blackshirt5
First Post
I love it.
And the next time I play ANYTHING with wings, I'm so using that tactic.
And the next time I play ANYTHING with wings, I'm so using that tactic.
-
The VOIDRUNNER'S CODEX is coming! Explore new worlds, fight oppressive empires, fend off fearsome aliens, and wield deadly psionics with this comprehensive boxed set expansion for 5E and A5E!
An Assassin's Tale: The Return of Grummok - A taste of things to come =]
- Thread starter BLACKDIRGE
- Start date
BLACKDIRGE
Adventurer
pogre said:
Thank you kindly.
The next installment is about half done, I hope to post it this weekend.
Dirge
BLACKDIRGE
Adventurer
Part !V
Battered and weary, Grummok and Nerrod found themselves at last at the Everstair, a narrow, steeply ascending tunnel, complete with a set of stone steps, that bored directly through the great shelf of rock that housed the noble residences of Erelhei-Cinlu. There were no guards on this end of the stair, but a contingent of the city’s finest troops waited at the top behind another fortified gate.
After the ordeal at the chasm with the chitine assassin, both gargoyle and drow were not anticipating the backbreaking climb that stood before them. The Everstair rose some one thousand feet and the tight, confining walls had been magically imbued by long dead nobles to thwart any arcane support to those wishing to ascend to the top. It seemed that even those invited to the upper vault were severely challenged, if not outright hampered by the xenophobic defenses of Erelhei-Cinlu’s noble realm.
With little choice but to proceed, Grummok and Nerrod mounted the steps and began the laborious climb up. Nerrod led the way, and although nearly breathless from his physical exertions, kept up a steady stream of dialogue.
“I have not seen a chitine since I was a child.” Nerrod said over his shoulder as he climbed. “My mother found a small village of the vile little bastards, living on the edge of the vault. They had been stealing rothe and attacking the occasional merchant traveling to the city. I was with my mother and my sisters when they wiped out the whole nest.”
“How many were killed?” Grummok asked, keeping pace with the slower moving drow.
“Fifty. Maybe sixty.” Nerrod answered. “Mostly warriors, similar to the one at the chasm, although there was a choldrith in their number.”
“Choldrith?” Grummok carefully pronounced the foreign word.
“Yes, the choldrith are the ruling caste of the chitine. All female, they resemble driders somewhat, and cast spells as our clerics do.” There was slight hesitation in Nerrod’s voice. Grummok picked it up immediately, the drow noble was uncomfortable with this subject. Perhaps the mention of driders, those drow cursed by as failures by Lolth, and transformed into monstrous half-spider abominations, had unsettled him. Either way Grummok pressed for more information.
“The choldrith are clerics?” Grummok asked. “What god do they worship?”
Nerrod stopped climbing, and turned to face Grummok. The drow noble’s mouth was set into a hard line. “That is a question best left for my sister, or one of the matron mothers.” He said, anger creeping into his tone.
Grummok did not attempt to hide his amusement at Nerrod discomfort. “They worship Lolth, don’t they?” The gargoyle said with a grin. “That must pose quite a conundrum for the matron mothers. Why would Lolth support their enemies?”
“Perhaps you should focus that inquisitive mind of yours on finding my mother’s killer, assassin. And not on issues which do not concern you.” There was acid in Nerrod’s words, and his hand crept down to the hilt of his hammer, which hung from his belt.
“If you take that weapon from your belt, Nerrod, I will deliver your remains to your sister in a very small bag.” Grummok’s tone was icy calm, and his body, perfectly still, radiated imminent violence.
The anger drained away from the drow noble’s face, and suddenly he looked very young, and very frightened. “My apologies lord Grummok, I… let my anger get the best of me.” Nerrod’s hand rose to his face, away from his weapon and most certain death. “Please forgive me, your questions are legitimate, they should not have angered me so.”
“Of course, Nerrod.” Grummok said, relaxing his body in such a way that the young drow could see the threat had passed. “If I have given offense, then I too offer my most humble apologies.” The gargoyle bowed low.
“Yes, well…we have quite a ways to travel, let us continue.” Nerrod turned around, visibly relieved, and resumed his climb.
Grummok followed, and the two continued their ascent in silence.
********************************************************
The Aleval compound contrasted sharply with the other noble manses in the area, it lacked grace or complication, and was simply a squat three-story tower of unremarkable gray metal. Clustered around the central structure were a number of smaller buildings: barracks, servant quarters, and other utilitarian structures, all constructed in the same lackluster fashion as the main tower. The entire compound was ringed with two walls of adamantium. The outer wall was roughly ten feet in height completely smooth and topped with razor sharp spikes. The inner wall was five feet higher than the outer and sat back nearly twenty feet. This wall was much broader allowing the guards that patrolled its length an excellent vantage point to snipe at anything that made it over the first wall.
Grummok rarely visited drow nobility in their own homes, due in part to his busy schedule, and the fact that master assassins are rarely invited to social functions, even in a city of murderers and thieves.
The gate of the Aleval compound was shut tight, its iron gray bulk rising before Grummok and Nerrod in an implacable display of drow security. The gate was solid adamantium, and had a unique operating mechanism. Instead of twin doors that swung open to the left and right, the Aleval gate was a single gargantuan piece of metal with a pivot in its center. Grummok wondered how the guards on the other side managed to open such a ponderously huge and heavy thing.
Nerrod strode up to the entrance of his home, and called out in a loud clear voice. “It is I, Nerrod, son of Mevremas! I have returned! Open the gate!”
In response to Nerrod’s plea, a deep grinding rumbled out from beneath the gate, followed by a series of muffled metallic clangs. Grummok surmised that there must be a series of clamps, below the ground, that held the gate in place against any illicit entry. The rattle of heavy chains preceded the achingly slow ascent of the bottom half of the gate as it flipped back on its pivot. The gate rose to a height of ten feet, at this height the gate itself was completely horizontal with the ground, and Grummok could see how the drow of house Aleval managed to open their impossibly heavy front door.
Grunting with exertion, ten minotaurs, each harnessed to a massive chain that in turn was connected with the top of the Aleval gate, strained mightily with every ounce of strength they possessed to keep the gate from crashing down. Two house guards stood behind the minotaurs, shouting and cursing, and occasionally licking the broad backs of the bull-headed humanoids with an iron studded whip.
Nerrod and Grummok hurried through the gate, into the killing ground that existed between the two walls of the Aleval compound. Grummok could see over a dozen Aleval troops atop the second wall ahead, all armed with heavy crossbows, each casually pointed in the direction of the new arrivals.
With a single barked command from the drow task masters, the minotaurs slowly let the weight of the outer gate pull them backwards, letting the chains slacken and thereby closing the massive pivoting door. A final heavy thud followed by the staccato clanging of the hidden clamps sealed the gate. Their task done for the moment, the minotaurs collapsed where they stood, utterly spent.
Grummok and Nerrod moved forward to the inner gate, which consisted of a relatively small door cut into the adamantium of the inner wall. A pair of ogre slaves flanked this second entrance, each armored in thick scale mail and equipped with a truly massive halberd. The two ogres kept their eyes straight ahead as Grummok and Nerrod approached, and the inner gate swung open to admit them into the main Aleval compound.
The main yard was as spartan as the rest of the Aleval estate. There were no fountains, sculptures or even the fungal gardens that drow nobility often decorated their homes with. There was simply dry earth, beaten flat by the boots of the training Aleval soldiers. In fact, all Grummok could see were soldiers, clumps of them, training, sparring, drilling, every where he looked.
Nerrod and Grummok moved past the clustered groups of soldiers, past the barracks and slave huts, finally reaching the main tower. Here an effete male drow, dressed in gaudy finery awaited them outside the tower gates. He was not of Aleval descent, this much was obvious, he was far too pretty to be of that less than comely line. “Master Nerrod, your sister has been awaiting your arrival with great anticipation.” The drow dandy said, fluttering about Nerrod and Grummok with exaggerated urgency.
“Yes, Lyrus, I know. We encountered some …difficulty at the bridge.” Nerrod said, allowing the Aleval major domo to usher he and Grummok into the tower.
“I hope you and Master Grummok came to no harm.” Lyrus lisped, his voice dripping with the practiced sympathy of a professional boot licker. “Your lady sister would be crushed if anything ever happened to her favorite brother.”
“Yes, I’m sure she would.” Nerrod did little to hide the sarcasm in his tone.
Lyrus led his two charges through a short hall that ended in the ground floor of the tower. There was little to be seen on this bottom story, just a simple spiral staircase climbing up through the ceiling.
As they climbed the stairs, Nerrod pointed out the structure of his family’s tower. “The bottom floor is barren, used only as place to muster troops in times of war.” He said. “The second floor holds the chapel of Lolth, and my mother’s throne room. We will find Henevra there.”
The stairs opened into a small round room with a door to the north and south. The northern door was ornately decorated with carvings of leering demons and spiders, and was the first sign of artistry Grummok had seen in the Aleval compound. The spiral staircase continued upward to what Grummok guessed were the personal chambers of the Aleval family.
Lyrus pushed open the northern door and stood beside it, beckoning Nerrod and Grummok to enter. The darkness that yawned from the open doorway was so thick that Grummok had trouble piercing it even with his darkvision, and from out that darkness floated the grating invitation of Henevra Aleval. “Please, enter.”
Grummok followed Nerrod into the throne room of house Aleval, the door closing behind them with an ominous thud. The chamber was a semi-circle, forming one half of the second floor of the main tower, and had little to fill it beside two ornate thrones at its northern end. The floor was of polished onyx and the ceiling bore a carved bass-relief of Lolth, resplendent in her drow maiden form. There was no light, and Grummok saw the room through the stark and colorless detail of his darkvision.
Of the two thrones that occupied the chamber, one was obviously of more import than the second. This first throne was empty, and it rested upon a raised dais, its barrenness made all the more glaring by the occupied second throne that sat beside it. Henevra Aleval sat stiff and uneasy in the second seat of power, her glance flickering longingly to the empty seat to her left. She could not claim her mother’s power or her throne until Mevremas’ body had been given to Lolth, a fact that Grummok knew caused her no end of frustration.
Grummok and Nerrod stopped ten paces from Henevra, Nerrod dropping into a low bow, while Grummok merely inclined his head to the matron mother in waiting. “My sister, please forgive our tardiness, we were attacked on the bridge.”
Henevra Aleval, was not a comely drow, in fact she was only a step away from actual ugliness. Thick featured, with a square jaw and a wide flat nose, her femininity was even further hampered by the fact that she wore her hair cropped close to her scalp in the fashion of drow warriors. Her eyes were set close together and her lips, which held naught but grimaces and frowns, were thin and hard, lacking any trace of warmth or humor. She wore scale mail like her brother, and even seated, Grummok could see the almost masculine breadth of her shoulders and the strength they contained. She too bore a warhammer, and it rested casually in her lap as she regarded her brother and his guest.
“Well, I figured that you would have some reason for keeping me waiting.” Henevra growled. “Tell me what happened.”
Nerrod straightened from his bow and took a deep breath; Grummok noted that his hands shook ever so slightly as he prepared to make his report. He is afraid of her, Grummok realized. “As I said we were attacked on the bridge that crosses the Blackshine. An assassin upon the cliff wall killed my guards and would have slain me as well, were it not for Grummok.”
“You lost six guards!” Henevra suddenly thundered, her lips quivering with anger. “I have no need to remind you that our house is in a precarious position, brother. We could be attacked at any moment and your carelessness with our resources is intolerable!”
“We…we were ambushed, we could not see our attacker.” Nerrod stammered, backing away from his sister. “Sister, please…”
“No, I have had my fill of your incompetence, Nerrod!” Henevra bellowed, rising to her feet. “Our mother lies dead, and you run about on fool’s errands, casting away our men like dice in a gambling hall. I will not tolerate…”
“Sit down!” Grummok’s words cut through Henevra’s tirade, turning her face into an almost comical expression of shock and outrage. “I have seen my fill of hardship this day and I have no intention of listening to your foolish blustering.”
Nerrod turned to look at Grummok, his mouth hanging open in mute horror.
“You dare command me, assassin.” Henevra seethed. “You are not fit to lick the dirt from my boots!” The drow matron was literally gnashing her teeth with rage, a state that Grummok thought was probably quite common for her. “ I will teach you the lesson that all males must learn!” With this final admonition, thick guttural words began to pour from Henevra’s mouth and her hands tore at the air in frenzied arcane patterns.
Nerrod did not see Grummok’s hand move, did not see him pull one of his daggers from his belt, but he knew these actions had occurred, at a speed impossible for the eye to follow. The outcome of these invisible actions Nerrod did see. One moment Henevra was intoning the words to a spell, the next she was on her knees trying to scream through a gurgle of blood and escaping breathe. Grummok’s dagger jutted from under Henevra’s jaw, buried in the soft flesh of her throat. Her hands fluttered spasmodically around the hilt of the protruding dagger, her eyes filled with the dawning horror of one whose death is utterly imminent.
Grummok approached his mark casually, watching the strength drain from her body as the blood poured from the awful wound in her throat. When he reached her, the assassin bent down and grabbed up both of Henevra’s wrists in his left hand as her fists ascended to batter feebly about his head and shoulders. With his right hand Grummok took hold of his dagger and ripped it loose with a single savage yank. The gargoyle’s ungentle removal of his weapon stretched the wound into a gaping horizontal slash and blood jetted from the huge tear in great black gouts.
Nerrod watched the last vestiges of life leave his sister’s eyes as she kneeled before her killer. He did not rush to her aid or take up his hammer to confront her murderer. He simply watched her die. And when Grummok casually pushed Henevra over with one spade clawed foot to lie still in a massive pool of her own congealing blood, Nerrod smiled thinly and said, “Well assassin, what of me? Am I to follow my sister?”
Grummok ignored the young drow, and returned his dagger to his belt, its blade still a gory crimson. He then reached beneath his tunic and withdrew a small sealed envelope, he held it for a moment, and then looked up at Nerrod, his eerie green eyes holding the drow’s own. “I like you Nerrod, I do not want to kill you if I don’t have to. So I am pleased to be able to offer you a choice.”
“What are you talking about?” Nerrod asked, his voice cracking under the strain of his very evident fear.
“I came here for two reasons.” Grummok continued. “One you know about, I am here to investigate the death of your mother. The second was to ensure that your sister never claimed leadership of house Aleval.”
“Why” Nerrod asked. “Lolth forbids this kind of assassination, Kezekia Tormtor must know this.” The young drow named the impetus behind his sister’s murder with no reluctance.
“No, the law forbids a matron mother to strike at another matron mother in this manner.” Grummok said, smiling. “Henevra was not a matron mother, her ascension hung upon the proper disposal of her mother’s body.”
Grummok had received his orders to kill Henevra Aleval within the same summons that brought him to the Aleval compound. The loophole could not be ignored, and Kezekia Tormtor had no use for the quick tempered and irrational Henevra Aleval. The murder had been a secondary concern to the investigation of Mervramas’ death, but Henevra’s outburst was as good an opportunity as any other and Grummok was satisfied with the assassination.
“This makes no sense, who will lead our house?” Nerrod’s face was ashen as he realized that his entire family line might be coming to an end.
“You will.” Grummok answered. “If you accept the proposal that is contained in this envelope.” The gargoyle held out the envelope with its wax seal to Nerrod. “This is your choice, accept it or join your sister.”
Nerrod stepped forward and carefully took the envelope from Grummok’s hand. The young drow broke the seal and withdrew a single piece of parchment, he held it up to his eyes and read what was written there.
“Do you know what this says?” Nerrod asked when he had finished reading.
“Yes, it is an offer that no other male drow has ever seen.” Grummok said. “To lead your own mercenary house, to be one of Erelhei-Cinlu’s first lords.”
“But loyal to house Tormtor, of course.” Nerrod replied acidly.
“So what of it?” Grummok shot back. “You will train your own men, and those provided by house Tormtor. You may sell your services to any who desire it, and enjoy the full backing of the most powerful house in Erelhei-Cinlu. All you must do is provide troops when needed, and remain loyal.”
“And if I do not accept?”
“The I will kill you, and your house will be overrun with Tormtor troops within the hour.” Grummok said coldly. “But I hope that is not the path you would choose.”
Nerrod was silent for a moment, and then his homely features lit up in a grin of pure delight. “Matron Tormtor is most generous, please convey my thanks when next you see her.”
“I see wisdom numbers among your many virtues, Lord Aleval.” Grummok said with a bow. “Now, to the other matter that has brought me here. Take me to your mother.”
Battered and weary, Grummok and Nerrod found themselves at last at the Everstair, a narrow, steeply ascending tunnel, complete with a set of stone steps, that bored directly through the great shelf of rock that housed the noble residences of Erelhei-Cinlu. There were no guards on this end of the stair, but a contingent of the city’s finest troops waited at the top behind another fortified gate.
After the ordeal at the chasm with the chitine assassin, both gargoyle and drow were not anticipating the backbreaking climb that stood before them. The Everstair rose some one thousand feet and the tight, confining walls had been magically imbued by long dead nobles to thwart any arcane support to those wishing to ascend to the top. It seemed that even those invited to the upper vault were severely challenged, if not outright hampered by the xenophobic defenses of Erelhei-Cinlu’s noble realm.
With little choice but to proceed, Grummok and Nerrod mounted the steps and began the laborious climb up. Nerrod led the way, and although nearly breathless from his physical exertions, kept up a steady stream of dialogue.
“I have not seen a chitine since I was a child.” Nerrod said over his shoulder as he climbed. “My mother found a small village of the vile little bastards, living on the edge of the vault. They had been stealing rothe and attacking the occasional merchant traveling to the city. I was with my mother and my sisters when they wiped out the whole nest.”
“How many were killed?” Grummok asked, keeping pace with the slower moving drow.
“Fifty. Maybe sixty.” Nerrod answered. “Mostly warriors, similar to the one at the chasm, although there was a choldrith in their number.”
“Choldrith?” Grummok carefully pronounced the foreign word.
“Yes, the choldrith are the ruling caste of the chitine. All female, they resemble driders somewhat, and cast spells as our clerics do.” There was slight hesitation in Nerrod’s voice. Grummok picked it up immediately, the drow noble was uncomfortable with this subject. Perhaps the mention of driders, those drow cursed by as failures by Lolth, and transformed into monstrous half-spider abominations, had unsettled him. Either way Grummok pressed for more information.
“The choldrith are clerics?” Grummok asked. “What god do they worship?”
Nerrod stopped climbing, and turned to face Grummok. The drow noble’s mouth was set into a hard line. “That is a question best left for my sister, or one of the matron mothers.” He said, anger creeping into his tone.
Grummok did not attempt to hide his amusement at Nerrod discomfort. “They worship Lolth, don’t they?” The gargoyle said with a grin. “That must pose quite a conundrum for the matron mothers. Why would Lolth support their enemies?”
“Perhaps you should focus that inquisitive mind of yours on finding my mother’s killer, assassin. And not on issues which do not concern you.” There was acid in Nerrod’s words, and his hand crept down to the hilt of his hammer, which hung from his belt.
“If you take that weapon from your belt, Nerrod, I will deliver your remains to your sister in a very small bag.” Grummok’s tone was icy calm, and his body, perfectly still, radiated imminent violence.
The anger drained away from the drow noble’s face, and suddenly he looked very young, and very frightened. “My apologies lord Grummok, I… let my anger get the best of me.” Nerrod’s hand rose to his face, away from his weapon and most certain death. “Please forgive me, your questions are legitimate, they should not have angered me so.”
“Of course, Nerrod.” Grummok said, relaxing his body in such a way that the young drow could see the threat had passed. “If I have given offense, then I too offer my most humble apologies.” The gargoyle bowed low.
“Yes, well…we have quite a ways to travel, let us continue.” Nerrod turned around, visibly relieved, and resumed his climb.
Grummok followed, and the two continued their ascent in silence.
********************************************************
The Aleval compound contrasted sharply with the other noble manses in the area, it lacked grace or complication, and was simply a squat three-story tower of unremarkable gray metal. Clustered around the central structure were a number of smaller buildings: barracks, servant quarters, and other utilitarian structures, all constructed in the same lackluster fashion as the main tower. The entire compound was ringed with two walls of adamantium. The outer wall was roughly ten feet in height completely smooth and topped with razor sharp spikes. The inner wall was five feet higher than the outer and sat back nearly twenty feet. This wall was much broader allowing the guards that patrolled its length an excellent vantage point to snipe at anything that made it over the first wall.
Grummok rarely visited drow nobility in their own homes, due in part to his busy schedule, and the fact that master assassins are rarely invited to social functions, even in a city of murderers and thieves.
The gate of the Aleval compound was shut tight, its iron gray bulk rising before Grummok and Nerrod in an implacable display of drow security. The gate was solid adamantium, and had a unique operating mechanism. Instead of twin doors that swung open to the left and right, the Aleval gate was a single gargantuan piece of metal with a pivot in its center. Grummok wondered how the guards on the other side managed to open such a ponderously huge and heavy thing.
Nerrod strode up to the entrance of his home, and called out in a loud clear voice. “It is I, Nerrod, son of Mevremas! I have returned! Open the gate!”
In response to Nerrod’s plea, a deep grinding rumbled out from beneath the gate, followed by a series of muffled metallic clangs. Grummok surmised that there must be a series of clamps, below the ground, that held the gate in place against any illicit entry. The rattle of heavy chains preceded the achingly slow ascent of the bottom half of the gate as it flipped back on its pivot. The gate rose to a height of ten feet, at this height the gate itself was completely horizontal with the ground, and Grummok could see how the drow of house Aleval managed to open their impossibly heavy front door.
Grunting with exertion, ten minotaurs, each harnessed to a massive chain that in turn was connected with the top of the Aleval gate, strained mightily with every ounce of strength they possessed to keep the gate from crashing down. Two house guards stood behind the minotaurs, shouting and cursing, and occasionally licking the broad backs of the bull-headed humanoids with an iron studded whip.
Nerrod and Grummok hurried through the gate, into the killing ground that existed between the two walls of the Aleval compound. Grummok could see over a dozen Aleval troops atop the second wall ahead, all armed with heavy crossbows, each casually pointed in the direction of the new arrivals.
With a single barked command from the drow task masters, the minotaurs slowly let the weight of the outer gate pull them backwards, letting the chains slacken and thereby closing the massive pivoting door. A final heavy thud followed by the staccato clanging of the hidden clamps sealed the gate. Their task done for the moment, the minotaurs collapsed where they stood, utterly spent.
Grummok and Nerrod moved forward to the inner gate, which consisted of a relatively small door cut into the adamantium of the inner wall. A pair of ogre slaves flanked this second entrance, each armored in thick scale mail and equipped with a truly massive halberd. The two ogres kept their eyes straight ahead as Grummok and Nerrod approached, and the inner gate swung open to admit them into the main Aleval compound.
The main yard was as spartan as the rest of the Aleval estate. There were no fountains, sculptures or even the fungal gardens that drow nobility often decorated their homes with. There was simply dry earth, beaten flat by the boots of the training Aleval soldiers. In fact, all Grummok could see were soldiers, clumps of them, training, sparring, drilling, every where he looked.
Nerrod and Grummok moved past the clustered groups of soldiers, past the barracks and slave huts, finally reaching the main tower. Here an effete male drow, dressed in gaudy finery awaited them outside the tower gates. He was not of Aleval descent, this much was obvious, he was far too pretty to be of that less than comely line. “Master Nerrod, your sister has been awaiting your arrival with great anticipation.” The drow dandy said, fluttering about Nerrod and Grummok with exaggerated urgency.
“Yes, Lyrus, I know. We encountered some …difficulty at the bridge.” Nerrod said, allowing the Aleval major domo to usher he and Grummok into the tower.
“I hope you and Master Grummok came to no harm.” Lyrus lisped, his voice dripping with the practiced sympathy of a professional boot licker. “Your lady sister would be crushed if anything ever happened to her favorite brother.”
“Yes, I’m sure she would.” Nerrod did little to hide the sarcasm in his tone.
Lyrus led his two charges through a short hall that ended in the ground floor of the tower. There was little to be seen on this bottom story, just a simple spiral staircase climbing up through the ceiling.
As they climbed the stairs, Nerrod pointed out the structure of his family’s tower. “The bottom floor is barren, used only as place to muster troops in times of war.” He said. “The second floor holds the chapel of Lolth, and my mother’s throne room. We will find Henevra there.”
The stairs opened into a small round room with a door to the north and south. The northern door was ornately decorated with carvings of leering demons and spiders, and was the first sign of artistry Grummok had seen in the Aleval compound. The spiral staircase continued upward to what Grummok guessed were the personal chambers of the Aleval family.
Lyrus pushed open the northern door and stood beside it, beckoning Nerrod and Grummok to enter. The darkness that yawned from the open doorway was so thick that Grummok had trouble piercing it even with his darkvision, and from out that darkness floated the grating invitation of Henevra Aleval. “Please, enter.”
Grummok followed Nerrod into the throne room of house Aleval, the door closing behind them with an ominous thud. The chamber was a semi-circle, forming one half of the second floor of the main tower, and had little to fill it beside two ornate thrones at its northern end. The floor was of polished onyx and the ceiling bore a carved bass-relief of Lolth, resplendent in her drow maiden form. There was no light, and Grummok saw the room through the stark and colorless detail of his darkvision.
Of the two thrones that occupied the chamber, one was obviously of more import than the second. This first throne was empty, and it rested upon a raised dais, its barrenness made all the more glaring by the occupied second throne that sat beside it. Henevra Aleval sat stiff and uneasy in the second seat of power, her glance flickering longingly to the empty seat to her left. She could not claim her mother’s power or her throne until Mevremas’ body had been given to Lolth, a fact that Grummok knew caused her no end of frustration.
Grummok and Nerrod stopped ten paces from Henevra, Nerrod dropping into a low bow, while Grummok merely inclined his head to the matron mother in waiting. “My sister, please forgive our tardiness, we were attacked on the bridge.”
Henevra Aleval, was not a comely drow, in fact she was only a step away from actual ugliness. Thick featured, with a square jaw and a wide flat nose, her femininity was even further hampered by the fact that she wore her hair cropped close to her scalp in the fashion of drow warriors. Her eyes were set close together and her lips, which held naught but grimaces and frowns, were thin and hard, lacking any trace of warmth or humor. She wore scale mail like her brother, and even seated, Grummok could see the almost masculine breadth of her shoulders and the strength they contained. She too bore a warhammer, and it rested casually in her lap as she regarded her brother and his guest.
“Well, I figured that you would have some reason for keeping me waiting.” Henevra growled. “Tell me what happened.”
Nerrod straightened from his bow and took a deep breath; Grummok noted that his hands shook ever so slightly as he prepared to make his report. He is afraid of her, Grummok realized. “As I said we were attacked on the bridge that crosses the Blackshine. An assassin upon the cliff wall killed my guards and would have slain me as well, were it not for Grummok.”
“You lost six guards!” Henevra suddenly thundered, her lips quivering with anger. “I have no need to remind you that our house is in a precarious position, brother. We could be attacked at any moment and your carelessness with our resources is intolerable!”
“We…we were ambushed, we could not see our attacker.” Nerrod stammered, backing away from his sister. “Sister, please…”
“No, I have had my fill of your incompetence, Nerrod!” Henevra bellowed, rising to her feet. “Our mother lies dead, and you run about on fool’s errands, casting away our men like dice in a gambling hall. I will not tolerate…”
“Sit down!” Grummok’s words cut through Henevra’s tirade, turning her face into an almost comical expression of shock and outrage. “I have seen my fill of hardship this day and I have no intention of listening to your foolish blustering.”
Nerrod turned to look at Grummok, his mouth hanging open in mute horror.
“You dare command me, assassin.” Henevra seethed. “You are not fit to lick the dirt from my boots!” The drow matron was literally gnashing her teeth with rage, a state that Grummok thought was probably quite common for her. “ I will teach you the lesson that all males must learn!” With this final admonition, thick guttural words began to pour from Henevra’s mouth and her hands tore at the air in frenzied arcane patterns.
Nerrod did not see Grummok’s hand move, did not see him pull one of his daggers from his belt, but he knew these actions had occurred, at a speed impossible for the eye to follow. The outcome of these invisible actions Nerrod did see. One moment Henevra was intoning the words to a spell, the next she was on her knees trying to scream through a gurgle of blood and escaping breathe. Grummok’s dagger jutted from under Henevra’s jaw, buried in the soft flesh of her throat. Her hands fluttered spasmodically around the hilt of the protruding dagger, her eyes filled with the dawning horror of one whose death is utterly imminent.
Grummok approached his mark casually, watching the strength drain from her body as the blood poured from the awful wound in her throat. When he reached her, the assassin bent down and grabbed up both of Henevra’s wrists in his left hand as her fists ascended to batter feebly about his head and shoulders. With his right hand Grummok took hold of his dagger and ripped it loose with a single savage yank. The gargoyle’s ungentle removal of his weapon stretched the wound into a gaping horizontal slash and blood jetted from the huge tear in great black gouts.
Nerrod watched the last vestiges of life leave his sister’s eyes as she kneeled before her killer. He did not rush to her aid or take up his hammer to confront her murderer. He simply watched her die. And when Grummok casually pushed Henevra over with one spade clawed foot to lie still in a massive pool of her own congealing blood, Nerrod smiled thinly and said, “Well assassin, what of me? Am I to follow my sister?”
Grummok ignored the young drow, and returned his dagger to his belt, its blade still a gory crimson. He then reached beneath his tunic and withdrew a small sealed envelope, he held it for a moment, and then looked up at Nerrod, his eerie green eyes holding the drow’s own. “I like you Nerrod, I do not want to kill you if I don’t have to. So I am pleased to be able to offer you a choice.”
“What are you talking about?” Nerrod asked, his voice cracking under the strain of his very evident fear.
“I came here for two reasons.” Grummok continued. “One you know about, I am here to investigate the death of your mother. The second was to ensure that your sister never claimed leadership of house Aleval.”
“Why” Nerrod asked. “Lolth forbids this kind of assassination, Kezekia Tormtor must know this.” The young drow named the impetus behind his sister’s murder with no reluctance.
“No, the law forbids a matron mother to strike at another matron mother in this manner.” Grummok said, smiling. “Henevra was not a matron mother, her ascension hung upon the proper disposal of her mother’s body.”
Grummok had received his orders to kill Henevra Aleval within the same summons that brought him to the Aleval compound. The loophole could not be ignored, and Kezekia Tormtor had no use for the quick tempered and irrational Henevra Aleval. The murder had been a secondary concern to the investigation of Mervramas’ death, but Henevra’s outburst was as good an opportunity as any other and Grummok was satisfied with the assassination.
“This makes no sense, who will lead our house?” Nerrod’s face was ashen as he realized that his entire family line might be coming to an end.
“You will.” Grummok answered. “If you accept the proposal that is contained in this envelope.” The gargoyle held out the envelope with its wax seal to Nerrod. “This is your choice, accept it or join your sister.”
Nerrod stepped forward and carefully took the envelope from Grummok’s hand. The young drow broke the seal and withdrew a single piece of parchment, he held it up to his eyes and read what was written there.
“Do you know what this says?” Nerrod asked when he had finished reading.
“Yes, it is an offer that no other male drow has ever seen.” Grummok said. “To lead your own mercenary house, to be one of Erelhei-Cinlu’s first lords.”
“But loyal to house Tormtor, of course.” Nerrod replied acidly.
“So what of it?” Grummok shot back. “You will train your own men, and those provided by house Tormtor. You may sell your services to any who desire it, and enjoy the full backing of the most powerful house in Erelhei-Cinlu. All you must do is provide troops when needed, and remain loyal.”
“And if I do not accept?”
“The I will kill you, and your house will be overrun with Tormtor troops within the hour.” Grummok said coldly. “But I hope that is not the path you would choose.”
Nerrod was silent for a moment, and then his homely features lit up in a grin of pure delight. “Matron Tormtor is most generous, please convey my thanks when next you see her.”
“I see wisdom numbers among your many virtues, Lord Aleval.” Grummok said with a bow. “Now, to the other matter that has brought me here. Take me to your mother.”
Paxr0mana
First Post
Blackdirge, I love the way that you are able to actually get inside the head of each of your characters. It adds to the story in so many ways. The drow, although often overused/overplayed, are cleanly presented, and fit in nicely with everything.
Grummok's tale is definitely a favorite of mine among all of the Story Hours I have read.
Grummok's tale is definitely a favorite of mine among all of the Story Hours I have read.
Last edited:
BLACKDIRGE
Adventurer
Paxr0mana said:
Thank you kindly.
I try my best to give each character some depth, and it means a lot to me when someone thinks I have succeeded in doing so.
Oh, and a big thanks to all of you who have stuck with Grummok since the first thread in the rogue's gallery, and to all of you who have taken the time to check him out now.
Thanks for reading.
Dirge
