The drow party makes its way into a Phlan under fire, recovering two swords but interrupting a war between orcs and fire giants.  Following into the catacombs they discovered an ancient tomb that the previous adventurers missed, and an ancient curse too powerful to ignore.

Dead silence replaced by dead marching, and the coterie of the Underdark found themselves quickly surrounded by zombies led by a mummy.  Fortunately the powers of the clerics did not fail, and the undead were quickly turned away.

Not having a need for them, the party chose to destroy them and continue to the surface, where they found a city on fire as an orcish horde led by a human with siege equipment drove out the last vestiges of a civilized society.

Finding the human leader bought them nothing, however, as the captured human parlayed for his release and promised to betray his ilk, but used the confusion of their next miscast volley from the catapults to quaff a potion of invisibility and beat a hasty retreat under cover of darkness.

They had a feeling they would see him again.

The party had survived countless attacks and intrigues, and even wrested a powerful blademaster and mercenary from their respective nests, but now the Dark Lady of Spiders has demanded something else.

She was aware of the existence of something special in Phlan.  She had seen one of them, once before, twisted for a new and darker purpose.  Now, in the rise of something unexpected, she wanted them all.

The Dark Lady already had one of them, resting in the hands of her most powerful Selvetarm.  The others lay in wait across the Planes.  One, in the lower abyss, in the hands of a mortal enemy who perverted her own spiders against her.  Two, in the heart of the City of Phlan.  Another lay in the dragon horde of the fel drake Shimmergloom.  The last was lost to the hands of an adventurer and sent into the heart of the Undermountain.

The fabulous Baneblades of Demron, suitably twisted to her purpose, would be a powerful force for her people—and she had just created the perfect lure.  Meanwhile, the City of Phlan was already wreathed in flame.

<dl>

Evaelathil 

A green-glowing blade, usable only by halflings

Mhaorathil 

An orange-glowing short sword, only usable by dwarves

Morvian 

A greatsword that glows with a yellow sun-like light, intended to be used by humans

Faervian 

A longsword that glows deep purple

Dragathil 

A medium-sized rapier that glows red and can hold people in place

Keryvian 

A broadsword wielded by Fflar Starbrow Melruth

 

 

</dl>

Nothing in Menzoberranzan stays the same for long, the same is true for servants and matrons alike. House Sel'rue found itself at the end of a bitter fight, one they had though already won. Fate often has other ideas. Chul'sin, once a populous city was laid to waste, after what appears to be a plague. Only eight hundred of the many survive and all swear loyalty to House Sel'rue as their saviors. 

The consort Teth was cleared of all wrong doing by High Priestess Saus'um'tou Banrae - likely the price of achieving what it was she wanted, her daughter as Matron Banrae.  Though, despite all her various platitudes, the twins were dismayed to learn she had no intention on dealing with the growing cult headed by her own son… 

Following this, a celebration that rivaled any held in the upper third. Their consorts, old and new were well received and sisters welcomed back to the city with open arms. Though, these were nothing compared to the goddess herself walking among them. For two days she held their company, Aunrae and Valan'rae had thought it was only moments, but time moves differently in the presence of a god. 

They were well treated, and even blessed, though Loth is not one for waiting on times of ceremonies, and nearly as soon as she returned them, both matrons found themselves in labor. Within a matter of days, four red-haired children were born to them, one girl and three boys. Fathers beaming, the house settled into its place as fifteenth, and prepared to raise their children. 

More children would come over the next five years. Business would grow, and what was only starting has become an empire. Whores, Rothe, Mushrooms, surface foods by the wagon-full, and no one would dare challenge the house whose children are born with hair the color of blood. Lolth's favored, chosen, but for what and how long? 

The swords are their quest, and time is running out to achieve it. 

I woke this morning with the intention to handle an issue that has been growing, and a dwindling list of people that I could trust. The same is true I would imagine, now. Dyan'ette had been controlled by the lizard that remembers being our mother. The protections I built into him help his blade from us, but not from the rest of the city. It was only when he could not refute the evidence that he came forward. I asked, no in all truth I begged Teth to rebuild his mind, and fix what she had done to him.

I was rewarded with a repaired brother, and then punished with a broken friend. That is the only word I can think of for him. He is a confidant, and someone I trust my life to when I am sleeping. He shares our beds and is taken with Dyan'ette in a way that perhaps I cannot grasp, so he is important. Even Valan did not hesitate when we decided to take him to Xorlorin for help. There was nothing that the Priestess of the academy could do for him but cover up the murders, and declare Dyan'ette innocent, which was no small feat in itself… though her price is high. 

As high, if not more so than the price of Matron Xorlorin.  The house above us, house sixteen is doomed in the morning, if we are not ourselves, only Lolth knows. We attack at dawn, and for a house that has risen so far, I have to hold to hope that Lolth still stands with us, otherwise tonight may be our last night. This is why we hold our Consorts close, we drink our best wine and we spend the night exactly how we would, because if it is our last it should be the best. 

After this, because I must hold that there is an after, we are to host the city for a celebration, welcoming our sister Arkonia to our fold and showing her what we live for.  

There is a growing concern in my mind, something that nags at me, every time I consider telling others that I have taken a consort; it is as if I know that it will be short-lived so I hesitate doing it at all. Add to that, he does not remember all that has happened to him, if he is not the man that I would take to consort, then I would not have him tied to me when he could be of more use somewhere else. This is something I can speak of to no one, so I am left with only this outlet. 

Valan grows cross that she was forced to take Teth as a consort, and I regret perhaps that I did not, to spare myself the looks and complaints that she must have about Dyan'ette. I am too soft with him. I have not challenged him when perhaps I should have, but is it wrong to appreciate his input, even if I do not agree?  No, but what is wrong is allowing that to occur where anyone else can see. 

Perhaps it is too late for that and the only one I am sparing by not making it public is myself. Nothing can help that, I know something is coming. Indeed it may be why I am so sure we will defeat A'lavallier, because there can be no future for me if we fail. 

 

Griswald the merchant from Silverymoon continued to exalt their good fortune as the trio rounded the bend out of the city and started to two mile ascent toward the World Above.  He couldn't get over the payload they were carrying with them.  "Can you imagine what we're going to make out of this, boys?" he asked.

Frank, the beholder, scratched at his third eyestalk with the grooming tool he guided from his mouth and his primary stalk.  Through his broken common, he intoned in a deep, resonating voice, "Are you sure you shouldn't just take the money and run?"

The bugbear clapped him on the back and chuckled.

"Don't touch me, Larry," the beholder warned.

"Aw, c'mon, I was agreeing with you," Larry replied.  "Don't be a fret."

It was Gris who broke the tepid silence.  "If they are willing to send us up with this much treasure, do you honestly think they can't find it?"  He thought a moment, and the thought chilled him.  "Any idea what they would do to us?"  He shook his head. "No, boys, this is the tip of the iceberg.  You'll see!"

"Or the edge of it," the beholder replied.

The rest of the journey was strangely silent.

Teth laid back in his bunk to think about the affairs of the past twenty or so hours.  The purple plumes over the great Spire played over the city, signaling night in the World Above.  He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but the nightmare images that played through his mind erupted forward again, and he found himself meditating instead.

It had started with a persisting dream that unsettled Dyan'ette.  The Eldest Son had developed a sort of nervous tick in the form of night terrors.  He kept them to himself because the dreams were the stuff men were sacrificed for—killing his matron.

Over and over again, thoughts turned to plans, turned to images racing through his mind, but thus far he had managed to resist.  It was the first time he realized he had blood on his blade and muddy boots that something was actually happening.  But what could he do?

Du'rann, the lizardfolk shaman that had invoked Lloth in a series of sick and twisted rituals, cutting the heads off of several serpents and tying them to a stick to symbolize a Llothian whip.  Then she saw fit in her broken memories of the City of Spiders to purify the entire city from its sickness.

Starting with her son.

It was her magic that had reawakened his dreams.  She had, after all, spent at least twenty years dominating her own son and beating him into submission when magic failed, until he felt intense pain at the slightest thought of betraying or even upsetting her—and so she had reached out from beyond the grave and through a mile of rock to torment him.

Du'rann had been Diann, the matron of House Sel'rue, but now, defeated and reincarnated as one of the lizardfolk she had been introduced to a following of escaped slaves and naturally rose to rule them.   In her broken dreams and thoughts, they saw these people as fellow faithful followers, and worked to reclaim their city, together.

Killing, using Dyan'ette, seemed the easiest endeavor.

Teth rolled over a got himself some tea.  He reached for a mushroom cake and found himself holding a bloody severed ear.  Dropping it suddenly with a sharp intake of breath, he watched as the mushroom cake fell harmless to the ground.  Was this a normal reaction to a psychic surgery? he thought to himself.

After the tea, Teth remembered that he had given Dyan'ette one powerful suggestion, to "forgot those who used magic to dominate his will and damage him for their amusement, and for a time he worried that this might make Dyan'ette forget him, too.  The ritual had not been without its losses.

All he could do now, was wait.

And hope.

The next time he dreamed, it was Teth, not Dyan'ette, who dreamed of a man standing over a defenseless woman and slaying her.  It was going to be a rough recovery.  Meanwhile, two people slept peacefully in their rooms in the Tower Firth, unaware of the pain in another man's dreams.

And in his hands.

It’s funny, life. They taught me to write like a trained monkey to show off at dinner parties, but they never knew it’d keep me sane. They taught me to fight because it was a novelty and the men were bored, but they never knew it’d eventually help me to escape. They made me live with the animals, but they never knew it taught me how to avoid having their children when they raped me. My rescuers told me the man I sacrificed was t “the one”. Oh poor things…. they were all “the one”. Irony.

My grand escape was essentially so simple. I really didn’t want to die, but I was ready to. Instead I found my people. It’s strange to me how much this place feels like home, in it’s dark beauty. The surface people don’t understand this world, it’s apparent. I wanted to be killed by someone with a face like mine, so I threw myself down before that woman, only to be delivered into luxury I’ve never seen before. There’s something they aren’t telling me. For people in power, they certainly don’t know how to school their faces. 

I don’t know what’s ahead for me, but I’m starting to remember things from my childhood. A cruel mother, a terrifying yet wondrous goddess, a world full of strength, courage, and beauty. Perhaps one has to die a little to finally live. Time will tell. For now I trust none. I may never. 

I am regularly surprised when something I have painstakingly careful in planning, actually comes together. Perhaps it is to do with the fact I am so used to our mother taking credit for what we do. Not only are we not dead, but we are thriving. I must admit though, that Lolth must have seen it to be that way, as had you asked me just a fortnight hence, I would have not been nearly so confident about our chances.

That is not to say that we are not still in danger, but what is success in Menzoberranzan without the risk. I would be a fool to think that everything is perfectly placed, we have enemies on every side, and even more that would see us simply out of the way for their progress. That is always be unchanged, but for now at least Banrae has other battles to fight, and we do their bidding. 

We sew the seeds of our plans in the hearts and minds of the houses that will listen, which is why we send our brothers to woo them. They want the blood of blademasters and they shall have them, but they will not take our blood from our halls. There is nothing they can give us that will replace the favor that Lolth has shown us. 

Then with the return of a sister I am filled with unease. This girl, this poor excuse for a drow that has not even a grasp of our tongue and no connection to our people at all… she comes to us, in a way that it must have been intended… but to what end? Is it for our favor or our destruction? Only time will tell, which is why we call on one old enough to know her, and see her story true. I would see her tested to be sure she cannot supplant us, that is the most important part of any of this. If she has no connection to magic, then she is no threat and can be used. Blade master blood flows in her veins as well. 

These things only hold a candle to the dread that grows inside me at the thought that our mother still lives… and in the body of a lizard woman… The thought alone is enough to make me retch. She would have seen me, my child, my sister, my brothers all dead for nothing more than being better at this game than she. This creature cannot go on in her name, wether it is she or not. …Though I do find poetic justice in the idea that if she is brought back, that she lives on in that horrid form… It is the only part of it that does not move me to any more than laughter. 

Should we find a way, I would give her death to Dyan'ette, he suffered at her hands, he could not touch her as drow, but he can destroy her now. If it is her at all…

 

The city streets stretched out before the cloaked warrior as he strode through the marketplace. Dyan’ette continued to pace the markets and search for this clue and that.

Meanwhile, a figure silently followed, keeping track of his movements.

Dyan’ette paused at a fruit stand and questioned the human slave selling wares what he was selling. He dutifully reported five kinds of melon. None of them apparently were made with “water.”

“Musk?” he questioned, and the slave had simply shrugged. Obviously. He would never have been given one of his own. That would be a waste of good produce. Unless they were being rewarded, slaves ate mushrooms and rothe, and little else. There were laws, and a pecking order to follow, after all.

THe silent figure paused. They grew closer, and watched from the shadows of the crowd. At one point, Dyan’ette half turned, perhaps noticing eyes that lingered too long, and the figure crept back into the shadows. Satisfied, Dyan’ette returned to his bargaining.

Slowly creeping forward.

Dyan’ette counted out the thirty pieces of silver for his purchase.

Creeping…

He reached into hsi pouches and made room for the small culinary delight.

So very close now. He slowly released a blade and raised it to the drow warrior’s neck.

His eyes flew open with panic as the blade sinked deep into his back, just below the base of his skull. His eyes widened, and he tried to scream, but no sound issued forth. The slave gasped in terror and stumbled back into his shop.

Dyan’ette spun around in time to see the assassin fall, knife clattering to the ground. “You should learn to be more careful,” Teth admonished slowly. “You never know what you will run into out here in the Commons.”

Dyan’ette nodded and returned his attention to the slave, He turned again toward Teth and added, “Find out—”

“—-where he’s from, House, etc., etc., I know the drill,” Teth said blithely. “You people…” and he went at once to work. As expected, no house symbol, nor identifying marks. This would be a job for the Sisters.