I have arrived. The city gates stand open, the ambient heat of Narbondel can be seen, radiating, pulsating. Why should the drow fear enough to close their city? Who would dare attack them openly, the masters of the Underdark.
My breath comes in ragged breaths, nearly leading to hyperventilation, before the litany comes to mind and calms my racing thoughts. I have come to fulfill a purpose. I have come for information. I must calm myself for what is about to occur, for if even once my fear is sensed, I am doomed.
Slowly, I take the time to go over my gear. Stowed away are my Tabernacle vestements, for now I don the neutral garbs of undeclared priesthood. My cloak sparkles with radiant magic. My boots and gloves are of the richest rothe hide. My family house signet is displayed clearly. Though not of the higher echelon, it still extends noble station, even in this parallel world. Nodding to myself, I am certain everything is in place. "If not now, than never."
I stride forward purposely, eyes intent upon the passage, stolidly ignoring the gatehouse located to the side of the span. From the encroaching darkness a dark elf emerges, heavily armed with pike levelled. "Halt and be recognized."
My feet stop moving, not out of fear or command, but as it is what is expected of any drow. A sneer cracks my face, as my red-lit eyes take in the warrior. "I presume that you have good reason for stopping me." I demonstratively intone, my hand toying tellingly with my holy symbol. "If not, I assure you that I can arrange that we both visit the drider pits, right now." Menace drips from my words like venom from a cave viper's fangs. The resolve on the warrior's face melts before my threats, fear clearly crossing the measure of his visage. "I meant no affront, revered one, merely doing my duty. Please pass on."
With a glare and a dismissive gesture, I slowly traverse the gate and walk into the city, certain that the eyes of the soldier follow me, even as I cross into the nearest main thoroughfare and become lost in the crowd. "You know the report is being made, even as you walk ten feet away, fool. Find where you need to be and get this done with." I mumble absentmindedly to myself, glaring off the stares drawn to my intonation.
Menzoberranzan. Long has it been since I dared walk your wicked streets. One of the greatest, and most feared civilizations of the Underdark rule here. I have not come to see the Spider-Queen priestess however. The less I have contact with the matriarchy, the better. "Especially since you are male." I can only nod to myself and wince, as I recall the bite of countless snake-head whips biting into my flesh.
But, there are other religions practiced here. Those hidden from the ruling class, for if they are discovered, they are dead. The followers of Gromph and their bestial mannerisms linger in the sewers, performing their charnal rites. The back alleys sing with the whispered praises to Vhaeran, as thieves and muggers go about their criminal deeds. Even, if one pays close attention, the shadows of the wilds frolic with rangers of Eilistraee, the hated goddess of the hunt. But, there are other religions here, far more dastardly. One in particular that I know of, much too well.
"Where is the sign. I know they..." I consider, as my eyes quickly take in each cairn carving, faerie light decoration, and glowing rune marking the street. Hours pass, as I slink from street to street searching, desperately searching. At last I see it, a burning sigil unobtrusively displayed in an alley amidst a pile of rubble before the dwelling, apparantly an afterthought, at least to those who do not know what it means, fortunately, I know full well its dread purpose.
A chill courses down my spine, driven by the memories of this mark, this sigil of evil. A scar that marred me for time countless, bound me to the service of depravity, unwillingly. This is the sign of enslavement, the brand I eventually escaped. Sweat oozes from my pores, sopping my clothing to my body. I cannot stop shaking. "Damn you... get control of yourself!" I swear to myself, gritting my teeth so tightly that my jaw begins to hurt. "This isn't even the same world." I assure myself.
"Small assurance." I steel myself, and prepare. One foot after another, through the low gated entrance, past a pair of live gargoyles that hiss and growl at my passing. Up the roughly hewn obsidian steps, kicking pebbles out of my path as I make my way up to the entrance. My gloved hand trembles, as I reach for the spider worked door lever, turning, and stepping quickly inside.
The door slams behind me. The wafted scent of death and decay fall upon me like a curtain closing a bardic act. I fight the bile rising to the back of my teeth, my eyes water. Black candles cast an eerie ambiance in the room, little more than a crypt. Rats scurry throughout the chamber, going about their rodent business with nary a care for the atrocities the take place here.
Before me, the altar consecrated to Kieransalee, a long pedestal of bone, hide, and basalt, awaits. Iron shackles, shaped into the form of deep dragon jaws, are coiled at the base of the structure, poised like waiting asps.
I cough. The air, billowing forth a miasma of detritus of the long dead. I feel light headed, but that's just the fear. I scan the room quickly, and inch forward, my pulse racing, my head throbbing.
To the dais, I make my way. My palm runs down the length of the bone altar, down the grooves in its length, lingering upon etched scratches and gouges purposely, remembering each one. "How can this be?" my eye widen with fear, as the immensity of what lies before me sinks in.
Behind me I hear the soft rustle of burial robes, followed by a sharp pain to my head. "Welcome home, Zane. So good of you to offer yourself up. One has waited long for thy return." Rasps the decayed form of one I thought long left in the past. As I collapse across the altar, my eyes alight on my captor. "Elaith..."
There is only darkness.
Posted by Zayne at September 10, 2004 12:18 AM