BLACKDIRGE
Adventurer
Howdy all, since I went ahead and updated Metamorphosis, I though it was about time this stroy hour got an update as well. In addition. I have put the first seven installments into one document, so those of you that wish can catch up on the story. You will find the document in the frist post in this thread.
Dirge
_____________________________________________________________________________
Part VIII
Grummok stared down at the silent corpse of Fadarra Noquar; the beautiful drow matron lay atop her consort, an insignificant guard named Vennush. Vennush had died of a single dagger thrust to the heart, while Fadarra’s end was far more extravagant. The Matron Mother had eviscerated herself with her own blade, ripping the enchanted steel across her abdomen in grisly suicide. Her blood covered the floor of the Noquar chapel where she had died, coating the stone in a sticky film of congealing gore.
The assassin was not alone, Matron Tormtor stood but a few paces behind him, her delicate features creased with doubt and outrage. This was the second Matron mother to die at the hands of a mysterious assassin, although this murder was far more brazen than the first.
The drow matron and the gargoyle were alone in the Noquar chapel, a modest place of worship by drow standards. The chapel held a disturbing statue of a huge rearing spider, an all but forgotten image of Lolth that Grummok found to be a crude representation of the rapacious drow goddess. It was strangely fitting that the savage death of Fadarra and her consort had played out beneath the unsubtle rendering of the Lolth-spider’s splayed legs.
The entire Noquar household, including Fadarra’s eldest daughter and heir, waited outside the chapel. Matron Tormtor had ordered everyone beyond herself and Grummok from the scene of the murder, threatening all manner of grisly torture and death for any who disobeyed her. The matron mother had no desire to let the circumstances of Fadarra Noquar’s murder spread, the fewer details known to the general populace the better. The notion that two of the rulers of Erelhei-Cinlu could be dispatched in their own homes was a serious threat to Kezekia Tormtor’s personal power, as it could well encourage her enemies into believing that her own death was not beyond their reach. As it stood now, only Grummok knew anything substantial about the murders, and he had yet to report on his investigation of Matron Aleval’s demise. The assassin had been on his way to the Tormtor compound when news of Fadarra Noquar’s death had surfaced, and at Kezekia’s order, he had met the matron mother at the scene of the crime.
Grummok had not disturbed the bodies yet, he was still drinking in the murder, absorbing its lingering aura into his keen mind, and slowly distilling the crucial information he would need. He was calm and quiet, letting his senses wash over the room to pick out every scrap of detail that might offer some clue to the identity of the murderer. As fate would have it, his work would be far simpler than ever he imagined, although this would do little to assuage the growing alarm he had felt since first observing the murdered corpse of Matron Aleval.
“This is not a death meant for a Matron Mother.” Kezekia Tormtor spat acidly as she moved up to stand next to Grummok. “Whatever her crimes, Fadarra deserved more than to spill her own guts over the useless corpse of this insignificant male.” The matron mother prodded the cold dead hand of Vennush with the toe of her boot as she spoke.
“She loved him.” Grummok said simply in reply.
“What!” Kezekia hissed, turning on Grummok with a snarl.” What was that word you used?!”
Grummok stood his ground and answered the matron mother calmly. “Quelaa.” Grummok said again, using the surface elven word for love, a word that had no equivalent in drow. The closest drow came to such an idea was “shixxaa”, a word meaning fawning obedience.
“You dare to insinuate that Fadarra Noquar held some emotion for this guard?” Kezekia recoiled at the very idea of such devotion to another creature, especially a male
“I insinuate nothing, look at them.” Grummok pointed to the two tangled bodies. “See how her right hand has found his, and the left brushes his cheek.”
“What of it? I see nothing but limbs splayed randomly in the throes of death.” Kezekia said in response, although Grummok could hear the doubt in her words.
“Look closer Matron mother.” Grummok said, kneeling down beside the two corpses. “Before you is Fadarra Noquar’s crime, her selfless devotion to this male. An abomination in the eyes of Lolth.”
Matron Tormtor said nothing, but the fiery glare she fixed upon Grummok said that she could not discount the evidence that lay before her.
“Did Matron Noquar have any enemies?” Grummok asked as he pulled one of the daggers from his belt, and began using its keen point to lift folds of clothing or the occasional lock of hair in his examination of the two bodies.
“Of course she had enemies.” Kezekia scoffed, not attempting to hide her obviously low opinion of Grummok’s question. “We all have enemies, although I certainly see one that shall move to the top of the list for all Matron Mothers.”
“I meant enemies capable of something like this.” Grummok corrected himself. “An enemy that could kill a matron mother in her own home.”
Kezekia smiled, her full lips drawing pack to reveal the perfect ivory of her teeth. There was no joy or compassion in this smile, only a jagged precursor to the barb she was about to hurl Grummok’s way. “Why Grummok, the only being in this city capable of that kind of stealth and precision is…you.”
Grummok snorted laughter, knowing that Kezekia only meant to goad him. “Perhaps, but I currently have no desire to rouse the ire of your spider goddess with such a bold and blasphemous act.” He said, turning his head so that Kezekia could see the needle-fanged gash of his own smile. “Besides, I would have started with you.”
“You go to far, gargoyle.” Kezekia hissed, but there was no bite in her warning, and her eyes betrayed her enjoyment of such rare candor from one of her servants.
Grummok turned back to his work, using his dagger to gently push the blood soaked mop of Fadarra Noquar’s hair away from Vennush’s upper body. He then followed the line of the slain matron mother’s left arm, to where her finely manicured hand brushed the side of her lover’s face. Something in the way Fadarra’s hand lay caught his attention, and as he peered closer he saw that there was dried blood beneath the long polished nail of her index finger. He made a pleased grunt of surprise as he gently moved matron Noquar’s hand away from the face of her lover.
“Have you found something?” Kezekia asked hopefully, moving to stand over Grummok’s crouching form.
“See for yourself.” The assassin invited, sliding over to make room for the matron mother.
Kezekia dropped to her hams most inelegantly and peered closely where Grummok indicated. Her eyes widened at the sight, but she said nothing. Fadarra Noquar had carved three letters into the flesh of her lover’s neck, N Y S. “What does it mean?” the matron mother asked, turning to Grummok.
The gargoyle stared at Kezekia, his eyes narrowed as he took in her reaction to what he had found. She is lying, he thought, and poorly for a matron mother.
“I do not know what it means.” Grummok replied, letting Kezekia have her lie. “Perhaps it is an acronym, or the beginnings of a name. It doesn’t look like she had the time to compose an epic poem, what with her guts getting a bit of fresh air.”
“It is likely nothing. Some delusional whim that took Fadarra in her death throes, perhaps a pet name for this male here.” The matron mother dismissed Grummok’s find and stood.
She is spinning now. Trying to throw me off whatever these letters mean. “I am sure you’re correct matron mother, but if you will permit, might I look into this a bit more? One never knows what might be important in situations like this.” The assassin smiled up at Kezekia, knowing full well that she knew he had caught the scent of whatever it was she was trying to hide.
“Very well, do what you will.” She answered curtly. “ But do not waste too much time on this, I want this killer caught, and I want him caught soon.”
“As you wish, matron mother.” Grummok said. “I would also like to take the body of Vennush there, “ the assassin gestured toward the matron Noquar’s lover, “back the guild hall for a more thorough examination.”
“Do it, but make sure no one knows who it is you are examining.” Kezekia replied. “The body of Matron Noquar must, however, stay here. Her eldest, Jycarra, must be allowed to give the body to Lolth. I want her to assume her mother’s mantle a soon as possible.
Jycarra Noquar was nowhere near as formidable as her mother, and would be easily manipulated by house Tormtor. Although the circumstances were less than ideal, Grummok noted that Matron Tormtor had certainly turned them to her advantage. With Nerrod installed as the leader of house Aleval and now Jycarra poised to lead house Noquar, Kezekia Tormtor had created to weak and easily controlled allies among the city’s rulers.
“You may count on my discretion as always, matron mother.” Grummok said. “I will have Vennush’s body picked up as soon as I return to the guild hall. I will of course, dispose of the slaves used to haul the corpse.”
Kezekia nodded. “Then, if you are done here, I require your report on matron the death of Matron Aleval. You shall accompany me to the Tormtor compound at once.”
Oh, my dear Kezekia, you shall not be pleased what with I must tell you. Grummok slipped his hand into his belt pouch and fingered the smooth contours of statuette he had found in Matron Aleval’s personal quarters. “Of course, matron mother. I would be pleased to be your guest once again.”
“Then let us go, I can abide the stench of this offal no more.” Kezekia said, grimacing and casting one last lingering glance at the butchered corpse of her compatriot, before turning and pushing through the doors of the Noquar chapel to the outer fane beyond.
Grummok was alone, his hand still caressing the statuette of Eilistraee, his mind heavy with the possible consequences of what he had to tell matron Tormtor. The fact that Matron Aleval had been a traitor to bother her faith and her race would likely not sit well with the beleaguered Kezekia. And although she was not as prone to the brutal rages that defined her earlier centuries, the assassin feared that his news might provoke a lethal response nonetheless. Lethal for one us anyway.
Grummok had long wondered how a confrontation between he and the ruling Matron Mother might play out. She was without doubt the most gifted cleric in Erelhei-Cinlu and a murderous combatant with her maces to boot. He on the other hand had been slaying powerful drow for decades, and was well aware of their strengths and weaknesses. The gargoyle mentally catalogued the weapons he carried, which was far less than he would have liked. He had his two daggers, both heavily enchanted, tucked into his belt, and a wire garrote looped about his waist beneath his tunic. He had not donned any armor for this excursion to the upper vault, although he wore a ring and an amulet that functioned in much the same manner, providing a magical envelope of force around his entire body. It was not exactly how he would have chosen to arm himself in order to face the most powerful drow in the city.
But perhaps it will not come to that. Grummok thought. Kezekia obviously favored him, and the weapons that were most likely to prevail here would not be made of enchanted steel. Although the most skilled murderer in the city, Grummok was also an accomplished diplomat, his position as guild master meant that he must deal with a wide variety of clientele, from alien races to vaunted nobles, and all had to be coddled to some degree in order to shake the largest fees from tight laced purses. He could very probably dissuade Kezekia from any rash action, but if it came to violence he was prepared to call upon every ounce of skill he possessed to deal with the matron mother.
The statuette in his pouch, which he still fondled idly, brought a perverse thought to his mind. Well, that bitch Lolth certainly wont go out of her way to help me, how about you Eilistraee? Help me with Kezekia and I promise I will not hunt down you followers with the fervor I retain for most of my marks. The prayer was crude, put Grummok was not accustomed to beseeching aid from the divine, and he doubted a goddess such as Eilistraee would hear his plea in the first place.
Grummok moved his hand from the Eilistraee’s statuette to the hilt of his favorite dagger, the fiery blade that had once belonged to Hek. He stared at the closed doors of the Noquar chapel where Kezekia had just exited, and suddenly realized that the two items, the statuette and the dagger were inexorably linked. If he did not find succor with the former he would find salvation with the latter.
Nysanna Tormtor, reviled and outcast of her people, watched her mother, escorted by a troop of Tormtor guards, exit the main tower of the Noquar compound. The drider clung to the upper reaches of the tower like a great bloated insect, her presence masked by magical invisibility.
The pangs of exile rose up fiercely at the sight of her mother, proud and regal, walking in quiet conversation with the scaly assassin, Grummok. She hissed silently at the pain that was indelibly etched into her heart and soul. Her mother had disowned her, her goddess considered her a failure, and now only the desperate murders of those she had once considered sisters in the faith was all that remained.
Nysanna’s disfigurement was not as total as some of the driders she had encountered in her exile. Her upper torso, that which was still drow, had not changed since her transformation. She was still beautiful from the waist up, with unblemished ebony skin, high full breasts, and the visage so easily recognizable as Tormtor, aristocratic and breathtaking. But, below the waist she was a monster, a blasphemous spider-like mockery that stood as the unmistakable mark of failure in drow society.
But in the end, as it turned out, Nysanna had not lost the patronage of Lolth, and in fact the goddess had bestowed her blessings upon the drider, tasking her with rooting out the decadence and weakness that infected Erelhei-Cinlu. The two matron mothers she had slain had committed almost unthinkable crimes in the eyes of Lolth, Matron Aleval’s worship of the hated Eilistraee and matron Noquar’s fawning devotion to her male lover could only be expunged by their deaths. Nysanna hoped their souls were writhing in torment somewhere in the demon web pits.
The rest of the matron mothers would undoubtedly be rattled by the deaths of their compatriots, and certainly would not fail to recognize Lolth’s displeasure. Their petty crimes had not demanded death, but an example was being made of the worst offenders, and Nysanna still had one murder left, and she anticipated it eagerly. Matron Kezekia Tormtor must fall beneath her knife, and then the promise Lolth had made to her, that whispered reward that filled her dreams, would be hers to claim. The spider goddess would restore her to her normal body, and she would occupy her mother’s vacant seat as ruler of Erelhei-Cinlu.
The drider smiled, just the though of having two legs instead of eight was enough to fill her with joy. And to see her mother, writhing on the end of her dagger, the matron mother’s life leaking out with the ebbing tide of her blood was a sweetness she could scarcely imagine. But, one thing stood in the way of her restoration, the one random element about which Lolth had been mysteriously silent, the assassin Grummok.
Nysanna watched the gargoyle from her lofty vantage point. To her he did not appear to be so threatening. Gargoyles were base creatures of weak intellect and little in the way of sophistication, and the fact that Grummok had risen so high in Erelhei-Cinlu was certainly a testament to his superiority among his kind, but she doubted he could be as dangerous as rumor asserted. But Nysanna could not afford to underestimate a foe as notorious as this, and she would take every precaution necessary to ensure her victory of the assassin.
Nysanna noted that her mother was keeping Grummok close, an indication that she had faith in both his skills and his loyalty. The drider had no desire to face the two of them together, and would need to confront Grummok alone to neutralize him. She knew that the Kezekia could not keep the assassin by her side indefinitely, or it would arouse suspicion among the other matron mothers. All Nysanna had to do was wait and follow her mark. When the gargoyle made the perilous journey back to the lower vault, it would present her with ample opportunity to slay him. Her chitines had been unsuccessful at just such an attempt earlier, when the assassin was in the escort of Nerrod Aleval, but she was not about to leave such a delicate slaying in the hands of her underlings again.
If Lolth was with her, then Grummok would fall to her blade, and Kezekia Tomtor would be alone. Then she would be free to drink her fill from the bitter cup of vengeance and reclaim what was taken from her. Filled with the excitement of a long endeavor about to come to fruition, Nysanna crept down from her perch to silently follow Matron Tormtor and her entourage.
Dirge
_____________________________________________________________________________
Part VIII
Grummok stared down at the silent corpse of Fadarra Noquar; the beautiful drow matron lay atop her consort, an insignificant guard named Vennush. Vennush had died of a single dagger thrust to the heart, while Fadarra’s end was far more extravagant. The Matron Mother had eviscerated herself with her own blade, ripping the enchanted steel across her abdomen in grisly suicide. Her blood covered the floor of the Noquar chapel where she had died, coating the stone in a sticky film of congealing gore.
The assassin was not alone, Matron Tormtor stood but a few paces behind him, her delicate features creased with doubt and outrage. This was the second Matron mother to die at the hands of a mysterious assassin, although this murder was far more brazen than the first.
The drow matron and the gargoyle were alone in the Noquar chapel, a modest place of worship by drow standards. The chapel held a disturbing statue of a huge rearing spider, an all but forgotten image of Lolth that Grummok found to be a crude representation of the rapacious drow goddess. It was strangely fitting that the savage death of Fadarra and her consort had played out beneath the unsubtle rendering of the Lolth-spider’s splayed legs.
The entire Noquar household, including Fadarra’s eldest daughter and heir, waited outside the chapel. Matron Tormtor had ordered everyone beyond herself and Grummok from the scene of the murder, threatening all manner of grisly torture and death for any who disobeyed her. The matron mother had no desire to let the circumstances of Fadarra Noquar’s murder spread, the fewer details known to the general populace the better. The notion that two of the rulers of Erelhei-Cinlu could be dispatched in their own homes was a serious threat to Kezekia Tormtor’s personal power, as it could well encourage her enemies into believing that her own death was not beyond their reach. As it stood now, only Grummok knew anything substantial about the murders, and he had yet to report on his investigation of Matron Aleval’s demise. The assassin had been on his way to the Tormtor compound when news of Fadarra Noquar’s death had surfaced, and at Kezekia’s order, he had met the matron mother at the scene of the crime.
Grummok had not disturbed the bodies yet, he was still drinking in the murder, absorbing its lingering aura into his keen mind, and slowly distilling the crucial information he would need. He was calm and quiet, letting his senses wash over the room to pick out every scrap of detail that might offer some clue to the identity of the murderer. As fate would have it, his work would be far simpler than ever he imagined, although this would do little to assuage the growing alarm he had felt since first observing the murdered corpse of Matron Aleval.
“This is not a death meant for a Matron Mother.” Kezekia Tormtor spat acidly as she moved up to stand next to Grummok. “Whatever her crimes, Fadarra deserved more than to spill her own guts over the useless corpse of this insignificant male.” The matron mother prodded the cold dead hand of Vennush with the toe of her boot as she spoke.
“She loved him.” Grummok said simply in reply.
“What!” Kezekia hissed, turning on Grummok with a snarl.” What was that word you used?!”
Grummok stood his ground and answered the matron mother calmly. “Quelaa.” Grummok said again, using the surface elven word for love, a word that had no equivalent in drow. The closest drow came to such an idea was “shixxaa”, a word meaning fawning obedience.
“You dare to insinuate that Fadarra Noquar held some emotion for this guard?” Kezekia recoiled at the very idea of such devotion to another creature, especially a male
“I insinuate nothing, look at them.” Grummok pointed to the two tangled bodies. “See how her right hand has found his, and the left brushes his cheek.”
“What of it? I see nothing but limbs splayed randomly in the throes of death.” Kezekia said in response, although Grummok could hear the doubt in her words.
“Look closer Matron mother.” Grummok said, kneeling down beside the two corpses. “Before you is Fadarra Noquar’s crime, her selfless devotion to this male. An abomination in the eyes of Lolth.”
Matron Tormtor said nothing, but the fiery glare she fixed upon Grummok said that she could not discount the evidence that lay before her.
“Did Matron Noquar have any enemies?” Grummok asked as he pulled one of the daggers from his belt, and began using its keen point to lift folds of clothing or the occasional lock of hair in his examination of the two bodies.
“Of course she had enemies.” Kezekia scoffed, not attempting to hide her obviously low opinion of Grummok’s question. “We all have enemies, although I certainly see one that shall move to the top of the list for all Matron Mothers.”
“I meant enemies capable of something like this.” Grummok corrected himself. “An enemy that could kill a matron mother in her own home.”
Kezekia smiled, her full lips drawing pack to reveal the perfect ivory of her teeth. There was no joy or compassion in this smile, only a jagged precursor to the barb she was about to hurl Grummok’s way. “Why Grummok, the only being in this city capable of that kind of stealth and precision is…you.”
Grummok snorted laughter, knowing that Kezekia only meant to goad him. “Perhaps, but I currently have no desire to rouse the ire of your spider goddess with such a bold and blasphemous act.” He said, turning his head so that Kezekia could see the needle-fanged gash of his own smile. “Besides, I would have started with you.”
“You go to far, gargoyle.” Kezekia hissed, but there was no bite in her warning, and her eyes betrayed her enjoyment of such rare candor from one of her servants.
Grummok turned back to his work, using his dagger to gently push the blood soaked mop of Fadarra Noquar’s hair away from Vennush’s upper body. He then followed the line of the slain matron mother’s left arm, to where her finely manicured hand brushed the side of her lover’s face. Something in the way Fadarra’s hand lay caught his attention, and as he peered closer he saw that there was dried blood beneath the long polished nail of her index finger. He made a pleased grunt of surprise as he gently moved matron Noquar’s hand away from the face of her lover.
“Have you found something?” Kezekia asked hopefully, moving to stand over Grummok’s crouching form.
“See for yourself.” The assassin invited, sliding over to make room for the matron mother.
Kezekia dropped to her hams most inelegantly and peered closely where Grummok indicated. Her eyes widened at the sight, but she said nothing. Fadarra Noquar had carved three letters into the flesh of her lover’s neck, N Y S. “What does it mean?” the matron mother asked, turning to Grummok.
The gargoyle stared at Kezekia, his eyes narrowed as he took in her reaction to what he had found. She is lying, he thought, and poorly for a matron mother.
“I do not know what it means.” Grummok replied, letting Kezekia have her lie. “Perhaps it is an acronym, or the beginnings of a name. It doesn’t look like she had the time to compose an epic poem, what with her guts getting a bit of fresh air.”
“It is likely nothing. Some delusional whim that took Fadarra in her death throes, perhaps a pet name for this male here.” The matron mother dismissed Grummok’s find and stood.
She is spinning now. Trying to throw me off whatever these letters mean. “I am sure you’re correct matron mother, but if you will permit, might I look into this a bit more? One never knows what might be important in situations like this.” The assassin smiled up at Kezekia, knowing full well that she knew he had caught the scent of whatever it was she was trying to hide.
“Very well, do what you will.” She answered curtly. “ But do not waste too much time on this, I want this killer caught, and I want him caught soon.”
“As you wish, matron mother.” Grummok said. “I would also like to take the body of Vennush there, “ the assassin gestured toward the matron Noquar’s lover, “back the guild hall for a more thorough examination.”
“Do it, but make sure no one knows who it is you are examining.” Kezekia replied. “The body of Matron Noquar must, however, stay here. Her eldest, Jycarra, must be allowed to give the body to Lolth. I want her to assume her mother’s mantle a soon as possible.
Jycarra Noquar was nowhere near as formidable as her mother, and would be easily manipulated by house Tormtor. Although the circumstances were less than ideal, Grummok noted that Matron Tormtor had certainly turned them to her advantage. With Nerrod installed as the leader of house Aleval and now Jycarra poised to lead house Noquar, Kezekia Tormtor had created to weak and easily controlled allies among the city’s rulers.
“You may count on my discretion as always, matron mother.” Grummok said. “I will have Vennush’s body picked up as soon as I return to the guild hall. I will of course, dispose of the slaves used to haul the corpse.”
Kezekia nodded. “Then, if you are done here, I require your report on matron the death of Matron Aleval. You shall accompany me to the Tormtor compound at once.”
Oh, my dear Kezekia, you shall not be pleased what with I must tell you. Grummok slipped his hand into his belt pouch and fingered the smooth contours of statuette he had found in Matron Aleval’s personal quarters. “Of course, matron mother. I would be pleased to be your guest once again.”
“Then let us go, I can abide the stench of this offal no more.” Kezekia said, grimacing and casting one last lingering glance at the butchered corpse of her compatriot, before turning and pushing through the doors of the Noquar chapel to the outer fane beyond.
Grummok was alone, his hand still caressing the statuette of Eilistraee, his mind heavy with the possible consequences of what he had to tell matron Tormtor. The fact that Matron Aleval had been a traitor to bother her faith and her race would likely not sit well with the beleaguered Kezekia. And although she was not as prone to the brutal rages that defined her earlier centuries, the assassin feared that his news might provoke a lethal response nonetheless. Lethal for one us anyway.
Grummok had long wondered how a confrontation between he and the ruling Matron Mother might play out. She was without doubt the most gifted cleric in Erelhei-Cinlu and a murderous combatant with her maces to boot. He on the other hand had been slaying powerful drow for decades, and was well aware of their strengths and weaknesses. The gargoyle mentally catalogued the weapons he carried, which was far less than he would have liked. He had his two daggers, both heavily enchanted, tucked into his belt, and a wire garrote looped about his waist beneath his tunic. He had not donned any armor for this excursion to the upper vault, although he wore a ring and an amulet that functioned in much the same manner, providing a magical envelope of force around his entire body. It was not exactly how he would have chosen to arm himself in order to face the most powerful drow in the city.
But perhaps it will not come to that. Grummok thought. Kezekia obviously favored him, and the weapons that were most likely to prevail here would not be made of enchanted steel. Although the most skilled murderer in the city, Grummok was also an accomplished diplomat, his position as guild master meant that he must deal with a wide variety of clientele, from alien races to vaunted nobles, and all had to be coddled to some degree in order to shake the largest fees from tight laced purses. He could very probably dissuade Kezekia from any rash action, but if it came to violence he was prepared to call upon every ounce of skill he possessed to deal with the matron mother.
The statuette in his pouch, which he still fondled idly, brought a perverse thought to his mind. Well, that bitch Lolth certainly wont go out of her way to help me, how about you Eilistraee? Help me with Kezekia and I promise I will not hunt down you followers with the fervor I retain for most of my marks. The prayer was crude, put Grummok was not accustomed to beseeching aid from the divine, and he doubted a goddess such as Eilistraee would hear his plea in the first place.
Grummok moved his hand from the Eilistraee’s statuette to the hilt of his favorite dagger, the fiery blade that had once belonged to Hek. He stared at the closed doors of the Noquar chapel where Kezekia had just exited, and suddenly realized that the two items, the statuette and the dagger were inexorably linked. If he did not find succor with the former he would find salvation with the latter.
***
Nysanna Tormtor, reviled and outcast of her people, watched her mother, escorted by a troop of Tormtor guards, exit the main tower of the Noquar compound. The drider clung to the upper reaches of the tower like a great bloated insect, her presence masked by magical invisibility.
The pangs of exile rose up fiercely at the sight of her mother, proud and regal, walking in quiet conversation with the scaly assassin, Grummok. She hissed silently at the pain that was indelibly etched into her heart and soul. Her mother had disowned her, her goddess considered her a failure, and now only the desperate murders of those she had once considered sisters in the faith was all that remained.
Nysanna’s disfigurement was not as total as some of the driders she had encountered in her exile. Her upper torso, that which was still drow, had not changed since her transformation. She was still beautiful from the waist up, with unblemished ebony skin, high full breasts, and the visage so easily recognizable as Tormtor, aristocratic and breathtaking. But, below the waist she was a monster, a blasphemous spider-like mockery that stood as the unmistakable mark of failure in drow society.
But in the end, as it turned out, Nysanna had not lost the patronage of Lolth, and in fact the goddess had bestowed her blessings upon the drider, tasking her with rooting out the decadence and weakness that infected Erelhei-Cinlu. The two matron mothers she had slain had committed almost unthinkable crimes in the eyes of Lolth, Matron Aleval’s worship of the hated Eilistraee and matron Noquar’s fawning devotion to her male lover could only be expunged by their deaths. Nysanna hoped their souls were writhing in torment somewhere in the demon web pits.
The rest of the matron mothers would undoubtedly be rattled by the deaths of their compatriots, and certainly would not fail to recognize Lolth’s displeasure. Their petty crimes had not demanded death, but an example was being made of the worst offenders, and Nysanna still had one murder left, and she anticipated it eagerly. Matron Kezekia Tormtor must fall beneath her knife, and then the promise Lolth had made to her, that whispered reward that filled her dreams, would be hers to claim. The spider goddess would restore her to her normal body, and she would occupy her mother’s vacant seat as ruler of Erelhei-Cinlu.
The drider smiled, just the though of having two legs instead of eight was enough to fill her with joy. And to see her mother, writhing on the end of her dagger, the matron mother’s life leaking out with the ebbing tide of her blood was a sweetness she could scarcely imagine. But, one thing stood in the way of her restoration, the one random element about which Lolth had been mysteriously silent, the assassin Grummok.
Nysanna watched the gargoyle from her lofty vantage point. To her he did not appear to be so threatening. Gargoyles were base creatures of weak intellect and little in the way of sophistication, and the fact that Grummok had risen so high in Erelhei-Cinlu was certainly a testament to his superiority among his kind, but she doubted he could be as dangerous as rumor asserted. But Nysanna could not afford to underestimate a foe as notorious as this, and she would take every precaution necessary to ensure her victory of the assassin.
Nysanna noted that her mother was keeping Grummok close, an indication that she had faith in both his skills and his loyalty. The drider had no desire to face the two of them together, and would need to confront Grummok alone to neutralize him. She knew that the Kezekia could not keep the assassin by her side indefinitely, or it would arouse suspicion among the other matron mothers. All Nysanna had to do was wait and follow her mark. When the gargoyle made the perilous journey back to the lower vault, it would present her with ample opportunity to slay him. Her chitines had been unsuccessful at just such an attempt earlier, when the assassin was in the escort of Nerrod Aleval, but she was not about to leave such a delicate slaying in the hands of her underlings again.
If Lolth was with her, then Grummok would fall to her blade, and Kezekia Tomtor would be alone. Then she would be free to drink her fill from the bitter cup of vengeance and reclaim what was taken from her. Filled with the excitement of a long endeavor about to come to fruition, Nysanna crept down from her perch to silently follow Matron Tormtor and her entourage.
Last edited:
