Hey all, please forgive the length of time between updates. I really appreciate the suppot you guys have shown my storyhours. I have a lot of stuff going on right now, and my writing time has been focused on other projects that are of a more professional nature.
But that said, I enjoy doing these story hours, and I will do my damndest to update as often as humanly possible. I am currently working on an update to Metamophosis, so hopefull this will tide you over until I finish it.
Thanks again for reading.
Blackdirge.
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Part VI
Grummok stared at the small, carved figure of the goddess Eilistraee, which sat upon the desk of the recently slain Mevremas Aleval, and wondered flippantly if his present situation could grow any dimmer. The statuette, delicately carved and beautiful, was a guaranteed death sentence to anyone who owned it. Worship of Eileastree was one of the most heinous crimes a drow elf could commit. It meant forsaking everything that Lolth had worked for millennia to instill in her people. It meant forsaking darkness for light, cruelty for mercy, and hatred for love and acceptance. In short it meant turning away from everything that the drow stood for.
Grummok’s eyed traveled around Mevremas’s chambers, and what he saw only offered further proof that the statuette was not some idle curiosity for the late Matron Mother, but a full blown passion. The room was filled with things from the surface; furniture, paintings, and even the brightly lit atmosphere, all spoke of the world above. It was obvious that Mevremas had turned away from her drow heritage; Grummok wondered how no one had noticed. But then again, the gargoyle glanced over at the silent corpse of the matron mother, maybe someone had.
With little more to do than inspect the body itself, Grummok eased himself out of Mevremas’s cushioned chair, and moved slowly toward the bed. As he neared, he noticed that Mevremas’s body was on its back, and that the matron mother had obviously preferred to sleep naked. Like the rest of her clan, Mevremas Aleval was thick featured and homely, her body lacking the gentle voluptuousness of most drow women. Grummok moved to the side of the bed and stood, peering down at the late matron mother.
Mevremas’s eyes were open, staring up and wide, the inert glaze of death clouding the milky blue of her pupils. The matron mother’s mouth was a hard line of clenched teeth, her lips pulled back in a rictus snarl. It was obvious to Grummok that Mevremas had seen whoever had murdered her, and was in the process of responding to that threat when death had seized her. The wound that had ended matron Aleval’s life was above her left breast, a single short puckered line, the leavings of narrow blade pushed deep. The force in which the weapon had penetrated the body was considerable and Grummok noticed that the hilt of the assassin’s dagger had left a deep bruise around the wound.
Grummok bent over the body, bringing his face close to still flesh of matron Aleval, and peered closely at the wound that had killed her. There was no blood; her body had been cleaned, probably by Henevra, before the spells that kept Mevremas from decomposing were cast. There was blood in evidence upon the bed itself, and a wide maroon stain surrounded the inert body, having leaked from the exit wound on the drow matron’s back.
Grummok pushed his face closer, a scant few inches from the wound itself, and sniffed. He was rewarded with the faint scent of oil and steel, but nothing more. The assassin straightened and cast his eyes toward the ceiling noting how the curving walls slid up to meet a central point above the floor, but they were unblemished and smooth. There did not seem to be any means by which an assassin could have entered that way, but still, something nagged him, something about the matron’s eyes and the frozen surprise and horror on her face. Grummok was certain that the attack had come from above her bed, and that the assassin had not been standing on the floor when the fatal blow was delivered.
Grummok carefully turned the body of Mevremas Aleval onto her stomach, the blood beneath the body had soaked into the mattress and it was still damp to the touch. As Grummok had expected the exit wound on Mevremas’ back was the same width as the entry wound, this clearly illustrated that the blade had been pushed in with such force that it had pierced the matron mother completely, and a great deal of the weapon had exited her back, not just the tapered point. This fact was further supported by the deep gouge in the mattress itself, exactly where the dagger would have exited the body.
Grummok rolled Mevremas back to her original position, his mind hammering away at the killer’s mode of attack. Suddenly an idea struck him, and his ghoulish face split into a dagger-toothed grin. Quickly Grummok mouthed the words to a spell, one of the more utilitarian enchantments that he had learned long ago. A quickly fading nimbus of blue light around Grummok’s hands and feet announced the spell’s completion and the assassin moved to the wall directly behind Mevremas's bed.
Like a great winged spider, Grummok began to climb the wall, his hands and feet sticking to the smooth stone and propelling him upwards. When he had reached the ceiling, the gargoyle positioned himself directly above Mevremas’s body, twisting around so that his back was to the ceiling. He then plucked a dagger from his belt and with a single barked word, dispelled the enchantment that kept him clinging to the stone. It was a ten-foot fall, and as Grummok plummeted towards the still corpse of Mevremas, he pushed his dagger out in front of him, holding it in a two handed grip.
Grummok struck the bed and its occupant with bone jarring force, his dagger driving deep into the cold flesh of the slain matron mother by his considerable weight. Rattled but not injured, Grummok rolled off Mevremas’s body and stood to view his handiwork. The gargoyle’s dagger stood straight up from the matron mother’s breast like a coffin nail, the blade of the weapon could not be seen, only the hilt was visible above the drow matron’s ebony flesh. Smiling, Grummok reached out and grasped the hilt of his dagger, then with a mighty tug, ripped it free from its fleshy prison.
The wound Grummok had created was nearly identical to the wound that had killed Mevremas. His dagger had been pushed clean through the matron mother’s body, and its hilt had left the same bruised impression around its entry point. Again Grummok rolled the corpse onto its back, noting that the exit wound was much the same as the first, and his dagger, like the assassin’s, had punctured the bed. Satisfied that he had at least ascertained how Mevremas had been killed, Grummok turned once again to the corpse in hopes of finding some indication of
who had slain matron Aleval.
Grummok began to search every square inch of matron Aleval’s body, starting at her feet and working his way up the corpse. His keen eyes and probing fingers traced every detail of her body, seeking something, anything the killer may have left as evidence of his or her identity. The assassin found what he was looking for behind Mevremas’s right earlobe. A faint but indelible mark had been etched into her ebony flesh, a tiny symbol of a spider surrounded by a circle of stars. The mark had been made by a very fine point, likely the same dagger that had killed the matron mother, and its detail was near flawless despite its diminutive size.
The gargoyle sighed deeply, and returned to the matron mother’s desk upon which sat the damning idol of Eilistraee. Grummok sat down heavily and plucked the statuette of the forbidden goddess from the desktop. The symbol carved into the flesh of the matron mother was not idle butchery, its maker had been sure of its eventual discovery, and had meant it to be found. In all his years as guildmaster he had seen this symbol only once, nearly ten years ago, it had been carved into the chest of matron Olkasha, the ruler of a minor noble house that had been judged by Lolth and found wanting. Junna Olkasha had been found with her two eldest daughters in the modest chapel they kept on their compound. The bodies had been severely mangled, but the mark of Lolth’s ire had been plain, an unmistakable warning to the remaining matron mothers that the spider goddess was always watching.
Matron Olkasha’s crime was soon discovered; she had turned away from the worship of Lolth, turned away from the complicated brutality of drow life. For whatever reason the doomed matron mother had found succor in the worship of Lolth’s most dire enemy, the elven patriarch Corellon Larethian. A crime of this magnitude was beyond comprehension, and Lolth’s justice had been meted out with swift and unerring savagery. Grummok had learned soon after the discovery of Matron Olkasha’s body that the mark carved on her chest was the sigil of Lolth’s proxy, the goddess’s own divine assassin. This mark was the same mark he had found on Matron Aleval.
There was no doubt that Lolth had learned of the matron’s devotion to Eilistraee, and like matron Olkasha, Mevremas Aleval had paid for her misplaced devotion. Grummok stared at the delicately carved idol in his hands, knowing full well that his discoveries would send the entire city would into a state of panic and bedlam. It had happened when Matron Olkasha had been killed, as the remaining matron mothers, so fearful for their lives, had sought to please their goddess as never before. The casual cruelty the rulers of Erelhei-Cinlu so commonly exhibited became full blown psychotic brutality, as each matron mother attempted to appease Lolth and prove her loyalty by offering up hundreds of slaves and infidels upon the sacrificial altar. The slave markets had been quickly emptied, and when their were no more slaves the frantic matron mothers began to falsely accuse drow citizens of all manner of fabricated crimes, sentencing them to a sacrificial death.
It had taken nearly a year for the city to return to its normal state after Matron Olkasha’s death, and once the panic had ended, the death toll was catastrophic. Nearly a tenth of the entire population of Erelhei-Cinlu had ended their lives upon Lolth’s altar, and only the threat of wide scale revolt by the general populace stemmed the tide of murder. Lolth had been appeased and life in the city returned to its normal rhythms, but ten years is no great span of time to a dark elf, and Grummok feared that his discoveries might set of a chain reaction that would bring Erelhei-Cinlu crashing down.
The assassin quietly stood, placing the idol of Eilistraee in his belt pouch, and frowned deeply at the still corpse of matron Aleval.
What a fool, he thought. How could she have not known that her heresy would be discovered? There was no mercy for such acts of betrayal and Grummok found himself mildly surprised that the matron mother had died so quickly, so easily. There was evidence that the Olkasha’s had been tortured for days for
their crimes. Perhaps Eilistraee had intervened, but in the end it hadn’t mattered, Mevremas Aleval was just as dead as matron Olkasha.
Grummok left matron Aleval’s chambers with a heavily burdened mind, the truth of the matron’s death was not something he could conceal, regardless of the chaos it would cause. His own life would be forfeit if he held anything back from matron Tormtor, and she would be expecting him in a matter of hours.
Gods! How I miss simply being an assassin, Grummok thought sardonically. The gargoyle’s rise to guildmaster has seen him embroiled in more political nonsense than he cared to remember. But his prestige and influence had a price, and that price was the combined will of the matron mothers, and their will was done without question.
When Grummok reached the main of the Aleval compound his mind was well occupied with how he would present his evidence to Kezekia Tormtor. A ringing chorus of shouts near the barracks broke his reverie, and as he turned towards the direction of the noise he saw a large group of Aleval soldiers clustered around two wildly moving shapes. Intrigued, the gargoyle made his way over to the gathered soldiers, who warily made room for him in the circle they had formed around a most startling event. Even before the bodies blocking his view cleared out, Grummok knew what he would see and he could not help but smile as the first ringing crash of steel on steel echoed over the din of cheering drow.
Nerrod Aleval had taken Grummok’s advice to heart and he stood, fully armed and armored in the middle of nearly one hundred drow soldiers confronting one of the largest drow males Grummok had ever seen. The assassin had advised the young drow noble to cement his rule by killing the strongest and most respected of his soldiers, and by the chatter emanating from the assembled barracks, Grummok guessed he had was attempting to do just that.
Nerrod’s opponent stood nearly six feet tall and his massive frame was heavy with slabs of muscle. The drow soldier was armored in a chainmail hauberk, cinched at his waste with simple black leather belt. A crested helmet complete with cheek flaps and a nasal guard protected his head, and the blunt features staring out from under all that steel were fixed in a mask of hatred and rage. The hulking drow warrior was armed with a heavy two-handed blade, single edged and curved, like an oversized scimitar. The great weapon would have been far too heavy for the common soldier but Nerrod’s foe wielded it as if it were made of feathers.
The two combatants had already made one pass at each other, and Nerrod’s shield bore a large dent as a result. The drow noble was armored in his scale hauberk, and bore his warhammer in one gloved hand.
It was obvious were the favor lay with the crowd, and Grummok quickly learned the large drow’s name through a chorus if shouted encouragement such as, “Kill him, Hedrag!” or “Bring us that sniveling noble’s head!”
Nerrod and Hedrag circled each other warily, each fully aware of the other’s strengths and weaknesses. Nerrod had the advantage of heavier armor and a shield, but he could not match Hedrag’s reach. In addition the great strength of the drow soldier allowed him to move his weapon with an alacrity that his opponent could not match.
Grummok watched Hedrag move, noting the fluidity of his stance and the obvious skill with which he held his weapon. Nerrod too was an experienced fighter, but the assassin had seen many veteran warriors lose their lives to lesser combatants, for luck as much as skill favored the victor in many battles.
The crowd had was getting anxious as the two foes circled, urging them to attack, to spill blood. Drow were notoriously fond of blood sports, and the spectacle of a noble fighting a commoner was pure ambrosia to their bloodlusting hearts. Grummok knew that the battle would be decided quickly and he turned out to be right.
Tired of circling, Hedrag suddenly rushed forward, juking towards Nerrod’s shielded side and then suddenly shifting his momentum the opposite direction. Nerrod had been momentarily fooled and had committed his weight to Hedrag's first movement. The change in his opponents attack vector threw him off balance for a split second, and Hedrag grinned beneath his helmet as his massive blade swept in beneath Nerrod's weapon and crashed into his ribs.
The crowd gasped, and then cheered as Nerrod stumbled away from the blow. The crowd believed him mortally wounded, but Grummok knew better. Nerrod had twisted his body away from the impact of Hedrag’s blade, and the brunt of the blow had been borne by his armor. But still, Hedrag had likely cracked a rib or two, and now certainly had the advantage.
Nerrod had managed to keep his feet, and had stumbled a few paces away from his foe. Hedrag, sensing victory was close at hand pressed his opponent furiously, raining a fusillade of vicious cuts down upon Nerrod. The drow noble managed to catch these blows upon his shield, but the crushing weight of each powerhouse slash was weakening him bit by bit. Finally, Nerrod ducked a wide overhand slash, and rolled away from the brutal pounding he was receiving, springing to his feet behind Hedrag.
Hedrag whirled around expecting an attack, but Nerrod had not pressed his advantage and was moving slowly backward, grimacing in pain and favoring his right side, where his opponent’s blade had struck home. Seeing his foe in such a weakened state, Hedrag made his one and only mistake, a mistake that Nerrod had been waiting for.
With a savage howl, Hedrag rushed forward not bothering with any deception, simply seeking to end the battle with one mammoth cut. The blow was aimed at high and certainly would have removed Nerrod’s head had it landed, but the drow noble had been awaiting just such a reckless attack. As Hedrag’s blade came thundering in, Nerrod swept his warhammer out wide, turning his wrist so that the spiked back of the weapon met his opponent’s sword. The blade caught in the junction between spike and haft, and Nerrod wrenched his foe’s blade out wide with a powerful twist of his hips and shoulders. This maneuver tangled Hedrag’s feet and his own momentum caused him to trip and tumble to the ground. Nerrod granted his opponent no respite, and pounced on him while he struggled to rise. Hedrag made it to his knees, trying to bring his weapon up to meet Nerrod’s warhammer, but the blow was too quick and the meaty thud of the hammer connecting with Hedrag’s unarmored face resounded through the crowd.
Hedrag fell backwards, blood spouting from his shattered face, but Nerrod was not done with him. Tossing his shield away, the drow noble took his hammer in a two handed grip and straddled the unconscious body of his foe. Nerrod’s hammed flashed up and down three times, driven by every ounce of strength he possessed, blood splattered the noble and the assembled crowd as Hedrag’s skull was reduced to red ruin.
Gasping and gore spattered, Nerrod rose to his feet, his hammer dripping crimson. He cast a withering glare at the assembled drow, his milky blue eyes burning with unquenchable ire. “Now you have witnessed my wrath!” He called out. “Are there any others who wish to challenge my sovereignty?!” The drow crowd stared back quietly, their silence an unmistakable indication of their answer. “Good! The return to your barracks at once!” Nerrod shouted, shaking the blood and congealing gore from his weapon.
Grummok smiled as the drow soldiers dispersed, noting the scattered responses of, “Yes, Lord Aleval”, with great pleasure. When the field had cleared, Grummok approached Nerrod. “Well done, Lord Aleval.” He said with a bow.
Nerrod smiled through a blood-spattered face and returned the bow. “Thank you, Lord Grummok, as ever your wisdom has proved invaluable.” The drow noble turned to look at the crumbled body of Hedrag, and sighed deeply. “It is a pity we had to waste such a fine soldier, he will not be easy to replace.”
“But you have earned the respect of your men, and more importantly, you have earned their fear.” Grummok said, placing a taloned hand on Nerrod’s shoulder.
“Did you find anything regarding my mother’s killer?” Nerrod said, quickly changing the subject and pulling away from the gargoyle.
“I am sorry Nerrod, but I was unable to find anything of value.” The lie came easily, for what he had discovered was for matron Tormtor’s ears only.
Nerrod eyed Grummok suspiciously, but the assassin knew he would not challenge him on this matter. “Well, we are thankful for your assistance nonetheless. I will have an escort arranged to return you to the city.”
“Very well, I will inform matron Tormtor that Lord Aleval is as gracious as he is unyielding.” Grummok pandered.
Nerrod did not reply and began walking back towards the main tower. Grummok watched him go, his hand sliding into his pouch to touch the forbidden idol of Eilistraee.
Be careful, young one. Lolth’s eyes are everywhere.
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
