KILARRA ORIGINS, FINAL: TIMELY RIPPED (published 11/22/2013)

The summoning room was in the attic of a mansion on the outskirts of Westgate.  A huge chandelier, dotted with candles, hung from the vaulted ceiling.  Bookshelves, desks, and a small alchemy lab were arranged neatly in a far corner.  A miniscule mage, Milarra, finished the final incantations over a bag of moist garlic and grave soil.  Some yards away, a glowing, golden hemisphere of arcane power held the mighty erinyes, Tiyru.  The she-devil was testing the integrity of the circle with her mace, as she always did.  Milarra winced at the resounding clangs and flying sparks.

“Stop!  There are no weaknesses, the circle is complete.   Be alert, fool!  The vampire is here tonight, I feel it!  Stop, or I’ll rend you!”

Milarra held aloft and unfurled a scroll, written in liquid gold mixed with blood.  The lettering glowed a faint green.  The erinyes mark was scrawled at the bottom.  Tiyru kept smashing the walls of her arcane prison, looking for a weak point.  She beat her black wings to no avail, hoping to scatter the powder that made up the summoning circle.  Milarra gently dragged her nails down the back of the scroll.  A wracking, psychic pain doubled the devil over.  She fell to her knees and slammed her mace on the floor in pain and frustration.

“Silence!  I’m telling you he’s here.  He’s come for my blood!”  Milarra raked the scroll again.  Tiyru rolled over on her back, screaming in pain.  She stared through the arcane bubble that held her prisoner and focused on the chandelier.  Something moved.  Was it a shadow?  The pain subsided and she narrowed her eyes, scanning the ceiling.  Nothing.

                Tiyru got up.  She watched the mage check her holy symbol, reposition it neatly around her neck… once, twice, three times.  Milarra checked the position of the stakes she had lined up on the alchemy table.  Each of the stakes where round, of equal length, and arranged in neat parallels.  The entire summoning room was arranged in geometric perfection, clean and orderly.  Event the floorboards she stood on were buffed to shining perfection.  This is going to be fun, the she-devil smiled to herself.

                “Are you ready, erinyes?  I will free you and you’ll abide by our contract.  Our deal is still intact.  You will search my home and kill according to our contract.  Once you’re done, I will dismiss you back to your smoking hole.”

                “Yes, our deal in intact but no, I’m not ready.  Just a moment.”  The erinyes set her mace on the floor by her feet.  She adjusted the cinches on her belt and drew her longsword.  Focused intently on the mage, Tiryu smoothed out a tangled kink in the chainmail on her sword arm and watched.  There was a moment of obsessive approval from the mage, she lowered the scroll.

With a quick, fluid pull the erinyes yanked a cinch free from her belt.  A section of her chainmail shirt dropped to the floor, revealing the devil’s milky white skin and a distended belly.  The bulge expanded grotesquely.  Tiyru drew her longsword across her belly in a quick slice.  A smoking, hideous mixture of blood, tar, and infernal amniotic fluid erupted from the she-devil and spattered to the floor.  There was a faint squeal and a wet plop as something fell from Tiyru’s gaping belly and hit the floor.

“Ha!  Mage-bitch, your floors are dirty!” the erinyes screamed.  The mage looked on with shocked horror and disgust.  With a flick of the wrist, the wavy longsword sheared through the scaled umbilicus.  Tiyru edged a toe under the squealing mass of flesh on the floor and skidded the infernal infant across the floor.  Leaving a smoking trail of blood and slime, the devil-baby slid across the floor  and bounced off a leg of the alchemy table.  It’s back was covered in the binding powders of the circle:  silver dust, ash, and salt.  The tiny half she-devil growled in annoyance.

The glowing hemisphere of arcane magic shimmered and cracked.  The circle had been broken; Tiyru was free of her prison.  The erinyes drew an enchanted dagger and hurled it at the agape mage.  Milarra reflexively threw her hands up and stepped back, dropping the scroll.   The dagger bounced off a shield of force the mage had conjured to protect her.  Tiyru’s dagger had been prepared to store a powerful dispelling enchantment.  The mortal mage felt the impact of the dagger dissolve several of her protecting spells and defenses.  She took another step back and began the incantations of a spell.  Tiyru had picked up her mace and was bracing her wings for a leap that would cover the distance to the hated mage in one swoop.

  Stepping back, Milarra slipped on one the wooden stakes she had prepared for her vampiric stalker.  Her foot flied out from under her and she landed on her back.  She looked over at the growling devilish infant that had bumped into the alchemy table.  It was a girl… a girl-thing… a girl tiefling.  With flaming red hair, tiny vestigial horns, and fiercely green eyes, the tiny half-devil smiled and cooed as if it were amused by the mortal’s predicament.  Another stake rolled off the table and bounced off Milarra’s forehead.  The mage winced and blinked, her eyes watering enough to cloud the twisted, hideous, descending face of the erinyes, Tiyru.  Tiyru fell on the mage with both her mace and longsword.  It was over much quicker than the vengeful erinyes wanted, but… she had to get back to class.

  She severed the tiny mortal mage’s head and collected the section of chainmail left in the binding circle.  The devil stopped and looked over at the tiefling, her daughter.  She had the Illrigger’s red hair.  The mage Milarra’s blood was starting to pool around the tiny thing.  Tiyru sighed, walked over and set the infant on the alchemy table.  Taking one last look at the headless body and the tiny infant, she began the incantations to return to Dis.  After a few syllables she thought better of it…  drew her mace and set to pulverizing the mage Milarra’s cooling corpse.  After a few minutes of screeching and infernal curses that would make a lamia’s ears bleed, all that remained was a mushy pile of pulped organs and jutting ribs.  Refreshed, the erinyes completed her incantation and disappeared in a cloud of smoke back to the city of Dis….

Minutes later, a dark form moved across the ceiling.  It floated silently down and on its hands and knees over what was left of Milarra.  After a few minutes of quiet lapping the form stood up and moved to the alchemy table, where the tiefling sprawled helplessly.  A pair of cool hands picked up the tiefling babe and held it aloft.  Red eyes hungrily examined the child.  A tiefling babe, the vampire thought with greedy anticipation.  The little half-devil stared directly into the blood smeared face of Lord Orbakh, vampire, Lord of the Night Masks and clone of the megalomaniacal arch-mage, Manshoon.

                He brought the oddly calm infant to his mouth and his fangs gleamed in the dimly lit summoning chamber.  His mouth had nearly closed on the baby’s arm when something struck him lightly on the shoulder and fell to the floor.  A candle from the chandelier.  He stopped and scanned the whole room.  He searched for enchantments that he hadn’t already discovered.  His eyes penetrated the darkness.  The room felt warmer…  his hair was on fire.

Shouting in alarm, he dropped the tiefling to the floor.   Orbakh swept his cloak up over his head and stifled the flames.  He stopped and listened… only the breathing of the tiefling babe and… what else?  The vampire lord couldn’t remember the last time he felt genuine alarm.  He looked down at the infant and picked her up again, watching her intently.

“Your mother left you here with me.  She could have worked for me, pity.  She had lovely skin, the color of the moon.  I could perhaps put you to use.  Less than an hour old and you’ve had your first kill.  Almost two.  Poor Milarra… such bad luck to slip on that stake.”



He waited, almost as if he expected an answer from the green-eyed half-devil infant.  She giggled. 

KILARRA ORIGINS, PART 4

The final weeks of the ghoulish seminar tested the monstrous students with practical exercises.  The Illrigger watched as each of the attending horrors animated their own troops and engaged their fellow classmates.  The mind-flayer proved himself to be a tactical genius, while the lich clearly didn’t have the knack for using terrain and timing attacks.  The pit fiend also performed well, but would often clear the hall of animated troops in destructive tantrums after being beaten by the mind-flayer, and the erinyes.  New stocks of fodder had to be brought in, killed and animated.  The death knight wouldn’t allow the pit fiend at them, the destruction rarely left corpses intact for animation.  The fortress prisons had a plethora of hapless souls that were brought up as necessary.  The smart ones didn’t let on they were looking forward to death’s release.  The illithid volunteered to “prepare” new recruits for animation, having access to a larger menu of brains than was typical for the Underdark.

The sparring sessions with the erinyes continued.  They fought harder with each encounter.  They gradually began duelling with different weapons, spells, in different environments.  The death knight and the she-devil enjoyed occasional and brutal sexual encounters after the duels were done.  Not as good as a succubus but servicable enough, Tristan thought.  Armed foreplay was more stimulating.   

Classes continued.  The erinyes was summoned to the prime material plane a few more times with the same results:  a terrified but organized mage sensing the presence of vampires that never materialized.  As time progressed, the enrinyes grew less and less furious with each summoning.  This disappointed the pit fiend and his lich side-kick.  The relentless teasing and infernal snickering stopped.

In the final week of class, one particularly hot and dry afternoon in the blasted city of Dis, the instruction hall cracked and flashed with the now-recognizable arcane summons of Tiyru’s mortal master.  Tiyru stepped from her desk with an unsettling smile of satisfaction and deadly expectation.  She adjusted the belt over her chainmail and pulled the flanged mace from her hip.  She unsheated the glittering wavy longsword as an arcane wind swirled around her, pulling her to the realm of Faerun.

“I BRING BACK HER HEAD THIS TIME!” Tiyru screeched as she disappeared in a burst of soot and brimstone.

Telepathic waves of doubt emanated from the mind-flayer.

“This is the 13th time she’s been snatched to the material plane, what could she possibly do this time that the summoner hasn’t prepared for?”

The lich gave a breathless sigh, “Let’s get on with it.   I lived some years in Faerun, in Thaymount.  Probably a former pupil of mine.  The she-devil deludes herself, this mortal mage has covered every possibility.”

“We shall see,” the Illrigger said.

KILARRA ORIGINS, PART 3 (published 11/20/2013)

The class continued.  Sir Greymalkin continued with the instruction with gruff professionalism.  Tiyru was an excellent student, deferring to the Illrigger as the instructor despite his status as a mere mortal.  She knew how to use terrain to her benefit and quickly grasped the concepts of using undead troops.  The pit fiend was the most difficult, and found a willing toadie in the lich.  Not stupid but disruptive, dismissive and, despite his ominous status as a supreme devil, obnoxious in the extreme.  One morning, Tiyru came to class to find her desk encircled with a faux binding circle.  The entire class roared with laughter at the sight of the prank.  Adding further insult, during that day’s instruction Tiyru rose from her desk with an agonized scream.  In a flash of smoke and brimstone, she disappeared.  Between guffaws, the lich confirmed that the hapless erinyes had indeed been summoned by her mortal master.  The Illrigger wondered how many teachers had to excuse students for such reasons.  He ended the instruction early for the day and dismissed the class.  He remained in the hall until Tiyru’s return hours later.



There was a crack of thunder and flash of red light as Tiyru appeared.  Her form smoked from the banishment command that sent her back to Dis from the realm of Faerun.  She yelled in frustrated rage.

“At least bring me a vampire to slay!  If you summon me, mortal-bitch, set me on a foe!  I’ll tear your throat and stomp your puny limbs, mage-whore!”  She stomped into the hall and hacked down one of the undead minotaurs in a screaming fury.   Tristan watched with disinterest.

“Still no vampire?”

She turned on him, her weapons coated in dried, rotted gore.

“And you!  What advice does the death knight have for his student?  I’m ready.  I will open your throat again if that what it takes!  I will string you by your feet and roast you over the sulfur fires of Nessus!  After that, the Dripping Edge rack will wring the answer from you over the sound of your cracking bones!”

The Illrigger approached her, swinging his spiked chain.  Decent threats, he thought.

“Very well.  I dislike the interruptions to my classes so I will tell you.  It is the culmination of my instruction, but I will tell you early.  Audacity.  Do what has not been done.  Consider what is commonly considered impossible and do it to destroy your enemy.  What is typically impossible for a bound devil?  Consider that.  Audacity.  Do what cannot be done and watch your enemy’s plan fail.  Think on that, and fight me.”

They fought, matching each other blow for blow.  Tristan disarmed her and she drew another weapon, this time wary of the feint.  They tore each other’s armor and flesh.  With a shout of triumph, he stripped her last weapon from her grasp.  She swore and grabbed the chain despite the piercing spikes.  The she-devil flew with her dark, feathered wings to the apex of the vaulted ceiling in the instruction hall, jerking the Illrigger along.  She kicked him free of the chain with a battle cry and savored watching his fall.  The Illrigger hurtled to the ground, only to have his fall arrested suddenly by a spell.  He grinned at her as he drifted weightlessly toward the floor.  Furious, she streaked downward, stomped his breastplate mid-air, and rode him to the marble floor.  Bleeding and hissing from the chain’s acid, Tiyru stepped off his torso and gave the knight a solid kick.  Stunned and fighting for breath, he drew a long dagger and started the incantation of a spell.

  “Audacity?  That’s your wisdom?  Feh, I will show you audacity,” she said and unbuckled her belt.  She pulled her chain shirt off over her head and let her mail leggings fall to the floor.  She straddled him like a wolf panting over a bloody steak.  “I’ll thank you for your airy advice.  If it benefits me perhaps I won’t kill you in our next sparring session.”

The death knight stopped his spell and allowed the she-devil access to the tassets and greaves of his dark plate.  He hung on to the dagger

“I’m a man of honor, Tiyru.  This will not improve your grade.”

“Idiot!  Shut up and enjoy this.”

He did, but kept his dagger in hand just in case. 

KILARRA ORIGINS, PART 2 (published 11/19/2013)

“…. That concludes today’s class.  You all will read the first scroll tonight and tomorrow you will tell me the mistakes and accomplishments of Szass Tam when employing undead troops during his first attempted invasion of Rashemen.  I only have three months to teach you, a short time in your respective eternities so apply yourselves!   Now begone, all of you.”

The students left.  The pit fiend remarked how little he had learned that day and had one more laugh at the wizard mark that glowed on Tiyru’s forehead.  The lich also chuckled as they left.  The mind flayer, crackling staff in hand, put a hand to his chest and bowed before leaving.  The naga was reviewing the notes taken with her hobgoblin and the zombies stood motionless.  Tiyru lagged behind and pretended to look at the scroll while the other students left the chamber.

“My lord,” she approached the Illrigger and indicated the mark of binding on her forehead, “how does one break this bond?”

“That question would be better asked of my wife.  She is a mage of great understanding and power.  I myself do not know.  Besides, I thought devils knew the tricks of escaping a binding and slaying their summoners.”

“I do, and I have.  But this one is different.  A mage, physically weak but very clever.  Her precautions are twofold because she is in deep fear.  She believes she is being hunted by vampires and she summons me whenever she thinks one is near.  I have yet to see one.”

“Sounds like a paranoid fool, exploit that.”

“I have tried.  Her will is strong, and her terror doesn’t cloud her reason.  The more frightened she becomes the more careful. “

“I have some advice, but you must earn it.  Draw your weapons, hopefully your arm is not as conquered as your soul,” the Illrigger smiled, stepped back and swung his spiked chain overhead.

The erinyes face twisted in disdain but, as they fought she allowed a smile that matched her opponent’s.   She knew the type and didn’t hold back.  She’d win his respect only by testing him to his utmost.  Unless she drew his blood, this would be their last sparring session and she would get nothing from him.  She pounded his armor with her mace and longsword.  He tore her chainmail and flesh to tatters with his spiked chain.  As they rounded each other for another pass, the Illrigger feinted, wrapped his chain around her mace and jerked it from her grasp.  It was a move she had predicted and feigned a moment of shock, only to slash him across the throat under the buckle of his helm.  A jet of blood flew across the room.  The Illrigger gurgled and coughed.  He immediately stopped, put a hand to his neck and breathed the words to an Inflict spell to seal the wound.  She laughed at him.

“Ha!  So, have I ‘earned it,’ mortal?  You dare much, speaking to me like this.  I am Tiyru, Dread Commander of the Dripping Edge legion!  I’ve slain more demons than you have years, and more mortals than you have bloody whiskers in your beard!  You’d better -”

Her words were cut off with a thud.   She felt a massive blow, her spine crack and saw a pillar hurtling toward her.  She bounced off the pillar, heard another crack inside her body and hit the floor.  Her ichor pooled around her.

The Illrigger approached, a hand still clapped to his throat.  Behind him, an undead stone giant stared vacantly and swung a tree trunk to its shoulder.

“Your flanks, Tiyru, watch your flanks.  Or in this case, your back,” he spat blood in her face, “a commander should know these basics.  No wonder a mortal fool could bind you!   Now go and study.”

The death knight strode off and positioned the undead for tomorrow’s class.  The broken erinyes slowly got to her feet and caught her breath.  Sir Tristan inspected her weapons where she dropped them, nodded and set them on her desk.  With a final glance at her, he left for his chambers.



Tiyru maintained her look of defiant hatred until he left.  I have you, mortal.  You will tell me what I need to know of your own free will.  She was a devil, a feminine one.  She didn’t need to be a succubus to smell arousal on a mortal man.  She sought her own room where she would heal and study the mortal’s scroll.  A clock had been placed in her room.  Mortal time was different.  This fortress didn’t understand the passage of time.  The delicious hatreds, intrigues, and agonies of Dis were eternal.

KILARRA TORN MOON, ORIGINS PART 1 (published 11/19/2013)

 Clad in dark, heavy armor, the Illrigger checked his position and surveyed the room.  Despite the heavy plate, he was silent as a cat.  The armor was heavy enough to stop a gelugon’s spear, light enough for him to conjure a lightning bolt, quiet enough to garrote a dryad.   Various corpses littered the floor:  bleeding giants, oozing troglodytes, a pair of seared minotaurs, and a blue dragon whose soul had been burned away.  The death knight fixed his eyes on the creatures that still moved:  a mind-flayer, a lich, an armed and armored erinyes, a dark naga, and a pit fiend.  He wasn’t expecting a pit fiend.  That one, he thought, will probably give me the most trouble.

I wish Eclavdra were here, her assistance would be sorely appreciated.  She had business elsewhere.  He thought about their shared research, their fights, and their passionate struggles.  Foreplay usually started with a duel, until one disarmed the other.  An exhausting, bloody melee with spiked gauntlets usually followed.  From there they joined each other in flesh, healing their wounds with spells of dark, necromantic energy.  Sometimes a bound wraith would be on hand to assist.  The dark knight closed his eyes briefly, sighed and remembered.   

Sir Tristan Greymalkin, infernal knight, Dark Seneschal and husband to the drow necromancer Eclavdra and Lord of the Shadow Tower of Reaver Hall took his position and at the head of the room.  He wrapped his spiked chain around his mailed fists and held it aloft.  The wickedly barbed chain had felled many enemies… living and dead, mortal and outsider.   Its ends dripped with acidic ichors and it glowed with a faint purple light.  The unholy host around him waited with measures of anticipation, amusement, and disdain.

“Be seated!” Tristan shouted.

His voice reverberated through the hall and the assembled monstrosities took note.  The creatures picked their way past the pillars and around the corpses to the front of a huge hall of black and red marble.  They each sat at desks of varying size and accommodation.  The naga wrapped herself comfortably around a pillar and a hobgoblin slave scurried up beside her with a small table, quill and paper.  The pit fiend snapped his fingers and several fire mephits appeared and busied themselves around the hulking devil’s roll top.  He strode over to the lich, whispered a joke in the withered sorcerer’s ear and pointed at the erinyes.  The erinyes, larger than most of its kind, had a strange glowing mark on her forehead that she tried to keep concealed.  Tristan recognized it as a wizard mark; the erinyes had been bound by a mortal spellcaster.  The lich and pit fiend shared a burst of laughter.  The lich moved his desk closer to where the pit fiend was set up and they continued to snigger together.  The erinyes knew her place and gritted her teeth.

Sir Tristan Greymalkin greeted each of his students individually and made his way to the collection of corpses.

“Zombie troops are slow, stupid, and obviously have no instincts or knowledge of tactics.  They can, however, be employed effectively by a master that is shrewd enough to understand their role in combat support.   While your enemy is busy with your charging regulars, a zombie giant can smash their flank.  Observe…”



The Illrigger went through fell incantations and raised the troglodyte corpses.  A contingent of imps and bearded devils arrived to play the game pieces necessary for the lecture.  The class watched intently as Sir Greymalkin moved the pieces around the hall, animated corpses, and explained the tenets of terrain, initiative, surprise, combat power, and timing.  The erinyes, Tiyru, thumbed her weapons as she watched.  She wore chainmail and had both a longsword and heavy mace hanging from her belt.  Tristan could see they were both well worn but carefully maintained.  A sparring partner, he thought. 

AUNRAE, PART 5 (published 03/25/2013)

“Do you think you will survive ten years at Arach-Tinillith?”

                Aunrae though about the whispers that haunted her and had broken the artifact of Lloth in the chapel.  A centuries old likeness of the Spider Queen had been shattered and thrown the whole house into a vicious panic.  She knew it was the cold voices, the haunting winds that had tipped the artifact.  Zanitra had just figured it out as well.

                “No.”

 “Of course not.  You are different, like me.  Being a drow and being different in Menzoberranzan does not lead to a successful or long life.”  The bloody little goblin smiled.

                “Lloth’s will – “

                “Is not knowable or predictable.  The only thing I know of Lloth’s will is that she hates me.  For decades she has sent assassins through House Barrison Del’Armgo to torture and kill me.  Were it not for the last assassin’s slow sadism, I would be dead right now.

Lloth hates me and by extension she hates you. ”

                “One of my sisters, Zanitra, says I am cursed by Lloth.”

                “Most likely.  She is probably enjoying the anxiety that is slowly building inside you.  You will end up on one of her altars in Arach-Tinillith.  Zanitra would probably crawl over a thousand rot grubs to plunge the knife into you.  Am I right?”

                “You are going to save me from Lloth’s wrath?”

                “Ha!  No.  I am going to saved you by doing her will.  I am going to give Barrison Del’Armgo the secrets and trade might of Duskryn and then destroy it utterly, except for you.  In return, the assassins will leave me alone.”

                Aunrae’s skin was still smoking from the acid, but she relaxed her face and smiled.

                “And how will you accomplish all this, dearest mother?”

                “A contract,” Eclavdra whispered through the tiny goblin’s mouth.

                “You have written a contract with House Barrison Del’Armgo?”

                “I have not.  I have an associate named Sabanion.  He has.”

                “Who is Sabanion?”

                “Chief vassal of Moloch, Lord of the Sixth Layer.  Sabanion owes me a favor.”

                Aunrae leaned in closer, chewing on this new bit of information.

                “A devil named Sabanion will pen a contract with House Barrison Del’Armgo and they will sign it?”

                “Yes, every female of the House will put her mark on the page.”

                “They will never sign it, they are not stupid.”

                “That’s what they said ten years ago.  But they’ve watched Duskryn grow richer and their best torturer has been unable to wring more than a laugh from Duskryn.  They will sign, soon,” she looked at Aunrae, took a long drag on her pipe and smiled, “ten years of negotiation have made them confident.”

                Ten years?  I would have been fourteen.

                “They have been negotiating a contract with a devil, and you have been planning this, for ten years?”

                “Yes.  Living on the surface has taught me many things.  Patience is one of them.  The surface elves have learned this to a remarkable extent. “

                “Surface elves, did you crush them?”

                “No, I rarely get time with them, the few that will speak to me.  Generally, only the oldest, wisest… and the most bored, surface elves will tolerate me.  They understand the thirst for knowledge, though they don’t approve of my methods,” Eclavdra smiled.

                “What will the devil Sabanion gain from this contract?”

                “His minions will take part in the new surface trade as caravan guards.  Thus a devil will gain a foothold in Menzoberranzan and get another chance at mischief on the surface world.  For the next century a House Barrison Del’Armgo caravan will not leave the city without a devil escort.”

                “And me?  Is my escape a part of the contract?”

                “No.”

                Aunrae’s shoulders sunk.  An exquisite conspiracy of pain and death revolved around her.  It will fall on my neck and my head will roll, she thought.  House Del’Armgo and Sabanion will kick it across the Duskryn courtyard for sport.

                “I am arranging the attack, young one.  You will escape amid the slaughter.  Your participation is crucial.  Adding your name to the agreement would have drawn undue attention to you.”

                “I still don’t understand, mother.  How will you give up Duskryn’s secrets?  The best torturers cannot break them and the strongest magic cannot compel them.  The caravan guards have enjoyed countless succubi that cannot seduce the secrets out of them.  What is it that you have?”

                “Knowledge and power, my young haunted one.  I’ve found things, deep in the Underdark.  Things that no one else knows about.   Only the strongest creatures know that gold, weapons, and lives are secondary to knowledge.  The strongest beings can only become more powerful with knowledge.”

                The torn goblin exhaled a sweet smelling plume of smoke and held up both its arms.

                “Do you see this?  My favorite spell.  I kill a creature and fill its body with my own soul.  Your father wanted this spell.  He wanted it so badly…  I still shiver sometimes when I think about the things he did to me in hope that I would teach it to him.  And now… here you are.”

                Aunrae considered this and there was a long silence.  She looked around the library and saw the spiders had gathered in the bookshelves around them, waiting.  They knew that when the conversation was done, the torn one would fall and a meal was at hand.  They mewled and salivated vile poisons as they watched the goblin stand up and hold its pipe aloft.  The conversation was almost over.

                The pipe disappeared in a dull flash of light and the goblin stopped to smile again at Aunrae.

                “Goodbye, my young haunted one. “

                “Goodbye, mother.  Wait…”

                “Yes?”

                “On the surface, have you ever met Drizzt Do’Urden?”

                “Once, child.  But that is a conversation for the World Above.”



                With that, the goblin crumpled and the spiders sprang from the bookshelves.  They hissed and screeched at each other over the corpse for several moments, then fell to silent feeding.  Aunrae left the library and wandered the Duskryn estate, unsure what to think.  She doubted she’d survive.  A cool breeze followed and the cold voices whispered assuringly to her.

AUNRAE, PART 4 (published 03/23/2014)

Aunrae never forgot that first meeting with her mother.  The House Duskryn arch-mage, Rylas, convinced the Matron Mother to allow entrance to the vessels that held Eclavdra’s consciousness.  Many times, Rylas and Eclavdra chatted about the surface world and the intricacies of necromancy.  Other times, Eclavdra met with her daughter and schooled her in the arcane.  Eclavdra took a keen interest in the strange entities, spirits, and voices that surrounded her daughter, questioning her diligently every time they were alone.  Aunrae’s interest in the arcane was not that keen.

The lesson had begun.  The diminutive goblin stood on a chair at the library table and was explaining how the channels of the soul ran through the body.  It stood on the chair and held the thighbone, an unwilling gift from Aunrae’s half-sister, Zestree, horizontally over the library table and spoke a few arcane words.  Moments later, a ghostly vapor congealed and reconstructed the body.  Veins, arteries, and canals of life energy (“some cultures call it `chi,’” Eclavdra explained) glowed in varying colors, racing throughout the translucent form.  It rested on its back, a few inches over the library table.  Aunrae touched the wispy cadaver, fascinated.  It was Zestree; her ghostly shape hovered in repose above the long table.

“Is this what masters of the arcane get to do?”

“Yes.  Over the centuries I have studied under some of the smartest necromancers and anatomists.  You see, the true way to discover the truths of life is to discover what energies run the body and how they can be controlled and interrupted.  These channels here connect the organs with the rest of the body, as well as control the muscles…”

The lecture went on for several minutes.  Aunrae was transfixed by the vaporous anatomical model.

“How is this… formed?” Aunrae asked.

“It is mainly air, dust and dark energy remnants of the creature’s soul.  Completely without intellect but constructed from memory.  Who was this?

“A half-sister who attacked me.  Zestree.  I slew her.”

As soon as Aunrae spoke her sister’s name, the ghostly replica shuddered as it floated over the table.  The head turned slightly towards Aunrae and the apparition’s arm reached out.  The labyrinthine paths of veins and energies that ran through it pulsed brighter.  Its mouth opened and it tried to sit up, reaching still closer.  Aunrae stepped back and drew her morning star.  The goblin’s eyes opened wider and it whispered a few arcane syllables.  The ghostly shape darkened and moaned as it tore away from the thighbone that Eclavdra held over the table.

Aunrae swung her weapon uselessly through the reaching hand as it got closer.  All the glowing veins and channels that ran through it faded and the shape became pure shadow.  The goblin started laughing and grasped the thighbone with both hands.

“So interesting, young one!  This is not my doing, it must be yours!  Just a moment.”

The goblin struggled with the thighbone.  Aunrae watched in disbelief as she watched her mother try to snap the thighbone using the pathetic arms of a slain goblin.  The shadow lunged.  The biting cold of it made her scream and her legs buckled.  She almost lost her grip on the morning star.  Aunrae dashed through the expansive library and hid behind a bookcase.  She readied her weapon.  The morning star was unwieldy and her chain shirt felt oppressively heavy.  She knew the touch of the shadow had drained a portion of her strength.  She concentrated on quieting her breath.  The cold winds blew around her quietly and the voices whispered urgent nonsense.  Somehow, even with her back to the far wall of the library, the winds were pushing her forward.  The shadow searched for her, gliding silently through the walls and stacked bookcases.

Aunrae listened though she knew the shadow moved with the silence of the grave.  It occasionally moaned feebly in irritation or resentment.  Zestree doesn’t know what she is, Aunrae thought.  Pathetic.  She also heard the fumbling of her mother’s corpse host, a tiny goblin grunting and struggling to break the thighbone in two.  Doubtless her mother, an arch necromancer, had a spell that could deal with this.  She was doing this to test her daughter.  As she listened, she thought she heard the goblin’s hoarse grunting intermingled with an amused chuckle.  Infuriating!

With a groan, the shadow surged through the bookcase hiding Aunrae and attacked.  Aunrae rolled into the aisle to her left and stood up.  She ran back the way she came, toward the long library table with the shadow close behind.  Turning a corner, she saw the goblin corpse that housed her mother’s consciousness.  It was trying to snap the thighbone across its knee, but didn’t look to be trying too hard.  With a yell, she sprinted to the table.  She heard the shadow moan in her ear and her fear completely gave way to fury.  She dove into a roll and the shadow passed over her.  She snapped up to her feet as the shadow turned and came back at her again.  Aunarae stood her ground, gripping her morning star with every ounce of strength she had left and seething with anger.

“Zestree, damn you!  I’ve killed you once and now you challenge me again?  Touch me and your soul will pay a second price for your bold stupidity.  HOW DARE YOU RAISE ANOTHER HAND TO ME!”

The shadow froze.  Cowed, it seemed to shrink into itself.  It hovered in the aisle, turning in uncertain circles.

Eclavdra nodded and held the thighbone aloft with both arms.  Aunrae stormed over and hefted her morning star.  She brought the gleaming black-steel weapon down in a high sweeping arc through the bone.  It broke with a snap.  Aunrae aimed the morning star to break Zestree’s thighbone in two… on its way to the goblin’s little skull.  “Bitch!” she snarled as one of the protruding spikes pierced the creature’s forehead.  It flopped back into its seat.  The shadow dissolved with a pitiful moan.

Aunrae freed her weapon.  The goblin’s eyes rolled momentarily and looked up.  It smiled and sat up in the library chair, wiping the blood and brains from its face.  The tiny thing was a bloody mess, ripped through the ribs and an open, oozing forehead.  It stood up in the chair and flicked the gore from its hands.  A messy splat stained a set of volumes on a nearby bookcase.  Eclavdra smoothed out her goblin host’s bloody robes and calmly found her pipe and tobacco pouch. 

“Shoo,” the little goblin said as it struck a match.

Aunrae turned around and saw four armed and armored males.  Duskryn guards.  They had their swords drawn and viewed the scene in bewilderment.   Aunrae was still simmering.

“Be gone!”

The guards filed out.  They would report this.  Aunrae wondered if it would work in her favor.

She turned back to the torn goblin.  The creature was incanting a series of spells.  Aunrae could feel the air get closer and a quietness settled around them.  Her mother wanted to mask this conversation.  She’d never taken as many measures before.  She beckoned Aunrae to a seat at the table.  Aunrae stowed her weapon and sat down.

“I knew it.  You are worth the effort,” Eclavdra said, more brainy goop was oozing down the side of the goblin’s face.

“What effort?”

“Here, you must swallow this first.”  The goblin produced a small emerald from a pouch that hung on its tattered belt and dropped it into Aunrae’s palm.  She studied it carefully.  It seemed to hum with some odd power.  Not magic.  A small point of green light within the gem gave it an uncanny glow.  Aunrae eyed her mother.

                “Trust, Aunrae.  It is in short supply here in the Underdark.  But right now, it is the only way you will escape a death full of slow agony.  Trust… and trust is the only thing that will keep you alive in the World Above where everyone will either run from you or try to kill you.  It is something you will have to learn.  Now, swallow the gem.”

                Trust!  After all this?  Aunrae obeyed.  Her throat tightened and convulsed as the gem descended.  She felt strangely dizzy but the spasm subsided as soon as it had come.  Poison?  She didn’t think her mother would use something so weak.

                “I survived your poison, mother.  You don’t want to waste a spell on me?”

                Eclavdra ignored the accusation and continued.  “I was of Menzoberranzan’s Second House, Barrison Del’Armgo.  I secretly learned everything I could from the mages of our house and had several spells at my disposal before my move to Arach-Tinillith.  I escaped during one of the squabbles that typically befall the drow inside the academy.  I thought I could leave Menzoberranzan and be free forever, which was foolish.  Every few years, Barrison Del’Armgo finds me with another assassin.  I have killed them all, but the last 2 were troublesome… and painful.  They interrupt my research!  And so I am cutting House Barrison Del’Armgo a deal.  I will give them House Duskryn and all its secrets.  In return, they will stop sending assassins.”

                Aunrae’s estimation of her mother dropped.  What a fool, she thought.

                “They will not honor your deal, mother.”

                “Yes, they will.”

                “Mother, you are a f-“

                Before Aunrae could utter the insult, the bloody goblin sneered and thrust its palm at her.  An arrow hissed from its palm and struck Aunrae in the shoulder.  The sting of it blasted the wind from her, and she felt her skin burning under her mail shirt.  The magical acid arrow was dissolving through her armor and slowly eating at her skin.  She winced and wanted to scream but she’d spend a century in Hell before she’d let her surface-dwelling mother see her show pain.  The acid kept burning, but she sat in wincing silence.

                “Now, while your skin hisses and burns, listen carefully.  I have promised House Barrison Del’Armgo the secrets of Duskryn and I will provide them.  Everyone in your House will die.  If you want to live and escape to the surface world then listen carefully.  You will meet a creature named Sazen.  You will do exactly what he says.  You will tell him everything you know about the Hall of Vexation.”

                “I don’t know anything about the Hall of Vexation, or the trade routes.  This is ridiculous.  I won’t learn anything until my ten years at Arach-Tinillith are done.  I – “

                “Ten years.”

                “Yes.”

                “Do you think you will survive ten years at Arach-Tinillith?”

                Aunrae though about the whispers that haunted her and had broken the artifact of Lloth in the chapel.  A centuries old likeness of the Spider Queen had been shattered and thrown the whole house into a vicious panic.  She knew it was the cold voices, the haunting winds that had tipped the artifact.  Zanitra had just figured it out as well.

                “No.”