhuman strength. Blood sprayed and bone shattered under her blows.

Behind them Mikos was sending shaft after shaft into reinforcements from the city proper who were trying to fall upon them from the rear. A column of men kept moving forward, leaving a trail of its dead and dying as Mikos killed their leaders and then the men who came up to replace them. The Dalesman's expression was grim. They would reach him soon, but that wasn't a problem. He had an almost endless supply of arrows in his magical quiver and the bow was his best weapon, but he was no slouch with the sword. He kept killing and the survivors kept pressing.

"Need a hand?" Trizkel called out in elvish.

"Only if you want this done quickly," Mikos replied. His arrow deflected off a helm and bounced away. He had missed. He didn't break his rhythm, drew another shaft, and shot the soldier in the face. He fell and Mikos got shot the man beside them and then put another shaft into the lungs of the man who took his place. They were almost upon him.

The enchanted bow was dropped into his quiver, to remain there with the infinite number of arrows. His swords all but leapt into his hands. He parried the leader with the long blade, stabbed him in the gut, dodged the axe of the man next to him, and decapitated the axeman. Then Sylvetria's warhammer exploded the skull of the next man.

"Thought you could use a hand," she said and killed again. "Go on Triz, we'll take care of this lot." A mace struck Mikos, but he only grunted. Spell reinforced mithril mail prevented any serious injury and he was as tough as dwarven wire. He continued the slaughter. The last five men bolted rather than face them. They let them go.

Trizkel had rushed ahead, confident that he could overcome any foe he encountered. Even if he was wrong, he could telepathically call for aid. The real question, in his mind at least, was whether he or Nalifan was going to reach the oversmaster first. Fortunately he had the Eyes of Arachnae to guide him.

A knot of power drew him to the left. He sprinted down a side corridor, smashing into a quartet of guards and brutally stabbing them to death. A pair of blows struck him with respectable force before the last one fell, but his shields prevented any significant injury. There. He kicked in the closest door.

The room was plain with the exception of a table with contained a brass stand holding up large sliver of crystal. The overmaster had turned away from it as the door disintegrated under the impact of Trizkel's boot. She was a blonde a little taller than he was and wearing a soft blue gown. A knot of telekinetic forces around her was capable of protecting her from almost any attack. Almost any attack did not include the weapons in Trizkel's hands.

The drow rushed her. The overmaster was fast, especially for someone who had probably just been jolted out of long range telepathic communication. The blast that struck Trizkel blew the wall behind him to pieces, blew him into the corridor and through the wall on the other side.

The blast should have been lethal. His bones should have been gravel, his organs pulp. But his own shields had absorbed or deflect the worst of the blast. He tossed the rubble around him aside and lunged again.

She was ready for him and lashed out with an incandescent beam that burned white hot. Trizkel leapt out of the way and stone blackened and bubbled under the beam's touch. And then he was on her.

His blades pierced shields and flesh. He opened wounds on her arms, stabbed her in the stomach, and then punctured a lung. The overmaster fell back reeling, her defences collapses. Trizkel swung Ruinbringer and her head bounced on the floor. He sent a telepathic message to his friends. The bitch is dead.

[Imperial Overlord]

The measure of a man is in how many murders he can commit. The measure of a woman is how many murderers she has to execute her will.

-Dread Queen Sheharith, addressing her daughters


It is easy to focus ones attention on Nalifan. He is handsome and possessed of powerful presence. He can strike like lightning, giving no sign at all of his intentions until he is striking. These are all good reason to watch him carefully, but above all you must also watch those with him. Kuuni and Mikos are masters of the stealthy arts should they choose to employ them, but to lose track of Trizkel is to spell you doom in any confrontation.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow


Typhu was wearing the body of a ten year old boy and tapping his feet impatiently when Vargo arrived. The overmaster had projected his essence across hundreds of miles to Teledran to join his fellow overmasters at the scene of the elves' rampage. Corpses of armsmen and psionicists were scattered through the square. Behind him the dome of the overmaster's palace had been shattered. The wyvern aeries were smoking sullenly, as were a half dozen building scattered through the city.

"Nice of you to arrive," said Typhu in a chipper voice. A robed functionary, a psilord, shuffled nervously behind him.

Vargo eyed the scruffy, dark haired boy. Probably a street urchin by those clothes. At least Typhu had chosen someone no one would miss. I was busy seeing to the needs of my own city. Don't forget that's were almost every single elf on this planet lives.

Several overmasters made gestures of affirmation. Unless certain faerie tales are true, sent Zadiya, a dark haired woman who was also present by way of psychic projection. Several overmasters chuckled.

A streak across the sky attracted Vargo's attention. Another overmaster was arriving, having propelled himself through space with tremendous telekinetic force. That mode of travel required the traveller to encase himself in a shell of telekinetic forces in order to survive the stresses of covering hundreds of miles within minutes and an enormous amount of energy, but did allow for fairly rapid travel.

The shell of force slowed and descended. It broke apart entirely as it touched the ground. The lanky form of Overmaster Kardal Reil smiled at Typhu.

Can we get on with this? Vargo sent.

"As you wish," said Typhu with a touch of glee. "It's fairly straight forward. Our intrepid intruders have their disguise penetrated at an inn called The Golden Palace. They promptly kill the four mindknights responsible, storm out the building, and slaughter their way to the overmaster's palace. This has all taken just a couple of minutes.

"Then they blast through the dome while charging the front gate."

"They split their forces?" Reil asked incredulously. "There's only four of them and they split up while assaulting the palace."

Typhu smiled, showing very bad teeth. "Yes. They killed the highmaster, the overmaster, and everyone who got in the way. After that they took the opportunity to break a counter attack, burn the aeries, break open the vault, plunder it, and vanish. They also stole at least one silver lance."

There was some low muttering. The silver lances were irreplacable, creations of the mage lords during the height of their rule. The overmaster's vault and personal quarters would also contain potent arcane and psionic items. Every overmaster had their secret treasures.

"How much was missing?" asked Reil.

"Hard to tell," Typhu. "They appear to have been picky." He turned to the man behind him. "They asked Kardune here a few questions. Kardune?"

"Ov-vermaster."

"Tell them what happened to you." Vargo focused his attention to the elderly psilord. He was thin and short, with a neatly trimmed short white beard. He wore a soiled sky blue robe trimmed with cloth of gold.

"They slew the overmaster and the highlord." Kardune swallowed nervously. "By that time, they had killed hundreds. Corpses were everwhere. I was trying to focus my mind, to send a message to an overmaster. I was trying-"

"Enough of that," said Typhu, annoyance showing in his voice.

Kardune nervously bowed twice. "A warrior woman struck me. She seized me and dragged me before the others. I could not muster the strength to overcome her. She took me before the others.

"The elves, they were foreign. Their skin was very dark. One wore a jewelled skullcap that covered his missing eye. The other's skin was absolutely black and he had silver hair. Neither wore armour, but both were shrouded in power. The one with both eyes, the one with silver hair spoke to me. He spoke Achenoi."

What did he say? asked Vargo.

"He told me his was going to rip open my puny human mind. And then, oh powers, he did. He wanted to know of the vaults, the overmaster's store, the armies, how many overmasters there were, what armies they commanded, the Monastery. And then the woman dropped me when they were finished. He laughed at me and told me to run. He told me to pray to whatever I prayed to that they merely took what they wanted and did not choose to wage war. And I ran."

There was a long moment of silence. How many did we lose? asked Vargo.

"Two hundred armsmen and counting," said Typhu. "Two dozen plus mindknights, almost a score of psilords. We're still digging up bodies."

So they can tear up a city on whim, sent Vargo. We need to destroy them now, before they kill any more of us.

"I have a few ideas," Typhu giggled. "And don't worry too much Vargo. We'll probably kill them before they get to you."

----------------------------------------------------------------

Arinyaniquis pushed another pair of worn coppers across the bar of the Old Bull. "Are you serious?" he asked the man sitting next to him. He was almost bursting with enthusiasm.

"Dead serious," the man replied. "I swear on my grandfather's bones its true. It was elves I tell you. Everyone who got a good look at them swears it was elves and while I wasn't that close, I did see one of the bastards and I can tell you the rest of what they say was true. They didn't look like elves in the stories though. They was dark skinned and dressed mostly in black, not pale and wearing bright colours. They cut through psilords and mindknights and wyverns like they was nothing."

The frost mage nodded, concealing his glee. Elves, from another world, and evidently a much sunnier climate. Not humans, not the legendary dwarves, not gith, but elves. He had been checking Neredian's nerve centers, its tap rooms and public squares, checking news and rumours. He had finally gotten lucky. The bartender pushed two ales across.

"So, elves it was," he prodded.

The other man took a long drink. He wiped his beard and mustache with the back of his hand. "Aye, elves. Smashed the dome, smashed the aeries. Then they was gone. A bunch of high and mighty psilords started showing up a bit latter, but they didn't do squat."

The nature of the overmaster's tyranny resulted in some interesting customs. While no one dared show any disrespect to their face, no one was shy about showing their true feelings when they weren't around. The psilords could pluck the thoughts right out of their heads anyways, and those involved with keeping public order did so as a matter of routine. This suppressed any action being taken against the psionicists, but it did give a certain license to expresses discontent in the appropriate venue. Like dimly lit and dungy taverns.

"Must have been a sight to see."

"By the illithid's bones it was. You should have seen it. One of the elves ate a blast from a lightning lance without being even singed. Kills the rider and beast with a wave of his hand." The man lowered his voice. "Must have been magic."

Arinyaniquis nodded in agreement. "Must have been."

[LadyTevar]

You know... reading the tally of that assault just blows the mind. Whenyou're the Epic Character, you dont realize just how badass you are, becuase you're fighting things the DM makes to challenge your level.

When you stop to hit something like this, 3rd-8th level... you're Gods.

[Rogue 9]

As a side note, taking this society apart from the top down is something just about any character I've ever played would agree with. Even the evil ones.

[Imperial Overlord]

It is easy for the powerful to assume that sufficiently power protection from scrying secures concealment of their identity and their location. Szarida believed up almost up to the moment she died. With such an example in his memory, I doubt Nalifan would forget that even his wardings have limitations. On the other hand, all of his virtues aside, the man does tend towards arrogance bordering on hubris.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow


That which should be unknown is never truly lost. It await, terrible and quiescent, waiting to be rediscovered. That which does not truly lives never truly dies.

-Asker Akesh, Going into Night Darkly


The gate guards at Kanarea were vigilant and attentive to detail. Trizkel was able to discern the situation with his enhanced vision long before the adventurers reached the gate. "Problem," he said. "They're being very thorough."

They exchanged glances. The adventurers were travelling on foot, having left the horses behind. They were disguised as ordinary travellers, petty artisans and traders moving from town to town. The city gates were a long way off, but Trizkel's vision was hardly ordinary.

"There's a way around that," said Nalifan. "Time to take a break," he said pointing to a fallen log by the side of the road. "Us mere mortal can only walk so far and all that."

They sat down. Mikos casually surveyed the landscape. Farmers were going about their business in the surrounding fields, the inevitable and eternal cycle that Mikos had taken to the woods and the roads to escape. "So we're going to sneak in at night?"

"Yes," replied Nalifan. "Invisible and flying over the wall."

"The locals aren't blind," said Trizkel. "They'll know something is up if we remain here for too long."

"Of course they will," said Nalifan. "Saying anything to the authorities is a different matter. However if we walk around asking for my imaginary cousin who supposedly lives around here, we will divert suspicion even if they are inclined to report us to the authorities."

"Clever," said Sylvetria. "Where did you learn to be so devious?"

"The Underdark, of course," said Nalifan. "None of my mother's stupid children became arch-mages. Actually, the only one of my mother's children that was really stupid was sacrificed when she was fifteen."

Sylvetria choked on the piece of cheese she was nibbling on. She coughed and cleared her throat. "Sometimes I forget what hell pits you two were raised in."

"Trizkel is lucky, I guess," said Nalifan. "He has forgotten, albeit with assistance. The rest of you are lucky that I remember."

"And what about you?" asked Mikos. "Are you lucky that you remember?"

Nalifan shrugged. "Some think not."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

The companions flew over the wall and descended to the city's ancient streets. Kanarea was a city built on the ruins of a city built on the ruins of a city. The buildings were new, but the stone was old. They moved swiftly through the almost deserted streets.

"There it is," whispered Trizkel.

"I see it," Nalifan replied. The adventures moved closer and then once again flew over the wall blocking their path. Kanarea's necropolis was ancient, stretching back for millenia. Tomb stones and funeral urns dotted the landscape that was dominated by crypts and cenotaphs. They were alone with the dead.

Or maybe not. Mikos noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He drew his bow. "What was that?" he hissed.

"Ghouls," Trizkel said.

Nalifan nodded. "Place this old, buildings on top of buildings, old sewer systems and new, there's going to be a lot of old tunnels and bolt holes. Perfect for ghouls. Add them digging their own tunnels to and fro and beneath the cemetery and then add in the old crypts and you're going to have a ghoul problem unless you actively stomp them out. With no clerics or necromancers at all, its going to be even worse."

"Great," Sylvetria hissed.

"Don't worry about them," said Nalifan. "We've got too much steel and they've got too much easy meat close at hand." He continued walking forward. "Come on," he gestured.

"So, what are the chances that what you ripped out of that guy's mind is true?" Mikos asked.

"The rest was," Nalifan responded. "The vault had more enough books, potions, and wands don't you think?"

"Yeah, but he knew that stuff was there. This is rumour."

"True," said Nalifan as he approached a foreboding black building. "Haunted crypts of ancient mage lords are the kind of stories you would tell to scare children. On the other hand, I'm betting Trizkel is seeing what I'm seeing."

"Magic," the other drow replied. "Layered beneath spells of sealing and concealment."

"Why would they leave it undisturbed?" asked Sylvetria.

"Because the art of psionics is very good at somethings. Reading or controlling minds, for example. It is deficient in other areas. Like dealing with the undead. It is old, out of the way, hidden, and dangerous. And its not making trouble. Who wants to get the life sucked out of them if they don't have to?"

"Using that line of reasoning, you're a fool," pointed out Sylvetria.

"All that proves is that fat, complacent psilords are fat complacent, psilords not drow arch-necromancers. Shall we see what is inside?"

----------------------------------------------------------------

Typhu was old and steeped in malice. He committed monstrous crimes as part of his daily existence, stealing the bodies of others and maiming as the whim took him. But there was more to him than casual cruelty. Typhu had survived for centuries, his original body long discarded. This power and his will were almost absolute, the psionic skills dwarfing those of others and branching into areas where others powers did not touch. He was the last survivor of the brutal civil war three centuries past, the architect of that victory. Knowledge of that war had been suppressed and after three hundred years it had been almost forgotten. Typhu remembered those day, the last days when his life had been in danger. All those memories returned with force these days.

He sat cross legged in the shattered aerie, eyes closed and mind wandering. To him there was more than the present. He could follow the streams of time into the past and the branches that lead to the future. He searched through the diverging and possible futures and found what he was looking for. The elves could hide themselves, but they could not hide the world.

He flew through the window and towards the battered palace, descending through the broken dome and into the presence of his inferiors, his fellow overmasters. "What have you learned?" asked Reil.

Typhu turned his grimy orphan boy body towards the lean overmaster. "I have learned the cities most likely to have be ruined in the near future are Neridian, Kanarae, and Wulvic." He smiled cruelly and turned. "You can always use more elves, eh Vargo?"

[Imperial Overlord]

Subtlety, my daughters, is for the weak. When one is strong, the threat of force or the use of force serves better. It is not a question of which is better, it is a question of recognizing how strong your position is on any given occasion.

-Dread Queen Sheharith, addressing her daughters


For nearly one hundred years, Nalifan had been taught good was weakness. He never thought to question this, even though he himself was merciful on at least one occasion. The truth of the supposition was self evident. Good left one weak, defeated, victimized, slain. His act of mercy could be turned against him. Those will power were ruthless, vicious, merciless. Those who presumed to change him were not his equals in either power or intellect. They spoke against the most effective ways of destroying his enemies, against strengthening his position at the expense of others, of spending his blood and wealth aid those who were not his allies. Is it any wonder he thought such men and women fools?

Some truths one learns too late. He is not beyond hope, or so an acquaintance of mine maintains. The morality of men is not suited to drow arch-necromancers or so he says. It makes insufficient allowances for pride, wrath, and hoard-greed. Those who wield the power of dragons need to walk the path of dragons, not that of men. I am not entirely convinced, but it is difficult to argue in the presence of a gold dragon.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow.


"It's sealed pretty tight," said Sylvetria. The crypt was a block of black stone the size of a small hut, its entrance blocked by a tightly fit slab. There was something wrong about it, something disquieting. Mikos looked away, preferring to look for more ghouls than gaze upon the crypt longer than necessary.

"Not that tight," replied Trizkel. No gap or crack was hidden from his vision. "I can see the waves of dread pouring from this place and I can see the spells of binding and I can see the weak points in the door." Ruinbringer was in his hand.

He thrust the blade into the point where the slab met the tomb wall. Ancient mortar crumbled as the blade touched and stone was ground to dust as the drow forced the blade through with inhuman strength. He drove it through almost to the hilt and then drove it down to the floor before pulling it up. He floated up to continue cutting and then brought the blade down the other side.

Trizkel sheathed his blade and gripped the sides of the slab with his fingers. He grunted and pulled the slab out with with pure brute force. Trizkel stepped to the side and leaned the slab against the crypt wall. "Shall we?" he asked.

A sword with a blade that glowed blue-white appeared in Sylvetria's hand. "If we must," she said.

"Relax," said Nalifan. "Fear, terror, these emotions can be triggered by the energies that necromancers use. The discomfort you feel is an artifact of this place." The arch-necromancer stepped into the crypt. There was nought inside by steps leading down.

They followed him down. The steps continued down, perhaps thirty feet into the earth. At the bottom was a short corridor and another stone door. Nalifan ran his gloved hands over the stone. "Spells of preservation," he said softly. "Faded, but not without power. Even after all this time."

"Nal," said Trizkel, "there is something beyond this door. A spirit, I think."

"I'm not surprised," said the arch-necromancer. "The dead cannot leave this world for the Outer Planes. Of course with the connections to the Negative Plane broken, there will be less energy for the undead. But more restless, powerless entities." He uttered the initiators of a spells there was a flash of emerald light. A few motes of dust floated lazily in the air where a door had once been.

Nalifan stepped inside, revealing a large room. Sylvetria followed, her sword providing cold illumination. Shelves lined the room and tables were wracked across it. The remnants of ancient specimens were shrivelled up in dusty jars and old bones were neatly arranged on the tables or stacked in shelves.

"A work room?" Trizkel asked.

"Yes," said Nalifan. "One located in the heart of a graveyard to tap into as much of the energies of death and undeath as possible. The principles of symmetry and association, some of the oldest laws of magic, applied to the Dark Art. I see the spirit now."

"Where?" asked Mikos.

"A moment," said Nalifan. "Spirit I call out to a fellow practitioner. Make yourself known to us and we will help ease your rest."

Dust stirred in the center of the room, moved by a faint breeze that came from nowhere. A silibant whisper reached their ears. "It . . . has . . . been . . . . a . . . . long . . . . . time. How. . . . fares the world?"

"Poorly, I think," Nalifan replied. "Psionicists rule with an iron fist and magic is banned."

"Psionicists? You mean . . . . the Illithidi?"

"No. They are long dead and gone."

"Good. Then we won. And the Art lives. That gives me some piece. Necromancer, I will answer your questions."

"I would know what you could tell me about the Achenoi?"

"I was one. . . . long ago. Arcanist, necromancer . . . . protector of my people. We built so many wonders. The elves help us." A pause. "We accomplished great things. Then we found out. . . . about the coming of the Illithidi. They laid waste to worlds, pantheons, planes. They devoured suns. We knew fear as we had never imagined."

There was a long pause. "We sealed the world away from the rest of the multiverse, to hide it from their gaze.. . . . . to block their entry. We found those with psionic talents and encouraged their development. They helped us develop counters to psionic powers, magics that would undo psionicists. We designed weapons and talismans to defend their wielders . . . . and slay the illithids. The elves, our old allies, helped us and we aided them in turn."

"It did not save us. They found us. They broke through. They unleashed armies of battle thralls and vast energies. Our weapons worked. Our spells were effective. The Cerulean Sign retained its power. They were simply too many. . . and too strong."

"So we unleashed madness. The Illithidi, we learned, were at war on many fronts. They had not expected such. . . . fierce resistance. It took them time to gather reinforcements. We used that time. We forged creatures of great destructive power, using primal chaos."

"Primal chaos, as in primordial chaos? As in Abyssal chaos?"

"Yes. Where everything first emerged from the elemental planes to the celestial heavens. It was banned . . . . in the old days. But we were desperate and it was so powerful. . . . and responsive. The elves would not aid us. We enjoyed success . . . . of a sort. We forged tanar'ri war slaves. We, as their makers, bound them securely. We knew their truemans. We chose their truenames."

"Tanar'ri?" Sylvetria asked.

"Demons of the Abyss," Nalifan said. "Currently the dominate kind, if a group so prone to variation can be called that. They arose in the Abyss after the advent of mortal life."

"We grew bolder. We forged . . . . divine beings as weapons of war. Protogods, demon godlings. They were . . . . awesome. Terrible. The Illithidi died in number uncounted. They undid did the demons. The undid the armies. They slew us. They shattered out control. Slaughter was everywhere."

"I had died twice already by then." A pause. "Twice I had arisen from the vats. We bound the demons, most of them, in a second ward, stealing from the first because we lacked time. It worked. And then the Illithidi overcame us. I died a third time, the last time, in the second year of their conquest. My world was darkness. Our efforts . . . . failed. But now my people live."

"Yes," said Nalifan.

"How?"

"I can only give informed conjecture at this point. The surviving psionicists were able to hide among the populace. The Illithid Empire was near its point of failure, when its chief warrior race turned upon their masters during the height of their territorial ambition. Beset from both within and without, they fell. This world must have been abandoned quickly. Your ward still stood in some form or another, making travel difficult. It wouldn't have been worth the effort. They retreated and their empire continued to collapse. At some point, psionicist resistance leaders and warlords started to take control. Probably when they see the Illithids fighting retreating from the world. They set themselves up a psiocracy and institute a policy of preserving the stasis quo. Several millenia latter, their descendents are corrupt tyrants."

"So the Achenoi . . . still suffer."

"Yes, but their yoke is gentler than that of the illithids." Considering that enslavement by the drow was gentler than that of the illithids, that wasn't saying much.

"You have kept your word, but I am not content. Would you bargain for my secrets, elf mage?"

"I would."

"Can you wound this tyranny?"

"I can make them scream," said Nalifan.

"Your word, and then I shall yield to you my secrets."

"You have it."

[Imperial Overlord]

The obyriths built great iron fortresses overlooking the Great Chasm on the Plane of Infinite Portals. Of all the creators in all of the multiverse only they had the capacity to survive and prosper in the chaos and evil of the Abyss. From their castles they looked into the depths of the Abyss and forged mortal souls into a new race of demons, the tanar'ri. In time Queen of Chaos launched her war upon all of creation. When the Miska the Wolf-Spider, greatest of the tanar'ri, First Prince of Demons; was imprisoned the demon alliance collapsed. The tanar'ri turned on the obyriths and supplanted them as masters of the Abyss. Those who would use the great power of the Abyss would be wise to remember that's its danger and treachery outmatches even its own spawn.

-Asker Akash, Going into Night Darkly


To be trapped between two worlds, not fully a part of either, is the fate of half elves. Fortunately, elves tend to be more inclined to kindness that cruelty and men do not object to having those of elven blood among them. It is not the easiest of fates, but is far better than many I can name.

-Nesayesh, On Elves


Sylvetria stirred the sausages as they sizzled in the pan. "Smells good," Mikos said.

"Didn't here you come in."

"My job," said the Dalesman as he stepped past the tent flap. "The noisy rangers get killed."

"He still talking to the ghost?" she asked.

"Yeah," Mikos replied as he walked past her and unwrapped a wheel of cheese. "Same as the last three days."

"Trizkel still with him?"

"Yeah. Since they switched to Elvish, he can follow along. Apparently there's enough overlap that he can follow some of this stuff."

"And you?"

"I have the Elvish but its all over my head." He sliced off a wedge. "Well, not quite all of it. The silver lance bit. I could follow some of it."

"Hmmm?"

"They're based on weapons made by a race called the grell. More powerful than the grell versions. Something about grell alchemy making them better at blasting through defences. Then it got complicated and I stopped paying attention." He bit down on the wedge and offered her another one.

Sylvetria took it. "Huh." She speared a sausage and put it on a plate.

"Just sausage? No onions, not potatoes, no peppers, nothing? Where did you learn to cook?"

"The field."

"It shows."

"You?"

"What?" said Mikos.

"Where did you learn to cook?"

"My aunt's kitchen. And hanging around the Old Skull?"

"The Old Skull?"

"Inn in Shadowdale."

"What's Nalifan committing us too?" she asked suddenly.

"Worried?"

"Answer the question."

"Just killing people who badly need killing. Nothing I have a problem with. You?"

"Tyrants are tyrants. Three feet of god blessed or mage worked steel is what they all deserve."

-----------------------------------------------------------------

Trizkel gripped the sides of the slab, lifting it and pushing it. "I hope this is the last time," he hissed. "This bitch is heavy."

"Well we could have left it off when we were camping in the crypt," Nalifan said. "That would be a giant flag with glowing runes saying 'please have the authorities investigate' for everyone who enters the necropolis though."

"I agree with your reasoning," said Trizkel as he hauled the slab out of the entrance way. "Hades, I'm the one who mentioned moving it back in the first place. I'm also the one who has to move it."

"Point taken," replied Nalifan as he stepped into the night air. The other adventurers followed the arch-necromancer. "One last time." With a grunt and a heave Trizkel put the slab back into place.

"What now?" Mikos asked.

"We get some rooms and scout the city. And try not to talk near the locals. Until we're ready to start killing, of course." Trizkel activated his invisibility ring and floated to the necropolis wall. "All's clear," he said. He leaned over and pulled the other adventurer's over the wall. They landed softly on the street, wrapped in illusions that made them appear to be ordinary folk. Nalifan pointed up the street and they proceeded that way.

Light flickered from lamp posts and hanging lights in front of still open establishments, providing enough light for a human to move about with only some difficulty. They adventurers turned a corner only to see a patrol of six men coming there way. They had torches and were far too close not to have seen them. Nalifan scurried out of the way and the others followed suit.

The patrol slowed and came towards them. Of course, Nalifan realized, they are looking for four suspicious people. If he had possessed any skill at enchantment, that deficiency would have been easily addressed. Perhaps the illusions would hold and he could talk their way out of this without risking revelation.

The guards wore knee length mail hauberks and conical steel helms with nose guards. Four of them carried torches. Their leader wore mail that covered him from head to foot and had a very fancy scabbard for his sword. He was youngish, with a light brown beard. "What are you doing out this late?" he barked.

"Going out for a drink," Nalifan said.

"Where do you live?" he barked.

Now would have been a very handy time to know the names of the local districts. "Neridian," Nalifan replied instead.

"Why are you in the city?"

"Trading glasswork." Neridian was famous for its glass makers, a stray piece of information Nalifan had come across while ripping open minds. The guard without a torch was staring hard at him. He was lean, with fine features and there was something about the eyes . . . .

"You have wares?" the leader barked.

"Under lock and key," Nalifan replied. "We're just out for a drink man," he said in an exasberated tone of voice.

"Don't take that tone with me," the commander snarled and backhanded the drow with his mailed gauntlet. Nalifan's wards took most of the force of the blow, but the guard immediately realized something was wrong. His hand went to his sword.

Nalifan hissed initiators and touched gently on the chest. Darkness flared around the drow's hand and then the guard commander fell dead as the drow then gripped the torchless man by his hauberk. The great hammer appeared in Sylvetria's hand and another man was down, the spike having been driven through his skull. Two more were down to Trizkel's sudden and lethal rush, their armour rent by his swords. Mikos's blade found the throat of the last.

Nalifan shoved his hand into his prisoner's mouth. Sure he could bite down, but it wouldn't do anything against Nalifan's protections. The rest of the adventurers were already dragging the dead and dying into the nearest alley. Nalifan carried his prisoner into the narrow, refuse strewn passage and slammed him against a wall.

"This is very simple," he hissed. "Answer me well and you get to live. One blink no, two blinks yes. Got it?"

Two blinks.

"You're part elven."

Two blinks.

"People around here talk like all the elves are dead, so there can't be elves all over the place. Are they few in number?"

Two blinks.

"Concentrated in a few places?"

Two blinks.

"North?"

One blink.

"West?"

Two blinks.

"Going to do anything stupid if I let you speak?"

One blink. Nalifan let him down and took his hand out of the half elf's mouth. "Where?" the drow asked.

"Wulvic," he gasped.

"What's their status?"

"Slaves. All are slaves. Most of them are owned by the overmaster."

"And you?"

"My mother was a whore. I managed to start training with the armsman. I don't look elvish so-." Mikos snickered.

"Continue," said Nalifan. No point in explaining to him that the elvish blood was quite obvious, if you knew what to look for.

"I took service under the overmaster and then was transferred here."

"Away from where anyone actually saw elves," said Nalifan. "So you could hide. Letting you train as an armsman and then letting you go. You must not have been very important. I bet that's not what happened to any pretty half sisters. Yes, that's true. I can see the anger and the hate in your eyes. Well, I'm not the one raping them or working for their rapists. Now there remains the question of how to make sure you're a good boy and don't-"

A wave of power passed over them, seething and searching. "Lolth's fangs," Nalifan swore.

"What is it?" Sylvetria asked.

Trizkel answered. "Someone just decided to look for that patrol. Someone powerful. We're blown."

"How did he know to look?" Sylvetria asked.

"I don't know," Trizkel said.

"I have a guess," said Nalifan. "He was watching for deaths. Felt a bunch of people die all at once and where." He let the half elf go. "Better run. We're just about to kill a lot of people." The drow discarded the illusion around him. "Let the blood flow!" he shouted to the sky. "We are death and we are ruin and woe to all those who stand against us!" He began to rise into the sky.

[Imperial Overlord]

Drow like to toy with their prey. If they're still talking to you, they think you are just a victim. When they go silent, that's when they are taking you seriously as an opponent.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow


Evil knows only appetite, not restraint. This is the most terrifying of all truths as to grasp it is to understand that the future will not be determined by the battle of good against evil. Instead it will be a race between the Once and Future Empire and the Blood War to devour all that is and ever was.

-Asker Akesh, Going into Night Darkly


Typhu's eyes snapped open. The overmaster was wearing the body of a little red head girl. Typhu sent his mind into that of every psionicist in the city. He projected an image of the off worlders and where they were. Take all your men and kill them.

Typhu uncrossed his legs and stood up. The room was empty of furnishings, with the exception of the rug he was now standing on. He sent a message to Overmaster Cyra Kesk. They are here and they are about to burn your city. That should rouse the fool. Highmaster Kesten was already up and rallying forces. His telepathic screaming could probably be heard by sensitives five miles away.

Typhu smiled. He could zip over there and start fighting immediately, but that would be dull. It would also be making a target out of himself, not that he was worried about that. This was the only real excitement in over two hundred years. Typhu did have to end it here, but he wasn't going to do that until he wrung every last drop of entertainment out of it. He focused his perceptions on the site of the battle and drank in carnage.

Nalifan was floating perhaps a hundred feat in the air. Another patrol of guards was dead, riddled with arrows as the adventurers advanced on Seraden's Keep, an ancient fortress that had been converted into the overmaster's palace. The stern fortress had been remodelled with an eye on luxury rather than defence, but the Bastion remained formidable. The gatehouse/guardhouse sat on the approaches and was filled with skilled armsmen, mindknights, and weapons of power.

The defenders of the Bastion didn't see the dark figure flying in the night sky or didn't see him until it was too late. Either way, the effects were the same. Nalifan unleashed a deadly spell, flinging spheres of barely visible distortion at the Bastion. The first impacted on the second story with a loud boom, cracking stone and pulping flesh. The second blasted a hole the size of man in the wall when it detonated and the third and fourth burst inside.

The defenders on the Bastion roof shouted at each other in panic as they tried to find their target. A mindknight pointed into the dark sky. "There!" he shouted. A pair of ballista's swivelled towards where he was pointing and a crystalline staff discharged a bolt of white fire that narrowly missed the arch-necromancer.

Nalifan retaliated with another spell. A blast ripped through the weakened second story, blasting chunks of stone out of the remaining walls. The damaged walls were barely able to support their own weight, let alone that of four more stories on top of them. The third floor fell into the second. Scream erupted from the throats of doomed men. The remaining upper levels of the Bastion teetered backwards and fell. The stones hit the ground with a great roar and the earth shook from the impact.

Wyverns were winging their way towards the carnage from their aeries. Nalifan wheeled towards them, a silver lance in his hand. Silver-white lightning flashed and one of the wyverns screamed and fell from the sky. Two lightning bolts shot forth from the rider's lances, converging on the drow with a loud crack and a blinding flash.

Nalifan smiled as he floated in the air, unharmed. He had evoked magics that would shield him from lightning. He raised the lance and blasted another wyvern from the sky. From the ground Sylvetria unleashed the fury of her own silver lance, striking a wyvern at the base of the throat with a bolt of argent lightning and almost decapitating it. Mikos's bow hummed and another wyvern fell with arrows piercing its heart and lungs.

Meanwhile Trizkel had taken the opportunity to fly to the walls of Seraden's Keep. A blade in each hand, he slaughtered the guards as they came against him. He was blur in the darkness, inhumanely fast and strong. His weapons tore through steel as if it were leather. Blood sprayed and bodies fell as Trizkel carved his way through them.

Sylvetria advanced towards the ruins of the Bastion. Arrows and bolts flew through the night air, most missing. Several bounced off her armour. Behind her Mikos had the rear. Two groups of soldiers were closing. Mikos was systematically shooting the men in front, enchanted arrows punching through mail as if it were nothing. The other group was consumed by a blast of blue-white fire.

As Nalifan, Trizkel, and Mikos killed anything that dared to oppose them, Sylvetria awkwardly crossed the remains of the Bastion. An arrow bounced off her helmet with enough force to hurt. She snarled, raised the silver lance, and unleashed a bolt of lightning at the archer. The crackling silver blast blew a hole through the window and lashed the interior. Smoke and dust drifted out. She raised the lance and pointed at the keep's bronze reinforced double doors. Silver lighting flashed and they exploded into chunks of burned wood and pieces of hot bronze.

Highmaster Kesten reached a keep window as his men moved into position. The big, blonde bearded man had no intention of bunching his prized force in an easily killed cluster, not having seen first hand what those four could do. Nor did he intend to try and take out all four at once. One at a time was far easier. All he had to do was last until overmaster and Typhu arrived to lend him aid. Three on three, with his soldiers to back them up. That would be more than enough. He sent a telepathic message to his men. Hit the woman on the rubble first.

Kesten was relying on the darkness and cover to hide him but the drow were no strangers to darkness and his protections and shields glowed like a furnace to Nalifan and Trizkel's magic sensitive vision. A ray of crimson and ruby shot from Nalifan's finger and struck the highmaster, snuffing out his life.

His men followed his orders. Rods of glowing crystal and a gleaming silver lance were pointed at Sylvetria by a dozen men and women as another half dozen psionicists unleashed their potent abilities with all the force they could muster. Blasts of flame, silver lightning, and multicoloured rays struck her position and obscuring her behind a veil of light and flames.

A scream of pure and terrible rage split the air. Mikos turned, momentarily distracted, to see Trizkel vaulting through the air. The Dalesman turned back to his targets and shot the closest man in the throat. Blue-white flame exploded amongst the rest. The screams of burning men was audible over the roar of the flames. Faint images of skulls could be seen dancing in the flames.

"I'll clean out the keep's windows, see to her." Nalifan shouted. Trizkel unleashed a gout of black acid at the one with the silver lance and leaped into another one. The iron bars had proven to be only a brief impediment to Ruinbringer and then it had taken only another moment to end the life of the dark haired woman who futilely fired bolts of flame from a crystal rod. He surged through the hall, heading towards the next room with the speed of a charging leopard. They could not hide from his vision and they could not escape his wrath.

Blasts of light and flame struck the shields surrounding Nalifan, but lacked the power to harm the drow. Choosing him as a target had proven to be a poor decision, one the makers would not have long to regret. He intoned a spell and blasts of fire erupted in more than a dozen rooms.

Trizkel stopped as the fiery blasts slew the last of the psionicists. The attackers were down. There was a lot of harnassed power right behind a door leading towards the inner keep. The drow leaped forward, kicking it open with his augmented strength. He hinges held. The wood didn't. Shattered planks preceded him into the room.

The overmaster had short, dark hair and must have weighed over three hundred pounds. A robe of red velvet hung on her like a tent. She was attended by four men in dark red crystal plate and armed with swords of night black crystal. Trizkel disgorged a spray of acid which vanished inches from them.

The warriors closed. Trizkel stabbed the first one in the hip with Mindeater before he could even swing. That one fell back, his mind blank. Trizkel dodged the next one's swing and stabbed him in the neck with Ruinbringer. Blood geysered as the drow danced around his targets. The overmaster tore at Trizkel's augments, but the power was nullified by one of the rings the drow wore. A flurry of blows and the third warrior was down with a crippled right arm and a pierced lung.

Trizkel stabbed the fourth in the visor slit as the human pathetically tried to dodge. Blood and brain coated Mindeater as Trizkel drew it from the wound and let the body topple. That left only one man left who was just recovering from being stabbed by Mindeater.

The overmaster panicked. Three out of four of her bodyguards were down and Trizkel was resisting her powers. Telekinetic force propelled her out of the room in a rush. She flew through a gaping whole in a wall, courtesy of Trizkel's acid breath, and into the night air. She rose up as high as she could, trying to build distance.

In that time Mikos had reached Sylvetria. The multiple blasts had shattered and blackened rock, but her spell worked armour had saved the noble's life. She moved her left arm feebly as Mikos bent over her. "Nice to see you," she whispered. Her armour was blackened all over.

He saw the overmaster shoot into the sky. "You'll be back in fighting shape in no time," Mikos said as he drew forth a wand of healing magic. They had managed to find several extra in the overmaster's vaults. "Just give me a moment." He invoked the magic and the wand glowed a soft green. Under the scorched armour, burned flesh began to heal.

As Cyra Kesk began to climb into the sky, Nalifan smiled and uttered a spell. Kesk was shielded against sorcery and psionic powers, but Nalifan wore Spell Breaker on one wrist and Weave Binder on the other. Her defences failed and a glass statue plummeted to the ground.

Then the drow tumbled through the air, struck by an invisible force that tossed him about like a rag doll. Mikos leaped up and scrambled away, knowing what was coming next. A lance of fire tore through the air where he had been. Out of the corner of his eye Mikos saw that Nalifan's tragectory had taken him behind the outer wall, shielding him for the moment. The wand dropped from the Dalesman hand as he grabbed is bow.

A little girl, not more than ten years old, floated in the air. Her eyes glowed white hot. White lightning flashed from those eyes, striking where Mikos had stood a moment ago, brushing against him and spraying him with white hot shrapnel. Mikos ignored the pain, kept moving, and nocked an arrow. You're a tenacious little vermin, an amused voice sounded in his head.

Trizkel flew from the keep straight for the child. The child's attention flickered and the drow stopped dead as if slamming into an invisible wall. I waited too long. This is too easy. Then an admantite headed arrow with a rune carved shaft sprouted from his chest.

Impossible! You can't harm me! No one can overcome my shields! No one! he screamed. Mikos ran for the cover of the wall as the whole world around him became white fire. He could feel his flesh began to sear. Then thunder split the air and the fire vanished. He turned and saw Sylvetria, kneeling, silver lance in hand. She fired another lightning bolt at the child causing it to release a telepathic shriek. Mikos had another moment.

It was more than enough time. The next shaft went went through the girl's temple and the head came out the other side. The girl went limp and the body fell to the street. Sylvetria got to her feet. Nalifan was flying back towards them, having recovered at least partially from Typhu's attack. Sylvetria took a step, then another, and another until she was on top of the rubble that had been the Bastion. She spat down in the direction of the child's body. "I'm really beginning to hate this place."

[Imperial Overlord]

As far as I can tell, Nalifan is one of the most religious drow in an ordinary sense. With the exception of the followers of Eilistraee, the relationship most drow priestesses have with their deity is akin to that of a block lieutenant to their crime syndicate's overboss.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow


There are evils that predate gods, men, and demons. They are terrible being s, beyond any meaningful comprehension by such alien beings as man. As to whether they are greater than any evil that is born these days or will be born of man or god, I cannot say. Like the Abyss, the depths of evil are bottomless.

-Asker Akash, Going into Night Darkly



A dozen overmasters sat along a circular table in Unity Hall. Unity Hall stretched over four hundred feet long and more than a hundred feet high. Mosaics and stained glass windows displaying ancient heroes adorned the walls a thick blue carpet, blue being symbolically associated with serenity, ran the length. Behind the overmasters stood a score of highmasters and another two score psionicists of note. The mindknights, a distinct minority, wore full battle harness. The psilords were armed with crystalline instruments and wore amulets and rings of power as well as velvets and silks. This was a council of war.

The obscenely fat overmaster Nerish spoke, his jowls quivering. "Kanarea has fallen. Even Typhu was slain."

Across the table, a dark haired woman who was severely beautiful spoke. "Even Typhu? Is our source reliable."

"It depends if you consider Lastran Cass reliable Carida."

The woman grimaced. She had trained the psilord, who was powerful enough to rival some highmasters and even a few overmasters. "How did Cass survive if Typhu did not?"

"He was watching the gates. The invaders somehow entered the city without him noticing. By the time he was able to cross the city and join the battle, Typhu was a splatter on the sidewalk and the Bastion was rubble. He then chose to hide and report rather than fight."

Dismay rippled through the room. "With Typhu dead," Nerish continued, "I am senior."

"Have we heard from Vargo?" asked another overmaster, a slightly overweight woman with short blonde hair.

"He lives, his city undamaged. He, and several others, are too busy to join us. The invaders strike with incredible speed. He wishes to keep his conciousness within his city." said Nerish. He wiped spittle from his blubbery lips. "The invaders have now slain three overmasters, including Typhu, two highmasters, many psilords and mindknights. They have looted two cities. Any deficiencies in their arsenal are likely to be eliminated by now."

"Do we know that Typhu is truly dead?" said one of the standing men. He was apparently middle aged, with dark hair just beginning to go gray. He was clean shaven and wore silk trousers and tunic that shifted colour. "He long ago abandoned his original body. Do we know if he abandoned this one before it died, or even if the death of the body he was wearing killed him?"

"We do not," another overmaster, a dark haired man who appeared to be in his early thirties. "Since you have decided to speak, what do you have to report oh mighty bender of reality?"

"It is just possible to restore the slain. Their bodies were damaged beyond conventional restoration. The energies to make new ones is not inconsiderable. That is without even considering restoring the souls to the body. If the overmasters wish me to proceed, I will of course obey, but know if you do it will be a considerable amount of time before I can restore a second individual to life or employ my reality shaping talents in the service of Achenoi."

That caused a cold wave to pass throught the circle of overmasters. Rexess the Reality Shaper was a psilord more powerful than most overmasters, having mastered the rare and demanding abilities to restructure reality in accordance to his will. Although a superbly skilled and powerful psion, Rexess had simply no interest in ruling.

"Typhu may or may not be lost to us," said Nerish. Truthfully, if Typhu had died last month, everyone would have breathed a sigh of relief. Now they were afraid to be without him. "Before asking Rexess to restore him, we should see if he can restore himself. But that is secondary. The enemy is strong enough to slay overmasters at will and does so. They plunder our arsenals and slay our men at arms. We need to take full and effective measures to deal with them."

"Feeling the heat now, Nerish?" Carida said, half tauntingly.

"We all are. We have weapons at our disposal that we have chosen not to use. I say we use them."

"Speak plainly," said the blonde overmaster.

"We wake and bind Zehaneth." Murmors filled the room. Nerish's voice rose. "We are his masters, he is bound. I say we unleash him on our enemies and then send him back to sleep."

"Madness," said Carida. "Typhu is bad enough but even he wasn't . . . " she shook her head. "Other measures will work."

"At what cost?" said the blonde woman. "Wake Zehaneth. Feed him 'til his gut bursts and loose him."

"Aye," said the dark haired man in his thirties.

"Aye," said a petite redheaded woman.

"Aye."

"Aye."

Nods came from around the table but not from all. "It is decided," said Nerish. "We will wake Zehaneth. Rexess, you will assist us in binding him more securely. The rest of you, buy up every slave, bring forth every condemned criminal. Sweep the streets of urchins."

"Even livestock will serve in large enough quantities," said the dark haired man.

"Then buy a legion of cattle," said Nerish. "Bring them all to the Pit."

Over the next three days, the streets and dungeons of Neridian were emptied. Scores of people who had committed no crime other than to be destitute were mixed in with hardened criminals and those born into bondage and paraded in the Palace of Harmony. Directly beneath the five hundred foot tall spire where they usually met, their was a place of darker power. One had to traverse through a dungeon complex filled with wards, traps, and guards to reach it but on this day all the defences were laid aside.

A secret order of psionicists, small in number but possessed of great skill and power, guarded this place. Today they served the roll of cattle drivers, forcing the reluctant mass of humanity down and down until they reached the lowest level. There they saw their fate, but by then it was too late.

A vaulted chamber awaited. It was lit by glowing crystals in its walls and attended to by hooded men and women in unrelieved black. At the center of the vault were a pair of hinged grates covering a ten foot wide pit. The grates were open. A charnel stench oozed up from the pit.

Most tried to fight, but they had no chance. Reluctant minds were crushed into obedience, rebellious flesh was telekinetically hurtled in anyway. Screams wafted up as one after the other they were forced into the pit.

Many survived the fall. The pit was only thirty feet deep and the floor was sand. They didn't live for long. The denizen of the pit had been woken the day before and powerful bindings and compulsions had been worked on it while hibernation and starvation had made it weak. Now it ate.

It appeared to be pony said hybrid of wolf and lizard, with a great hump in its back, far too many teeth, and thick green scales. It ate devoured body after body, far more than it should be able to eat without bursting. It continued to eat, consuming not only flesh and blood but souls as well. Eventually, humans stopped falling into its pit. Cattle began to moan and fall.

Darkness flickered at the wolf-lizard's side and a new creature appeared, a bat the size of a small elephant with an human like face and a pair of taloned arms in addition to its wings. They both attacked the cattle savagely, devouring with gusto. Neither cared if they were hit by the falling animals and neither appeared to be injured by such events. Eventually, the rain of herd animals came to end and the chamber was silent except for the sound of bone being cracked and flesh being torn.

The creatures finished their meals, both of them and the floor of the pit soaked red with blood. They scaled the sides of the pit with their taloned limbs. The overmasters and the keepers were there to meet them.

They bent their heads docilely. "You are bound," said Rexess, speaking as one of many. "You are bound. You are bound."

"We are bound," came inhuman voices from two throats. "What is thy will?"

"Hunt down to intruders upon this word, a man, a woman, and two elves. They are shielded against scrying."

"Nothing can evade us," the bat spoke.

"Hunt them, kill them, and return," Nerish ordered. "Harm no others unless you must."

They bowed. "We obey."

"The go. Hunt. Kill."

The creatures bounded up the stairs, swift as striking mongooses. They were the greatest and most terrible weapons the arcanists of ancient Achenoi had forged, mightier even than the demon lords they had made and committed to battle against the Illithid Empire. It was not merely supernatural but divine, a protogod made explicitely for war and slaughter. They had been desperate in those days and there works had been mighty. Zehaneth had been one of the few not trapped beneath the Lesser Ward, but the mind flayers had eventually overcome even him, wounding him so badly he had to retreat and rest before he was well enough to hunt again.

The psionicist warlords had found him first and bound him, using him against the last surviving illithids as their empire crumbled from the rebellion of the gith and the wars of expansion. They had bound him securely when they were done and create an order of keepers, so much did they fear him.

They had not attempted to slay him because for they feared that they may have need of him in years to come and because to seek his death would undo the bindings. They had not wished him free to strike at them while he was bloated from illithid blood and souls. No, better to let time weaken him, if truly they wished to kill him. And so he slept away the centuries until they had need of him. Until now.

[Imperial Overlord]

Much of what elves do goes unseen by the eyes of men.

-Nesayesh, On Elves

No, I really don't know why drow like cats, beyond the reasons other people like cats. I might be missing a piece of the puzzle or perhaps they are simply a safe thing to become emotionally attached to.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow


Sylvetria stalked through the forest, bow in hand. Nalifan and Trizkel were holed up in the tent, discussing the words of the spirit and interaction between their disciplines. It had rapidly become boring and she needed to stretch her legs. Besides, she had a craving for fresh meat.

She didn't have much experience with forests, most of her time had been spent on the back of a horse over the open tundra. Some things were different, some the same. Having sharp eyes and being a good shot with a bow always helped.

She moved quietly from tree to tree, reaching the top of the hillock and peered down. Her eyes grew wide. Lying beneath the a tree maybe thirty yards away was a tiger. He was a big bastard, nearly half a ton and most of it muscle and bone. His amber eyes met hers.

"Tymora," she whispered as she took a step back. Nalifan had asked them not to harm any cats at all, from the smallest kitten to the meanest tiger. And now she stood face to face with the latter. It bunched its shoulders and got up.

"Great," she muttered. "Don't kill the over sized kitty." She took a step back. "Now how am I not going to end up as dinner without killing you?" The tiger took a step forward. And another.

An arrow appeared in her hand and she nocked her bow. "I'm going to have to cripple you, aren't I? And then we're going to have to put you back together. Nalifan better have a good reason for this."

"He always does," Mikos whispered in her ear.

"Where in Hades did you come from?" she asked, eyes never leaving the tiger.

"Dales born ranger. I sneak around in a forest like you ride horses. Leave the tiger to me." He whispered words in what sounded like elvish, a fluid, sing-song stream of syllables. The tiger blinked and then lay back down.

"Where did you learn that trick?"

"My aunt and uncle. Make your peace with nature and there are some old tricks that will work for you. Passed on down until they reached me."

"Any luck?" she asked.

"Hunting?"

"Yes."

"No."

"Want to head back?"

"No. Let's see if we can find us a deer."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Wulvic lacked the ancient pedigree of many Achenoi cities. The city had grown around the fortress of the same name, built almost on top of what were elvish woods. It had been raised swiftly using massive amounts of psionic power and garrisoned with the best troops the overmasters had in their service. From there the war of conquest and destruction had been launched.

A town grew around the castle complex, after the war was over. Timber magnates, fur and amber merchants, and slave traders came flocking, along with an army of men who wanted to get rich off their backs. As the elven population crashed, so had Wulvic's importance as a commercial center grown. Once an overmaster had commanded Wulvic as a military hold. Now one commanded one of the greater cities in the empire.

It had changed much, becoming a sprawling metropolis. The castle had been redesigned time and time again with more emphasis on comfort than protection. The overmasters who lived there no longer had to fear elven arrows or sorcery. Or so they thought.

Arinyaniquis walked through the front gate, warded against scrying, heavily clothed, and sheathed in illusion. His disguise passed. They weren't looking for lone hunters. They guards were jumpy enough, and short tempered. The elf acted in a suitably servile manner to deflect their ire. There was no sense in taking chances.

The city itself was busy as the great wheel of commerce drew people to markets and stalls and traders to bargain with prospective partners. Arinyaniquis was interested in none of these things. He knew Wulvic better than . . . . ." He scrunched his forehead. He couldn't remember. The hole that had been placed there.

His excursions to outskirts of Wulvic had to have been against the wishes of someone in authority. He had done so clandestinely, posing as a hunter and exchanging gossip. It was as much as he dared do. That had been then and now the world was changing. A fire was burning in the Achenoi's guts and now it was frost's turn to play. He would have to be careful.

All the elves were property of the overmaster. The others had languished and died out in captivity, although they had left a few descendants of mixed blood. As far as he knew, all the surviving members of his race were inside those castle walls, being subjected to the debauched lusts and degrading desires of the overmasters.

He turned his gaze to the palace, augmented with spells that allowed him to pierce illusions and see wards. Soon he would find a way to sneak in, and more importantly, sneak out with others in tow. The danger of discovery remained high, even with all the magic and learning at his disposal. Fighting the all psilords and their servants within was something even he couldn't do and expect to win, but there were spells he could prepare which could reduce those odds to something manageable. He looked at the castle's tallest tower. All your days are numbered.

[LadyTevar]

No, I really don't know why drow like cats, beyond the reasons other people like cats. I might be missing a piece of the puzzle or perhaps they are simply a safe thing to become emotionally attached to.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow

Because they're psychopathic little murderers, but make you forget the fact by being adorably cute and loving?

[Imperial Overlord]

Nalifan is a ruthless, arrogant monster and in many ways he possessed one of the gentlest upbringings of any Lolthite drow. Is it a wonder that the race as a whole is steeped in evil?

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow

The fury of the elves, once arroused, is terrible to behold.

-Nesayesh, On Elves


Tyla and Denian stopped at the crossroads and looked both ways. No sign of anyone. The lands around the Old Cities had long been inhabited by men. Civilization was ancient here, the fields long tilled and full of people. "This feels wrong," said Denian.

"That's because it is," Tyla replied. She pointed towards the horizon. "That's our answer."

"Birds?" His eyes widened. "You mean-"

"Everyone is dead," she replied. "Or fled."

"This is Old Cities. Things like that can't just happen here."

"Apparently it has," Tyla replied and started walking to where the ravens were circling. Denian trailed after her. As they grew closer to the village the signs of carnage were visible everywhere. Oxen lay half eaten in the field and stripped remnants of human beings lay nearby. Flies buzzed around the carcasses.

The village was worse. Much worse. Dead men and women lay everywhere, most of the flesh stripped off their bones. From the look of it there must have been several hundred people living here at one point, but now there was only the dead. Tyla walked passed the corpse of a dog that a pair of crows were picking clean.

Then she heard something different. The sound of bone cracking. A beast emerged from the gap between two houses, the legs of a child dangling from its maw. It opened its mouth, flicked its head back, and then crunched down the legs. It was huge, almost the size of a small elephant, although it was shorter and leaner. It resembled a giant, tusked, eight legged wolverine. Malice lived in its eyes.

Another beast wandered into view from behind another house, a scaled wolf beast with slightly smaller dimensions. It spoke, mind to mind. This is none of your concern monk. Go about your business.

"You killed all these-"

The wolverine-boar spoke. You can be added to the plate, easily enough.

Denian whispered. "We can't fight these things. Let's go."

"Flesh is subject to the will," she hissed back. "Coward."

"These things are far more than flesh." He grabbed her arm. "Let's go."

"Is this what the outsiders bring to our world?" she said angrily. "We should destroy them."

"We can't. And the outsiders didn't bring them. They wouldn't care about us being from the Mountain if they did. Only the overmasters would care about that. There are things left over from the war, things hidden and locked away. I guess the overmasters decided they needed to let loose this one."

"All those people," she said.

"Yeah. And this is probably just the beginning. They must be scared to set those loose."

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It turned out to be very easy of Arinyaniquis to enter Wulvic's citadel. The influx of people from other cities made it impossible for the guards to know everyone by name or face. That they were looking for four people instead of one just made things easier. Outside of the check points, he wouldn't be subjected to serious scrutiny and he had a way of avoiding those.

The next night he wore the form of a bat and flew over the walls. He flitted around, looking for a good spot to enter the citadel. He found an open window near the top of the central tower and flew towards it. Weeping was coming from within. He swooped inside and headed for the ceiling.

A tall woman with a shaved head was lounging naked on a pile of cushions, a glass of wine in her hands. Her eyes were focused on the display in front of her. Two blonde elves were writhing in passion, tears pouring down their cheeks. A loud sob burst from the elf woman's throat. The bald woman laughed and her free hand slid down to her loins.

Arinyaniquis had seen more than enough. He dropped down behind the pillows and resumed his natural form. Displaced air gusted over the highmaster, but she was otherwise preoccupied. The words of a potent spell left his lips.

Highmaster Lenida turned at the sound, but it was too late. Arinquniquis's magic struck her full force. Where she had been now sat an ice statue, frozen in mid turn. The pair of elves collapsed in mid motion and rolled away from each other. The woman wrapped her arms around herself and shuddered.

Arinyaniquis walked towards her. "Easy little sister. You're safe now. It is over." He knelt by her.

The male kept crawling on hands and knees. The woman shook. "She's dead?"

"She will be soon enough. I can get you out of here."

She looked at him though tear strained eyes. "And the others?"

"How many others?"

"Nearly sixty."

"I'll think of something," he said. Sixty! How was he going to move sixty? Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the male grip the window sill and pull himself upright. "Wait!" he cried.

The male ignored him and pushed himself over the edge. The female looked on with dead eyes. "For my brother the suffering is over." And then she hung her head. "I cannot say that I regret his choice. If you cannot save us, then your sword can give salvation of another kind."

"This sword wasn't forged to taste elven blood," said Arinyaniquis. "I'll get you all out, one way or another. Is there any of our people here who can help us."

The woman looked up with tear stained eyes. "Yes."

"Than that's our first step."

[Imperial Overlord]

I would rather face an angry dragon than Nalifan when he is possessed by wrath. Dragons are not inclined to torture their victims.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow


Surprise is a weapon found in the arsenal of all elves.

-Nesayesh, On Elves


Arinyaniquis waited in the shadows by the door for Fena to return with help. He steadied himself. He was in the heart of an overmaster's citadel, one who was expecting trouble and had reinforcements from all over the empire. Arinyaniquis's power was great, but this was far beyond what he could handle. If Fena was caught or he was discovered, he would have to fight his way out against overwhelming odds and probably fail. If he couldn't escape he had his knife. Better death than the hell the psilords would make here.

The door opened. His right hand touched the hilt of his sword while words of power twisted on the tip of his tongue. Fena entered the room, followed by another elf woman with black hair. She closed the door behind her. "What is-" she began and then stopped dead when she saw the ice statue of Highmaster Lenida. Her jaw worked silently for a moment. "Are they here?" she whispered in elvish.

"No," Arinyaniquis whispered back. "But I am." He stepped out into view.

"Gods of my ancestors," Yanara whispered.

"And us as well," Arinyaniquis replied, "even if they cannot reach us here. You can help?"

"You're one of the free ones? You're real?"

"Yes. I can say no more than that. Can you help me sneak our people out?"

"A few, maybe. I serve the overmaster directly, I have some influence. Perhaps-, no, that won't work."

"He has magic," Fena whispered, clutching Yanara's arm. "Please. There must be a way."

"For a few maybe, but to start moving many, that will attract attention. And questions. They are alert now and so is Vargo."

"There is magic that I can employ. If a few eyes were to be blinded, would things become easier? Or if a few were to me made more amenable to our plans."

"Perhaps, but Vargo is no fool. He keeps us close these days and he knows magic."

"There are similarities between the psionic arts and the arcane, but he is young-"

"No. You don't understand. He is a cerebramancer." An old word, from the days when death loomed over the world. The Achenoi had experimented with combining arcane and psionic magic practice into one art, with some success.

"Truly?"

"Yes. He is a powerful wizard as well as psilord. The others see his youth, not his strength. Most of the old works are-"

"descended from elvish," he finished. "You've been assisting him."

"Not me alone, but yes. Over all the overmasters who have reigned over this city in my grandfather's memory, he is the least cruel. We have little choice. And the children, they are protected." He eyes went wide. "We have to save them. They haven't been damaged yet. Their souls are still whole."

A vain hope, Arinyaniquis thought silently. Children aren't blind. How can they live in a place where their uncle is compelled to rape their aunt for entertainment and their parents are whored out to debauched psilords and not be damaged? They can't. But still . . .

"Can we get to them?"

Yanara's eyes darted side to side. "Vargo has them secured and warded. With outsider elves on the loose, he trusts us not at all. I don't know its possible to reach them."

"How many children?"

"Five." A chilling number, but who would want to bring children into this hell, even with the kindest of devils running the prison?

A thought occurred to him. "What have you heard about the outworlders?" She was close enough to the overmaster to know some of his secrets, she might know more about them.

"There are four. Two humans, an archer and a swordswoman. Two elves with them as well, dark skinned and light haired. One is a sorcerer, the other a mindknight. Their power is that of heroes of legend. Do you know who Typhu is?"

"Yes."

"They slew him when razing Kanarea. They have been brought to battle three times. The first when they arrived, twice more when their disguises have failed. Each time they have utterly destroyed all who stood against them and left before reinforcements arrived."

"So they have initiated none of these battles?"

"There were surviving witnesses to each battle. The overmasters were not gentle with them."

"I can imagine not."

"The overmasters fear they will do worse, if they bend their wills to it. Vargo has not spoken of what, but the overmasters have done something drastic recently. Something-" She stopped, noticing Arinyaniquis was not longer paying attention to her. "What is it?"

"Power," he said. He rushed to the window and the other elves followed in his wake. The great tower-aeries of the wyverns were still and silent, unnaturally so. "Death magic," he whispered. That's what he must have felt, a massive working of necromantic wizardry. He squinted into the distance and saw a cloud boiling over the watch headquarters. The weather was wrong for mist. He spoke the initiators of a spell of seeing.

Light flared around the citadel gate. A cloud of fire dropped upon, lighting up the night as smoke and swirling flames enveloped the building. The screams of men burning alive reached his ears. A bolt of lightning flashed down from the night sky, breaking into dozens of individual tines, each striking a man on the wall. Arinyaniquis raised his gaze to where the arch-mage had to be. His spell of seeing pierced the veil of invisibility and he saw the wizard in all of his terrible glory.

His magic sensitive sight saw the mantle of power conferred by the Crown of Sorcery. He saw wards and enhancements. He saw robes of black leather over finer silks and the magic wrought bracers Weave Binder and Spell Breaker. He saw the slender build and fine features of an elf lord. Her also saw the smile of cruel satisfaction, the sable skin, and the silver hair. "Dhaerow," he whispered. "No."

Yanara watched the destruction with a look of wild delight on her face. She didn't know. Arinyaniquis saw the archer alight on the wall and begin to fire at the remaining defenders, his bow string a blur. "Oh Lords and Ladies of the Seladrine, please no," he prayed, knowing he would get no answer.

[LadyTevar]

So... there are those who remember the Drow.

[Imperial Overlord]

Their is a saying common in the Realms that most bitter disputes are those between brothers. That may be generally true, but such feuds pale in comparison to what lies between the drow and the faerie.

-Nesayesh, On Elves


One cannot make peace with a people who can never be at peace with themselves.

-Kaeryn, My Dealings With the Drow


"Get away from the window!" Arinyaniquis hissed, dragging both women back.

"What is it?" Yanara asked.

"There is no time. They aren't friends." He watched the hope die in her eyes. "We need to get as many of the People to safety as possible. Now, while they're occupied fighting the Achenoi." A loud boom shook the tower. "Before they blow this place to pieces between them."

"I know of a place," said Yanara. "But we'll never be able get past . . ."

"Guards won't be a problem," said Arinyaniquis. "Those that are still alive will have more urgent matters to deal with. Show me." Yanara turned and opened the door, leading him into the citadel's corridors.

Arinyaniquis's mind raced. The curse was old, predating the arrival of the People to this world. It was the ultimate sanction, this side of death, although in many ways it was a death sentence. It marked the exile in such a way that all who saw him would know his wickedness. Those two had not merely survived, but prospered. So much power in the hands of so much evil.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Vargo chanted another spell of warding, reinforcing his defences, as he mind linked with the most powerful of his underlings. Lenida was already down. Good ridance to that spying bitch but it would have been better if she can died after at least wounding one of the attackers. His psilords were massing, as instructed.

Vargo had learned from the previous battles. Committing his forces piecemeal, even if those pieces were as powerful as Typhu, wasn't enough. The invaders were too strong. Only a concentrated effort was going to overcome them. So he had marshaled the most powerful of those under his command near the center of the citadel. Let the gatehouse fall. Let the city burn. Let the citadel itself be breached. All those things were survivable as long as he had a hammer heavy enough to crush the invaders.

And now they were inside his citadel, slaying whatever resistance they encountered. He could feel the fear in the minds of his guards and servants as they fled or died before them. They had divided into three groups, the two elves acting as vanguards for the humans following closely behind. They were all still close to one another, easily capable of coming swiftly to another's aid, but they were still divided. Vargo issued telepathic commands. Their arrogance would be their undoing.

Vargo's focus on the adventurers had consequences. One of them was that he didn't notice when the minds of several of his elite guards in another part of the citadel were snuffed out in a flash of light and heat.

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Arinyaniquis paid scant attention to the dead. The lightning spell had done its work. He chanted another spell and the warded door in front of him froze solid. A single blow from his sword and the brittle iron shattered into a thousand places. On the other side of the threshold dozens of elves crammed into the room look hopefully out. And then he felt it. The dhaerow was coming, the magics the arch-mage wielded triggering Arinyaniquis's watching ward. He turned to Yanara. "Can you take them somewhere else, somewhere safe?"

"The cellars," she said. "What is-"

"The dhaerow comes." Her eyes went wide. She knew enough to know that the word meant "traitor to all things elvish", even if she knew nothing else. It was enough. She and Fena hurried the elves out and away. Arinyaniquis uttered a spell and merged with the corridor's stone wall.

He did not have long to wait. The screams of the dying had ceased and that meant there was no one left to block the arch-mage's path. Nalifan came into view smoke trailing from his finger tips. Arinyaniquis watched closely as he walked passed. Nalifan stopped, cocked his head, and then resumed walking. "What do we have here?" he said soflty in accented elvish. Arinyaniquis hesitated, a moment from exiting the wall and striking the drow from behind. Alive the drow was a threat to every living elf, but he was also an enemy of the overmasters.

"Lightning," said the the drow. "Bodies are still warm and fragments of a door. Still cold." He called out loudly. "Ice mage, I know you are here. I saw your sculpture. Very nice work. I know you are no friend to these psionicists. Let us parley."

[Imperial Overlord]

You are never more alive than when you dance with steel and spell. Do not be so overwhelmed with ecstasy that you make yourself vulnerable.

-Dread Queen Sheharith, addressing her daughters


The lost sword Ten Thousand Broken Dreams is said to be one of the most potent weapons ever fielded against the drow. If the legends are true, the weapon will collapse into ten thousand magical moonstones if it is ever wielded by a virtuous drow. I do not think the day the legend can be tested will be soon in coming.

-Nesayesh, On Elves.


As Arinyaniquis weighed the threat posed by the drow against that of the overmasters, Trizkel spoke to Nalifan mind to mind. I'm seeing a whole swarm of coming towards us, either carrying weapons of power or powered up to the gills.

I'm on my way, Nalifan responded. "Another time ice mage. I have victims to slay." With that he turned and rushed back the way he came, running with inhuman speed. In the space of two heartbeats he was gone.

Arinyaniquis waited another five before emerging from the wall. He had charges to sheppard. Dealing with the drow could wait. The elf hurried down the corridor and almost crashed into a pair of guards coming up. He swept the legs out from under the closest, sending the human toppling to the floor. With his left hand he seized the right wrist of the other, immobilizing his sword arm. The human grunted and through a punch, which slid off his wards as if he struck smooth metal. Arinyaniquis touched the fingers of his left hand to the human's skull and uttered a brief spell. The human went limp, instantly slain by the spell that froze his brain solid. Arinyaniquis let him drop and ran the other through the throat as he tried to rise.

The elf lord stepped over the corpse and descended down the hall, invoking a spell of invisibility to mask his presence. The thick stone walls muffled the sounds of the terrible violence occuring behind him, but his keen elven ears still heard the dull roars of explosions and the screams of the dying. He found a stairway and began heading down.

It was only a few moments before he caught up with the elves. Fifty odd people filled up a lot of stair and corridor space, even if they are slender elves. There was shouting ahead, guards arguing with Yanara. There was no time for manners so Arinyaniquis pushed his way through the line of elves, leaving puzzled elves milling in his wake. As he got close to the front to the group he got a good look at what Yanara was facing.

Three guardsmen and a female mind knight, a haughty woman in scuffed plate with a sword in her hand. Not all of Arinyaniquis's spells were of cold and one of the others fit this situations. He hissed the initiators. Lightning arced from his hand towards the mind knight, flashing purple-blue in the lamp light. It struck her full on and she screamed. Secondary arcs sprouted from her, leaping to the guardsmen who screamed and burned with their mistress. Charred meat fell to the floor.

"Don't waste time over them," Arinyaniquis whispered in Yanara's ear. "We need to get these people to safety."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

Little could be hidden from the gaze of the Eyes of Arachnae and that included the massing of well armed psilords and mindknights in the citadel's interior. Trizkel's first move was to call Nalifan. His second was to retreat back to where Sylvetria and Mikos were.

The aforementioned duo was moving easily and unopposed through the halls as every man and woman who saw them ran screaming in the opposite direction. The adventurers were moving forward cautiously, knowing the present situation was too good to last.

Trizkel sent them both a message. They're coming in heavy. Nalifan is on his way back. I'll be with you in moment. The adventurer's exchanged glances and then Sylvetria switched her warhammer for a bow. They were part way down a good sized corridor. This was as good a place to meet the enemy as any. They could hear the enemy coming closer now. Bows were raised.

A pair of mindknights charged through the doorway at the far end of the corridor. They could see others massing behind them. Mikos shot the first mindknight in the thigh, the arrowhead punching through bone and out the other side. Sylvetria shot him in the face.

They riddled the other one, shooting him four times in the chest (although only three arrow bit), until he staggered in mid step, blood pouring down his chest. It had been just a few seconds since battle was joined. The archers ignored the mortally wounded man and were already nocking new arrows. The psionicists behind the mindknights would strike at any moment.

Stone fell from the ceiling above the psionicists and Trizkel joined the fray by utilizing Ruinbringer against the citadel floor. Acid spewed down upon the psionicists, bathing a half dozen in corrosive fluids. They screamed and thrashed as their skin bubbled and their flesh sloughed off. Arrows flew and even the most potent of psionic shielding had little effect on the spell laden shafts. A psilord fell back with an arrow in his shoulder, another clutched one in his side. Another's shields held and she sent a wave of blazing white fire down the corridor. Then Trizkel dropped through the hole in the ceiling and put Mindeater through her skull.

Sylvetria and Mikos dived to the side and avoided the worst of the flames. Their protective talismans shielded them from most of the rest. They charged towards the chaotic melee as Trizkel took on all comers.

Blood coated his blades as he stabbed into the press of flesh. Only the strongest armour or psionic shields had even a chance of repelling his quicksilver strikes and for the first few seconds his foes staggered back, wounded or dying. Their very numbers encumbered them and allowed him to strike again and again. A telekinetic hammer struck him, but shattered on his defences. A lance of fire was launched from a psilord's forehead, but did no harm.

The a mindknight struck at him with a great maul, forcing him to dodge out of the way. His course took him close to a mindknight's battle axe which struck him in the stomach. His shield's were strong enough to prevent the strike from drawing blood, but it still doubled him over. A telekinetic force lance pierced his defences and struck his legs with bruising force. He fell. With the Eyes of Arachnae he could see everything. He could see lightning flashing towards Mikos and Sylvetria and blazing orbs of light coalescing in psilord's hands. He could see the axe and the maul being raised and other mindknights move closer to assist in the kill.

He rolled out of the way of the axe and the maul, for they were merely human and he was a drow with magically augmented speed. He pushed off the floor with his closed hands, rising into the air and getting his protesting legs back under him. His other hand, striking cat quick, stabbing with Ruinbringer into the visor dark crystal helm of one of the closing mindknights. The mindknight fell back screaming and clutching his visor. Orbs of light flew from hands down the corridor. Intolerable brightness was produced by their detonation. A wave of heat washed over them all.

They hadn't hit Sylvetria and Mikos hard enough. They were bloodied and burned, but not stopped. Sylvetria's hammer exploded a skull and Mikos moved in, blades flashing. A psilord fell, blood pouring from his wounds, as Mikos engaged a mindknight to take the pressure off Trizkel. The drow spun, blade flashing. A mindknight fell back bleeding as Trizkel fought to link up with his companions.

A mind blast sent rocked Sylvetria and she stumbled back, stunned. Mikos took off the mindknight's right arm at the elbow joint, but a telekinetic blast hammered him up against the wall with a loud crunch. Trizkel stabbed the axe wielding mindknight in the hip and Ruinbringer bit deep. He dodged an attack and parried a second. The maul caught him along the side and ribs cracked. He fell to the floor again, swords still flashing. A too slow mindknight fell the a shattered knee pumping blood. The mindknight with the maul moved in for the kill, the others moving out of his way to allow him to swing unhindered. The maul rose and Trizkel laughed. Then it descended.

[Imperial Overlord]

"My lady, may I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"I had the opportunity to read your book recently and was struck by a passage about keeping track of Nalifan. He is a mage and the most prone to ostentatious display is he not?"

"Yes, but it can be harder than you think."

"Really?"

"Easier said than done when Mikos is driving arrows through enscrolled plate armour or Trizkel is covering the ground with the dead."

-A conversation overheard in Waterdeep between Kaeryn and an unknown priest of Mystra.

Unearthly howls filled the air as Trizkel rolled out of the way of the maul. Ghostly shapes fluttered through the air as psionicists fell screaming. The wards of the most powerful withstood the killing spell. More than dozen bodies fell to the floor, their souls rent from their housings of meat and discarded. A massive blast of fire filled the room with a crescent shaped explosion, narrowly missing Trizkel, Mikos, and Syvetria. Most of the surviving psilords survived it, the remnants of their shields repulsing the mystical flames. Two were consumed by fire, their skin peeling back over blackened flesh and their brains boiling in their skulls. More bodies fell.

The Dalesman was first to act, flinging himself forward, over the body of the maul wielding mindknight, and upon a psi lord wielding a staff of blue crystal. The ranger's blades flashed with golden light as they struck invisible shields. Once, twice, three times, four times. Then the long blade hewing open the chest and shoulder and the short sword seeking the gut. Blood sprayed and another fell.

Trizkel floated to his feet and acid blasted from his mouth. The survivors had had their defences scourged with death magic and fire. Three fell screaming, smoke billowing from their robes as their flesh liquefied.

The three remaining psilords bolted for an exit. One stepped through a wall and vanished, the other two ran. Sylvetria was still recovering from the mindblast, but Mikos was unimpaired. He dropped his swords and drew his bow in a blur. The first three shafts disintegrated when they struck the first psilord, consumed by his shields. The next two pierced both his lungs. He took three steps forward and fell.

The last escaped the slaughter running through a doorway and then coming to a dead stop. Nalifan stepped into the killing floor, the psilord's body suspended from the bloody sword that ran him through. "Awfully considerate of him to do all the work, eh?" said the drow. He easily held the sword and corpse in one hand. The dying man's feet were suspended a half a foot above the floor. "Its so much easier when they impale themselves on your weapon. It does make this whole hand to hand combat business so much easier."

"Nice to see you Nal," said Mikos. "Next time, show up a little earlier please."

"I'll keep that in mind. Everyone alright?"

"Just wounds," said Trizkel. He was already employing his psionic disciplines to repair his flesh. "Syl caught a mind blast. She'll be fine."

The warrior woman winced and steadied herself against the wall. "Easy for you to say."

Trizkel nodded in affirmation. His drow heritage, psionic training, and the Eyes of Arachnae all provided him with formidable protection from mental attacks. The combination of all three with his iron will meant he was almost invulnerable to all forms of telepathic assault. "One got away through the wall and his protections were stronger than the rest. A lot of it was magic, not just psi."

"The overmaster and his ancient talisman collection," said Nalifan. "Lets see if we can find him and relieve of his valued possession? Starting with his piece of mind, working our way through his secrets and his material goods, and ending with his life?"

Feral grins answered him.

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Eyes were elsewhere, distracted by other events. The scrying arts were powerful, but vulnerable to spells and powers that twisted and blocked them. Such powers were possessed by Zehaneth and he had not been commanded not to use them. The few left observing him found only darkness.

The abomination's two land based bodies loped to another village, one spotted by the flier. The overmasters had twice used him in war previously, but their predecessors had been wiser. Now their were loopholes in their commands. He had to obey, but some things had not been expressly forbidden and so remained within his purview. He had not spent centuries in the pits merely starving in hunger. He had planned and prepared new skills against this day.

Men's eyes bulged when they saw him coming and they ran for their homes. Some to seize weapons to fight, others to hide. It made no difference. All of his bodies were cheetah quick and elephant strong. Doors splintered as he pressed his way in and mere iron would not bite him. Men begged. Women and children screamed. It all availed them not at all.

He gorged himself on blood and souls, but this time it was not to fuel the creation of yet another body. No, as urgently as he desired to become seven again, he must wait. He had a different use for all that power, now that most of the overmasters were distracted, now the rest were blind.

A haze of bloody light formed in the corpse strewn road, equidistant from all three of his bodies. The haze solidified into a door. Thunder cracked. A nightmare stepped through.

It was thirty feet tall, with dark green skin and blood red wings. It possessed four arms ending in clawed hands. Its head was an unholy amalgam of wolf and boar. A huge maw and a set of fearsome pinchers was set in its belly. It was armed with a great axe, a triple headed flair, a rune covered iron rod, and a cresent blade. It was a klurichir demon, like the one that served in the court of the Demon Queen Xyzasha.

They were fearsome demons. Even the might balors were cautious around them. That was half the reason that Zehaneth had selected the klurichir. The other reason was that among the formidable powers they possessed was a mastery of the summoning arts equaled by only a few.

Zehaneth projected the images of his prey into the demon's mind. "Gutweaver, I command you to seek out and slay these potent mortals. They are east of here. Summon as much aid as you need. You will find it advantageous in the long run." The overmasters had not known he possessed such powers and they were blind to this action. They had not forbidden him from seeking demonic assistance.

The demon roared and begin to rise into the sky. It was not a fool and new better than to challenge him. Soon the Greater Ward would weaken even further and this land would suffer. The bonds on Zehaneth would slip. And then would begin the feast that would never end.

[Imperial Overlord]

When you're first in a fight, it'll happen real quick like and go too fast. Don't panic, stay with your mates, and strike at the enemy and that will see you through. It gets easier the second time.

-Instruction from Armsmaster Drellin Orcbane to green soldiers.

Hit them hard and fast. Kill them all before they have the time to realise they're in a fight.

-Nalifan D'Azurentien, planning session.

Vargo ran through a wall, pushing through the stone as if it were water, to emerge on the other side. It had gone so wrong so quickly. One moment his men had one of them isolated and three of them on their knees and the next moment they were screaming and dying.

He had held back, keeping himself and all his power in reserve. He hadn't anticipated on a total reversal happening in seconds. By the time he could have intervened the battle was already lost.

The overmaster was not a modest man, nor one inclined to admit failures to others; but he was also not inclined to flattery or self deception. His plan had failed disastrously. He had been over cautious and victory had slipped out of his fingers. Now he had to think of survival.

Their previous pattern was to drive out or destroy all opposition and then commence systematic looting. His sanctum! Decades of work creating it, digging up every scrap of lore, every fragment of magic, maneuvers to get become Wulvic's overmaster, painstakingly learning elvish and extorting the few magic secrets that remained to his elven slaves; all forfeit. It must not be.

He focused his will and rose, the spell of phasing still upon him. He passed through the ceiling and continued to rise. One more level and he would be at the gate to his sanctum. He had distilled most of his knowledge into three large books. With them in hand he would be able to retain most of his magical might. He just had to enter and leave before the elves caught up with him.

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Arinyaniquis raised his hand in a gesture for quiet. The other elves stopped whispering and covered the mouths of the youngest children. He waited.

"What is it?" Yanara asked. The elves had taken refugee in a dark, underground storage room in the bowels of the stronghold. They had seen no one on their way here but frightened servants.

"Nothing," he replied. A spell so old no one on this world remembered its invention augmented his hearing, bringing the sounds of battle to his ears. "The blasting has stopped. One side has at least temporarily vanquished its foes. We move now, before they have a chance to take stock."

"Its a long way to the exits from here," she said. "We would have to go back up through the cellars just to reach the main floor."

"There is another way," Arinyaniquis said. He spoke an incantation of dreadful power, drawing upon the spirits of the world and of his ancestors to work his will. Sweat streamed from his brow and his heart beat like a drum as the stone wall in from of him gave way and so did the earth behind it. The dirt blasted upwards as tunnel was torn through the ground, gently rising to the surface.

He ran for the surface. It was likely that his magic had attracted attention, but if things had gone correctly the tunnel ended on the other side of the citadel wall providing him with more cover. Hopefully the extra distance would also help, but it was a gamble.

The other elves were following him at a slower pace. Good. He could see light ahead and saw no magical auras. That wasn't definitive, but it was a good sign. He reached the surface.

The tunnel ended in the middle of a deserted intersection, not surprising considering the time of the night and the havoc occurring behind him. He quickly checked again. Just a few people peering from windows. That was acceptable. "Come forth," he cried in elvish.

Yanara began to lead them to him. Getting them outside the walls should be easy enough. Anyone who hadn't been killed by the dhaerow or their war thralls wouldn't be much of a threat. What he was going to do once he got them beyond the walls was another question entirely.

One thing at a time, he thought. He extended his hand to an olive skinned redhead holding a smile child and helped her to the street. That's when it struck, a hammer blow of thunder that almost knocked him off his feet. Fire gushed from a wound in the citadel as chunks of pulverised stone pelted the inner wall and courtyard.

"Gods," Yanara whispered.

"They're still fighting in there. May they all drown in their own blood."

"Gods," she said again. "My grandfather is still in there."

[The Nomad]

I guess Nalifan's library will get three new entries .