AMIA ARCHIVE • View topic

Fierene Havenstar wrote:

Anyone whom might be in the Yath'tallar library (only Yath'tallar or those whom aren't Yath'tallar but don't get caught) may notice that the current Temple rankings seemed to have gone missing. The only indication that they were there is a scrap of parchment still held to the notice board by that ornate dagger.

Jhal'vyrae, now dressed in what appears to be the currant colours of My'afin, on one of her visits to the Yath'taller library this cycle doesn't notice for a while.. her mind too busy on searching out particular tomes and reading sections of them. Discarding some after a cursary read and reading others in more detail that interested her.

Eventually she looks up in thought at something she has read, her eyes towards the notice board. At first her own thoughts blinded her to what she was actually looking at. Then the glazed expression of thought changes to one of piercing gaze and the tome she has open infront of her closes slowly, as her thoughts change to the missing list.

Putting the tome back in its place on the shelf, Jhal'vyrae taps a cheek absently and then wafts from the library.

The Ul'ath'tallar delivers the latest list of those banned from Edonil, the City of Webs to the Spider Guard, the Melee Magthere, including each guard on duty and to the Sorcere.

Zrae'a'stra'fryn is seen once again in the city, though sparsely so at first. It would seem the slightly mysterious cleric has yet to give up on the City of Webs. Despite having had no luck in locating the Ul'ath'tallar before Zrae's departure, for it seemed she was not available previously, she sought to fine her once more. Having no luck in that, or at least the Spider Guard did not direct her to the Voice, she took residence at the Iniquity bar for a time before departing.

The previous day had been a glorious cycle on the coattails of her sacrifice in Lolths' name under the supervision of the, now former, Ul'ath'tallar and the events of the meeting. Once returned to Edonil after assaulting the orcs, Zrae excused herself to be alone with the company of her thoughts. Though the sweep of battle had adrenaline still coursing through her, she had much to think about. And so she found a secluded place in the caves and tunnels away from the city and L'Obsul where she could make herself reasonably comfortable.

She who traveled knew much of solitude since she left her original home, and so this did not bother her as it might some. Armor and blade were cleaned, the latter then sharpened to ensure it's edge. It was not long later that she gave her prayers before the personal altar she owned and then sat alone with her thoughts and a glass of blood wine.

Waves lap the cliff that bears the temple. In the distance, out in the water, a tremendous tentacle can be glimpsed pushing water towards the land, as though wishing to be seen. A nemesis once defeated has risen once again.

While none have reported the same pain last felt by its passing, the spider guard stand vigilant and sound word amongst the ranks of those that protect the City of Webs to take precautions in fortifying their minds. For better or worse, the Keeper Below has awoken, and is near.

Irae orders all of the Sorcere (That being all three of them) who can do so to start producing potions and wands of Mindblank and Clarity. They are made available for all of the City to take.

(If you want some, find me in game, and we'll have some!)

Nizzre'tyne enters the Temple then the alter room for prayer. She ignores any talk of something in the water until she had made her offering of incense and bloodstones incorporated in beautiful jewelry to her Queen. Her prayers included the casting of two spells before she is done.

Later as Nizzre'tyne exits the Temple, 52 is waiting with a cup of steaming tea. The fragrance of underdark orchids and honey drift out as Nizzre'tyne meanders over to view the waters. 52 dashes off on some other errand.

She sips as she studies the murky depths. Then she speaks in a conversational and pleasant tone. "Well then, shall we have tea?"

Zrae'a'stra'fryn can be seen patrolling the city from time to time, looking much like her usual impassive self. There are a pair of changes to her recently, however. The first noticeable alteration to her appearance would be the addition of a coiled whip at her side when on patrol or standing about. The other change would be the added amulet around her neck, one displaying the insignia of Edonil's Yathrin.

She would seem most inclined towards ensuring that the societal structures of the city remain intact and adhered to, as well as committing the caverns to memory.

Yath'tallar Ust'Ilharess Nizzre'tyne, although spotted in L'Obsul and varrious caverns in the Underdark, near flooded Ultrinnan, near crumbling Udos, even Tarkuul, has not been spotted in Edoinl.

The "Tinnerai" chest is missing and the sounds of activity come from the My'afin compound.

Yath'tallar Ust'Ilharess Nizzre'tyne glides about Edonil thoroughly inspecting the spiders, the guards and even the merchants.

She murmers in a sweet voice to the spiders and provides them with a large alive but stunned rat. She doesn't touch the spiders. She moves around them best as she can with a trained eye for any sign of illness. She blesses each one before she leaves.

She is not so sweet voiced to the guards. She stands one hand on a hip her Sirrush nearby. She orders them to slowly turn around in a circle, present their weapons for her inspection and has them tell her how one properly kills an orc. Apparently she finds something out of order on each and every one. Her sharp rebukes are punctuated by growls from the Sirrush. As concequence for their transgression she commands them to run to the Temple and back to the Magthere four times after they are done with their current shift.

Her conversations with the merchants are about thier knowledge of the caverns nearby. If they have provided any tokens to the Temple of Lolth lately and that they should do so quickly. She suggests that running to the Temple would be looked upon favorably.

Finally she has a conversations with the hair dresser and tattoo artist. After discussing the latest fashion trends in hair and tattoos the conversation turns to something similar to the ones with the merchants.

She doesn't stay to see if they followed her orders. She simply glides off into the Deeper Dark.

The tall armored figure of the almost enigmatic Zrae'a'stra'fryn can still be seen moving about the caverns of the city. With confidence she strides, her cold gave leveled upon those common folk she passes. Her left hand, as ever, resides upon the hilt of her drow-crafted longsword and her right upon the whip coiled at her other side, ready to be tugged smoothly free at a moment's notice.

Some might notice that a spider or two routinely are seen with her. They are small, obviously not any of the city's own spiders and not a familiar or summon of any kind. Sometimes they follow behind her, the drowess keeping a careful eye upon them. Any whom might venture too close would be hissed at, possibly shoved back roughly lest they accidentally tread upon her current companion. Of course, this would only hold true to those of lesser rank and status than herself.

When not moving about surveying the city she can be seen in Iniquity savoring a glass of spider venom wine. Other times she sits comfortably upon a rock, her attention focused upon one such spider. One might be taken aback by the fact that she actually had a little smile twisting her lips as she cared for the child of Lolth.

The War Sage adjusted his mask as he sat alone upon the rooftops of one of Edonil's several building complexes, casually looking across the domain he referred to as "home," wrapped snugly in the weather-beaten trench coat that was now considered an extension of his body. Regardless of how much he tried not to, inevitably his gaze was always drawn back down towards the streets.

There were perks to being a master of change; such now was his skill that with high quantities of concentration he could alter specific portions of his body to perform functions. Behind the smooth shell of the adamantine mask, yellow reptilian eyes were barely hidden as he watched the world in the perspective his own eyes could not: through heat.

It was easy to tell the difference between the species, though from such distances he could not ascertain individualistic features: the Drow citizens were bright shades of colour like the cursed sun as were others that generated their own warmth. He watched the inspections of Nizzre'tyne and Zrae'stra'fryn without even knowing it was them...

That's what it felt to be an apex predator he thought. There is no bias, just myself and my prey.

But the spiders on the other hand... they barely registered at all in his vision arcs. Brief flashes of dark purple behind an otherwise black, two dimensional background. Without the heat sources to define his perception of his surroundings and distance, he was blind. Being watched by eyes he could barely see sparked that the ingrained paranoia drilled into all Drow from birth. It made him cunningly smile underneath his adamantine mask: regardless of his talents he was still Drow in mind if not body, regardless of how much of his mind was fractured by the personas he shared them with.

He idly watched the ebb and flow of the citizens, trying to ascertain patterns in the chaos. Having sat in the same position at the same time of the cycle for many cycles, he was slowly coming to the conclusion he dreaded the most. "There is no point to their existence, beyond existing" he mused as he watched. "But why... is it the lack of purpose? The lack of direction from the Hierarchy? The lack of motivation to live beyond their existence?"

The lack of concentration caused his vision to fade back to its original hue, the sensory overload of colours and his place in the 3D world made him feel queasy, nauseous almost. He steadied himself with his right hand, feeling the sticky substance that made up a web. For the first time, it occured to him that he was sitting in something else's home, an intruder in something else's domain. As much as he scoffed at the Drow below him, he was blind to what was above him: an extremely dangerous weakness that he would need to rectify.

The spiders that made their home up here would not approach him however, no matter how much his fingers jiggled their webs. He wondered if perhaps the spiders were asking themselves the same questions that he was regarding their own existence? Or perhaps it was a sign of displeasure from the one who watched all for asking such questions?

Who knows... the War Sage surely didn't anyway. Adjusting his mask pedantically out of habit with his left hand, he incited the mantras of change and stared down at the streets once more. In such a time of unease, the simplicity of the predator's views of life was rather soothing. With his mind at ease, he casually looked up to the darkness of the cavern's rooftops. Only after a few minutes of complacency did he finally feel the faintest sense of intrusion to his otherwise secure sense of being.

"I was wondering when we'd be conversing again..."

Nizzre'tyne wasn't just unaware of the war sage, she didn't care if she was being watched. After all, one had to assume that one was always being watched. She glided around Edonil stopping here and there in a chaotic seemingly random pattern. A stop at the trainer near the Magthere. A pause in back of the building that Iniquity was located in. A stop at the top of the cavern entrance to House My'afin and the Sorcere, at the muchroom patch, at the front gates, at the different apartments, in the battle square, by the giant spider...

While near that Magthere Yath'tallar Ust'Ilharess Nizzre'tyne went inside and found an off duty guard. "You." She pointed, a graceful movement, "Find the highest ranking guard and have him meet me in the Ul'saruks office within the hour."

She didn't wait for his answer. She portaled out.

Zrae, on the other hand, was quite more disciplined with her antics. With that slow, methodical, purposeful stride she carried herself about the main, and other, cavern. She would inspect everything with a cool gaze, showing neither approval or displeasure, merely continuing onward. She would eventually disappear into the temple cavern then return, moving to survey the Sorcere's after. Another turn about the main cavern would lead her back to the temple. Afterward she would allow herself time in Iniquity or the main cavern, surveying the entrance with her current spider companion.

Such is the days of the yathrin, save the forrays into the Deeper Dark and other places unknown.

During her daily prayers and worship at the Temple, 'Widow' appears briefly interrupted, proven by the fact that she pauses in her routine. After a moment, she gets a curious look on her face, then returns to her prayers, finishing her daily worship.

Immediately following, she moves outside the main doors where she would calmly say to the two guards there...
"You, fetch me the duergar slaves in the main city, tell them to bring their tools."
With that, she would go to the funds chest, open it, and begin emptying the contents into one of her many magical bags.

The first of the barges has been completed ahead of schedule and slips into the black waterway. Another two are being worked upon, work hastened by an unseen force.

Meanwhile, an event occurred over the past evening. The Matrons, their first daughters, and the High Priestess were granted a vision. In it, a single spider lowered from a web. Upon its abdomen, a series of images played out. In them Edonil was demolished by the overwhelming numbers of Orcs. Despite this, the Drow and a plethora of spiders fled to the waters and regrouped, heading deeper into the caverns. An image of an aquatic spider is then made visible. This is followed by the ships following it to an island, upon which abandoned, beautifully primal structures await them. The new city thrives as the Drow expand within it and raid other vague locations along the water ways. The vision begins to fade and finally ends.

Although it seems that at least one matron mother didn't get the vision. Exactly why is anyones guess...

Analog Kid wrote:

During her daily prayers and worship at the Temple, 'Widow' appears briefly interrupted, proven by the fact that she pauses in her routine. After a moment, she gets a curious look on her face, then returns to her prayers, finishing her daily worship.

Immediately following, she moves outside the main doors where she would calmly say to the two guards there...
"You, fetch me the duergar slaves in the main city, tell them to bring their tools."
With that, she would go to the funds chest, open it, and begin emptying the contents into one of her many magical bags.

*The slaves comply.*

The little-known warpriestess of Selvetarm spends much of her time around the guards, soldiers and militia of Edonil - she inquires as to who they answer to, and what their function will be when the invasion comes. She is often heard preaching the "philosophy" of Selvetarm within earshot of guards; "War is the ultimate expression of individual power, sargtlinen. When battle comes upon us, you will show our foes the fury that we drow are capable of. Victory, for Selvetarm! Glory, to Lolth!"

If permitted, or if it seems the soldiers will do as she says (and in absence of any specific forbiddance), she would attempt to lead a few drills, ending each with prayer and blessings of battle. Each session would be continued to her exhaustion - so thoroughly does she seek to train them, and so deeply within herself would she reach to place Selvetarm's strength upon the soldiers; she is every inch a zealot, hungry for the glorious death that awaits her.

One thin claw worked out a shread of barbarian from between her teeth as she listened to the pompous priestess. The female in read and black tried to cow the male; probably for hours, but the dragon disciple didn't pay much attention to the passage of time. She knew when she'd walked back into the settlement that she would be in for a long road, and patience would be needed.

The Priestess began to fire arrows at the male, and was met with a globe of darkness. Zar'aun's features curled into a fangy and elated grin as she slowly unwoud her lithe body from where she rested and watched near the oblisk.

Perhaps she wouldn't have to wait as long as she thought.

The shadow slipped up behind the priestess, and silently slid her rapier from it's sheath. The battle was brief but glorious. The male followed one female outside, and Zar'aun knelt on the temple floor searching the one corpse and the other unconscious body taking their holy symbols and temple insignias, lacing the trophies on her belt.

The thin, dark figure strode down the temple steps, stepping over the bodies of the Spider Guards that had been on duty, and joined the male in the final battle. Whether through skill or luck she landed the final blow on the female, and added yet another amulet to her collection.

The doors to the Temple burst open, the sound of battle within falling silent for the barest of moments. A large male with silver rings and a blood red cape pauses only to fend off the guards on the steps as he engages the huge outsider a midst the swirling spell effects around them all.

As the Stonehold spell hindered almost all but the red caped male, he threw down the outsider and gave chase to the female wrapped in enchantments, laying low a third guard near the Temple before finally bowling her over. Her dying gurgle coming at the knives of a sharp-toothed female, seeming to come from the darkness itself.

With silence once again settling upon the cavern, he casts a glance to the cliffs opposite where the final spiderguard stands looking on. A feral grin, a flash of his silver rings, and invisibility enshrouds him as he stalks out of sight.

((Going to press Pause on that temple stuff for the time being, Anatida and Bravo. Please PM me what happened.))

((Unpause!))

Meanwhile after a brief pause to speak with visitors to the construction site, the work at the cavern entrance/exit continues.

http://i281.photobucket.com/albums/kk21 ... 48deb5.jpg
http://i281.photobucket.com/albums/kk21 ... a120f7.jpg
http://i281.photobucket.com/albums/kk21 ... 4e758d.jpg

For days, Widow is largely absent from the Temple. She attends her own prayers regularly, but they are pointed and focused, lasting only as long as needed, then she is away again.

The work on the wall closing off Edonil proper to Mu'll Har'ol continues. Starting from the Edonil side a complete wall now extends from the bottom to the top. Although the jaluk assisting Streeaka'ael can no longer be seen, the muffled sounds of building might still be heard.

It seems that only those in Mu'll Har'ol would be able to see the wall getting thicker.

The jaluk is not seen outside the cavern he's helped wall himself into now.

http://i281.photobucket.com/albums/kk21 ... a4f443.jpg

Life was busy for the War Sage as it was for many others during Edonil's few remaining cycles. If he was not making plans or advising both male and female alike, he was out in the caverns utilising his skillsets to watch... and wait.

As he sat watching the barges in the dark lake, he could not shake off the feeling that Edonil's inhabitants were extremely lucky: the Underdark was their realm and the orcs had gotten lost trying to find them. The sensation of rage bitterly filled his mouth as several personas vented their feelings in the recesses of his conscience. "All this time wasting!" some cried. "If they had just taken the fight to the enemy, our host wouldn't be in this mess!" others remarked more rationally.

"But we are in this mess," he said to himself. "We clung ourselves too vehemently to the ways of Menzoberanzen, the 'Drow' ways and look what it's accomplished: our backwater town is incomplete from cycles of stagnant infighting and about to be destroyed just as its predecessors. We cannot blame orcs for our own handiwork." He tossed a small skipping stone into the murky water and watched it skip once or twice: he'd never quite got the knack of the technique. "We're responsible for this.... yet even in these times, our own pride is acting against us."

He tossed another stone towards the lake, this time lacking the attempted finesse of the previous as it hit the water with a decent splosh. "Fools barricade themselves in the Myafin cabin, praying they will survive the storm instead of uniting as a city. Our two highest houses have gone silent along with their matrons, one due to my own actions. Ussend'vhid plans to sacrifice itself with the city it failed to create just as Qos'Yutsu's Matron speaks of fading into the darkness in the near future. It is sad to admit so but the Aboleth, a former enemy of the people, has done more for the populace then those delegated to rule over them!"

"No!" He spoke aloud for the first time, pushing himself suddenly to his feet much to the surprise of those around him. "I will not have the failures of the traditional ways on my hands. I will bring them to glory and prosperity, even if I have to take the face of a dragon and drag them there myself!"

He wrapped himself in his trench coat and began walking back towards the city district. There was only precious time left before the orcs would come which meant his presence was needed in many places... but he needed a small measure of time to stop and think. A drink at Iniquity would be sufficient...

It would seem that among the hustle and bustle to fortify edonil, one notable exception refrained from helping. Isendu't'tar does nothing to strengthen the walls or create traps, spending his time shouting the praises of Selvetarm and asking for his blessings, or polishing and maintaining his hammer and armor.

If asked why he refuses to help in the defenses of the city, he would reply 'I would rather invite them in to die than leave them waiting outside'

If the Zrae'a'stra'fryn, the Temple yathrin also known to many as the Queen's Whip of Edonil's forces, thought anything untoward about Isen's behavior she said nothing. She would, in fact, watch him appraisingly every once in a while. Perhaps she thought him a fool? Perhaps she approved? Not many, if any at all, would know the answer to that. But she did not hassle him over it.

Ada'vrae, Warpriestess of Selvetarm, continues to be an active presence in the city - she grows bolder and fiercer in her efforts to train the soldiers of Edonil. She continues to preach of the ways of Lolth's Champion, holding drills and demonstrations among the warriors, as well as ceremonial blessings in preparation of battle. Authority does not seem to be an issue for her; she seems happy to train and preach with or without the acknowledgement of the citizens - although with her fanatical displays of zeal she makes herself quite hard to ignore.

"Each of you must train yourselves as a smith tempers his blades. Master as many styles as the spider has legs, wield them with the guile of a hunter. The lesser creatures that array themselves against us are as prey entering the web. Let them taste our indomitable fury, let us drink their blood atop the mounds of their mangled corpses!"

The last of the three planned mighty barges, the Spider Bearer, complete with a small shrine and a large empty space for spiders to nest within its hull has been completed and slips into the water. Those Drow that aided in their creation celebrate their good fortune in Iniquity. They may have fallen behind schedule in the end, but to them, it appears that Lolth is with Edonil and has seen to its defense. The task ahead is straightforward though: load the barges and aid in their city's defense until the time comes to disembark.

Not long after the completion of the barge Zrae'a'stra'fryn would be seen casting blessings upon it, praying and invoking Lolth's name as she praised the Valsharess for giving the people of Edonil the strength and tenacity to perform their work in completing the most important of the barges. Some might note that the spider barge was given far more accolades than any of the others.

Perhaps an hour later, after the deeds were done, she was seen departing into the Temple, offering further prayers at the altar within. Once satisfied with her obsequious to her Dread Queen the yahtrin was seen again striding from the Temple with all the grace and dignity of her usual self. Some, should they dare look upon her face, would notice a curious fire in her crimson gaze; something had obviously arrested her thoughts. Without pause she headed for Iniquity, where she had overheard the workers were to head.

A quietly as an armored priestess might she entered the establishment to the sound of whatever celebration might be underway. She would move through those gathered, carefully making her way to the area containing the bar. Amidst the din of the crowd she ordered her usual, a glass of spider venom wine. Taking a slight sip she gave the woman tending the bar a courteous nod before turning and raising it high.

I give to you: Glory! Zrae cried out, her voice suddenly loud to cut through the various sounds in the bar and ensure attention was given her way. This cycle belongs to you, children of the Spider Queen. On this cycle you have given this city one of it's greatest gifts: the transport that shall carry Her spiders safely from those that would seek to cut them down as if they were nothing! Nothing?! The very thought of their blasphemy chills the blood coursing through my veins. Lolth's blood! Her children, threatened by the host which seeks to come against us!

The priestess' steady gaze swept the interior as she spoke to them, poured out what she felt they all felt. What she knew they must all be thinking, for what child of Lolth would not think for the safety of the city's spiders and the army that came for them? Those thoughts of vengeance for a crime not yet committed.

But no, that shall not be, for you have robbed them of that! You, those of the most powerful blood in existence, you provided that way. And so it is for you this victory is. A victory that makes me proud, as should you be. While some might doubt that a priestess, with their highborn attitude and their scoffing and dismissal of those weaker than they, would say such gracious things there was something in her features that might make them think she was sincere. Or at least somewhat so. So drink, celebrate! Drink to the glory of the Valsharess!

The glass lowered as she came towards the end of her speech, and she quickly drained the wine without a drop spilled. She could feel the venom tingle upon her tongue, rolling down her throat, and she relished in it. To have the willingly given venom of a spider coursing through her figure was akin to untold numbers of pleasures. The glass was set on the bar behind her as she kept her gaze sweeping them.

Lolth tlu malla! was her final cry, full of passion and pride, before she swiftly departed with her cloak swirling behind.

// Not sure if anything was 'not allowed', if so I'll correct it.

The War Sage remained rather quiet as the spontaneous celebrations erupted throughout Iniquity's walls, watching those around him as he usually did until asked a question for a question to an answer. He sat alone, wrapped in his trench coat with water in his cup. Obsidian eyes intensified the shadows portrayed by his adamantine mask to his upper facial features and his attention was drawn to a small leather book on the desk before him, breaking only briefly for Zrae'a'stra'fryn's speech to the gathered crowd.

"The future is not set," he murmured between sips of water as he wrote them into his little book. But it never hurts to have a plan. The realm of fate can best be described like a tree from the surface worlds. The trunk consists of the past: stable, straight and recorded with the present and future branching off in infinite possibilities the higher,or longer one goes. One cannot have a future without branching off from the past, but one must learn to heed the warnings of the past to prevent repetition of the past's mistakes in the future. Thus is the eternal game of fate with which we all must play...

After a further hour of contemplation and writing, the War Sage rose from his chair. He placed on his armour and once again wrapped himself in his trench coat, buckling the thick leather shoulder plating and greaves in place before testing their mobility. As he walked towards the door, he gestured towards a nearby Bar hand and held out a small bag of currency: "Do purchase the Queen's Whip upon her next return in precisely half an hour from now when her patrol returns here and those others whom have found their way here to join in their celebrations a round on me. And do recommend the Matron of Qos'Yutsu down to the festivities... its rather impolite for a host to be left from her own venue's party."

It was then that he disappeared into the darkness of Edonil, to do what only the War Sage truly knows.

A dark figure stalks in from the deeper dark, a wraith-like visage of a warrior silently in tow. A soft click and groan as the gates of Edonil swing wide at the push from his hand. An emotionless stare at the guard as he pauses long enough for the diligent guard to take down his presence in the city.

His head turns slowly toward the sounds of revelry within Iniquity, the ghost of a smile forming on his lips at a haunting whisper of a comment from the wraith. “No, they are likely celebrating some minor accomplishment.” He continues in his low gravelly voice, “The Revel of preparing for battle is a thing long past, your past actually, they know not what comes for them.”

He continues sown the slope, ignoring flow of citizens wandering to and from the celebration. Nodding to each guard on duty as he makes a thorough circuit around the main Edonil cavern, he stops for the barest of moments to admire the new wall adorning the east tunnel before halting before the door to the Melee Magthere.

Entering the building, a sweep is made, the wraith sticking it's head eagerly into every room and dark corner. The dark warrior finishes his apparently fruitless search in the training room, and with a clinking of silver rings, snaps his fingers for the attention of the nearest warrior. Loudly, so that all in the building might hear, “Where is thine commander?”

Taking only a few short heartbeats for an answer to come, he continues, “No matter, judging from the thick layer of dust upon the Ul'saruk's chair, it is not someone important. I will take stock of things here for the time being.”

He steps out of the room, and wedging the door to the Ul'saruk's office open, calls out. “I expect up to date duty rosters and patrol reports on this desk within the cycle.” He sweeps the desk clear, depositing everything upon the floor and empties the drawers as well, keeping an eye out for what might have been left within. Settling down in the Ul'saruk's throne and propping his boots on the desk, he waits with an almost deathlike patience, watching the people in the building go about their duties.

*Israe'anna would be seen being active in the city, actually showing her face in the streets. She would have minimal interaction with anyone, still wearing her old Tinnerai colors as she hunts for components for the coming siege.*

The one squad of Magthere warriors that is not currently yet on duty or off celebrating at Iniquity would pause slighty at the entrance of the newcomer before calmly resuming checking their schedule and equipment as the prepare to head out. Following their group commander out they might be head laughing and commenting about not needing random people coming in and trying to be officer since the actual troops have been doing just fine without the so called officers or other Magthere leadership.

Returning later in the cycle with a city runner, he pens a short note. Walking to the Magthere notice boards, he draws a still bloodied sword and pierces the board deeply, leaving it there.

Announcing loudly, "Anyone who has the blood of an Illharess upon their blade may speak out now." Waiting a few lingering moments he continues, "No? Listen well then. There is to be a Reaving soon, as demanded by her generous grace Kiaransalee. If any of you refuse to do your duty as commanded by the War Sage..." Another pause and he continues with a purr, "An army of undead is far more loyal than any I see before me...", letting the last trail off.

Turning slowly to the runner, he hands him the note. Speaking in a softer but no less menacing tone, "Take this to the War Sage in haste. Pray he is as enthusiastic about his orders being carried out by the cities defenders as I. And that I have an idea of how to make sure the troops follow the orders they are given."

As the runner trots off, he turns and heads towards one of the nearby apartments. He can be heard chuckling and shaking his head, "It has been foreseen that the city will fall. Ignorance is bliss to those who cannot see their own end, the dead will serve Her, always..."

Around midcycle, amidst the hustle and bustle of the city going about matters both of war and the normal, a certain Yathrin of the Temple strode from the Temple cavern to the main one and up to the cliff the leyline node sat upon so that she could overlook the city's main thoroughfare.

It was but a few moments that she stood there, watching and waiting, several things ran through her mind. As her left hand lifted and rested gently upon the longsword at her side, as oft it did, she reflected upon the strength of her race. Her eyes, those cold orbs of crimson, surveyed the commonfolk and pride coursed through her being.

That pride was twofold. Pride was felt, of course, for what the citizens had accomplished. Long had they been lax and, as a surfacer would say, 'going through the motions' of life. Such it had been since before she ever set foot into those caverns, the priestess had seen that, and so it was until of most recent memory. But she had seen what they could do once properly galvanized into action, and it was glorious.

Which was part of the source of her other, greater aspect of pride: herself. Zrae'a'stra'fryn was proud of all that she had done, and all that she planned to do. Thought all credit for stirring the populace was not hers, she played no small role in it. It was all for the glory of Lolth, for if the drow thrived then so they could bring all glory to the Valsharess.

Rousing from her brief thoughts her hands uplifted in a rough V-shape as her voice called out Citizens of Edonil! Faithful of the Spider! Zrae let the words linger a moment, carrying to the walls to echo briefly. The eve of war approaches us, yet we remain steadfast. I am proud of each that has done their part. The barges are complete so that we may make our forray to a more glorious future, and even now there are those of you that seek to do battle with those that come to face us!

Those crimson eyes, burning bright in the heat of her passion gazed them over, a look of slight satisfaction upon her deadly beautiful features. I will not lie to you. The way ahead will not be easy. We know not what awaits at our destination, but we will prevail! the final three words of the sentance were precisely punctuated for emphasis, Let the demons and orcs come, I say! the Yathrin viciously clenched a fist, They will find naught here but their deaths! And once we have slain our fill we will fall back and they will be crushed under the weight of their insolence to threaten us! the sentance grew with intensity as she spoke, ending harshly.

Do not make the mistake of believing this to be not but an ending, for it is a beginning as well. On the day of the attack we mark the ending of a line of failures. Yesss..., the priestess hissed, her eyes flashing as she swiveled her gaze around the various citizens gathered, I know what lies in the past. Glory, yes... but failure as well. Twice have you moved and once more shall you. A mark of failure, yes, but not on those that remain true to our most glorious Dread Queen! All ye faithful have waited, burning with the desire to reclaim yet more glory for yourself and Lolth! Edonil was to be a city of splendor, a city of Lolth's glory! she let that sink in for a moment, along with the yet unspoken implications.

But it has not been so. Too many mistakes have been made by those trusted with power. This will be no more. those crimson orbs narrowed slightly as she pierced them with her gaze, her voice having lost some volume but none of it's nigh-fanatical intensity, It is this that I swear to you, in the name of Lolth and Her glory: So long as I draw breath, until the day that Lolth beckons to my soul, I will never allow the unworthy to lead our city.

There was a pause as she allowed her words to echo in the cavern, but also in the listeners as she stood above them, her posture impeccably maintained as she drank in the gazes below her. When she continued her voice was far from soft, but it was more pleasant yet still holding the undeniable edge of command and purpose. And yet this is a beginning as well. When we embark upon our new home, we must continue to remain vigilant! Lolth demands our piety, for it is at least what She deserves for all She has given to us. We must be steadfast and unwavering in our devotion to Her, and weed out those that are weak as She commands. There is a great vision for our new home, and it will rest upon all of our shoulders to ensure we do not become lax and that we instead thrive!

For you, she jabbed a gauntleted finger at a random citizen, and you, another, and every last one of you, her outstretched arm swept so that the gesture encompassed them all, are drow! And we, her voice slowly grew with intensity, ignited by the zealotry that burned in her soul as it rose up from her, will make the Underdark tremble in our fury! the volume of her voice rose to a mighty crescendo as she neared the peak of her final words, arms uplifting once more:

Lolth! Tlu! Malla!

With that she turned upon her heel and strode away, her cloak swirling behind her as she returned in the direction of the Temple. And in the wake of her impassioned speech to the citizens of Edonil, a posting was placed at the Magthere, the merchants, outside the Temple of Lolth, and at several other various locations in the main cavern of Edonil to ensure it was seen by all.

Quote:

Citizens of Edonil,

Any who seek to take the orcs and demons to battle are to locate Ada'vrae, Isendu't'tar, or myself. What training that can be provided in martial combat will given. The time is short. Remember that those who prove themselves loyal to Lolth's wisdom and fruitful to our city may find themselves rewarded greatly. Power comes to those who seek it, and so you should do so.

Be there any unknown women blessed by the Valsharess with powers of the divine, this is your moment to speak up and find me. The aid of our sisters in Lolth's name is necessary to our very survival. Speak not quietly of Her favor. Be proud and step forward!

-Yathrin Zrae'a'stra'fryn, Queen's Whip of the Vanguard of Edonil-

Bum! Bum! Dddd Bum! Bum!

Drums sound in the deep, dark passages of the caverns approaching Edonil. Their deep echoes herald but one thing: the coming horde.

Non-combatants begin to swiftly pack the remainder of their items and make for the barges. Those inspired by the Yaths as well as the faithful of Selvertarm take up their arms and begin to report in to their designated posts, taking their lead from the city guard and the Spider Guard.

The beating of the drums seems to drive Ada'vrae into near-frenzy, but she manages to contain herself to tense anticipation. The response of the citizens evidently pleases her, and she readily seeks to ready them for battle with combat drills, and to arm their hearts with battle-lust by example - her own fervor as a Warpriestess of Selvetarm. Unlike the grand speech of the Queen's Whip Zrae'a'stra'fryn, Ada'vrae - self-described Warmistress of the Vanguard's Sword - had much fewer words at this time, but she spoke with no less conviction.

"By the glory of Lolth, we will guide our fate here with our own hands. We live, or we die - but it is a choice. When my tortured spirit awakens in the Demonweb Pits, with pride I will tell the pitiless demons that I stood against the vast, unquenchable horde, and I taught them to truly fear the drow. That I spent every last drop of my blood to ensure that our colony would live on. Follow me. Stand with me as long as you are able. Stand with us longer, 'til the very end... or walk free, and remember the rage and power of Edonil's Selvetargtlin when you are bringing strength back to our people, and glory to our gods. Selvetarm ultrin! Lolth tlu malla!"

Yath'tallar Il'haress d'My'afin Nizzre'tyne strolls into the Temple cavern accompanied by others. Despite the drum sounds she is not hurried. The air of confidence surrounds her and drifts to those closest to her.

She is dressed in Yath'tallar armor, a gift from a former Ul'ath'tallar and legend from as far back as Udos Drex. The armor covers the barest minimum by way of the shining breast plate and pelvic protection. The armor on her arms are snake bracelets, one forearm bears a leather gauntlet with spikes and the only other metal items are her boots. It is as if she tells the enemy they are so weak in her presence she need not bother with much in the way of physical protection. She holds her snake headed whip loosely in her gloved hand allowing the cobras to stretch out as they will. Her one of a kind morning star is at her hip within easy reach. Her shield with an etched spider web upon which rests spider fangs is already spattered with blood. There is no doubt that not only is she ready for war against the enemy, she has already been in battle.

She makes her way to the Temple and has a word or two with the Spider Guard there. Even whispering the tone is commanding as befitting a Yath'tallar that channels the terrible power of the Dread Queen, Lolth.

It would seem that for one priestess the time for grand speeches and goading of the peoples of Edonil has passed, at least in her mind. Zrae'a'stra'fryn was pleased beyond merit with what had transpired as of late, and it eye showed in her demeanor despite her typical dispassion. She stood atop the cliff outside the Magthere, her posture as perfect as ever as she calmly watched the city's gates. Should one listen closely or look close enough they would notice her soft prayers and praises to the Valsharess, keeping solace to herself and Her Queen for she knew by now those of the city had no doubt of her faith.

Soon the drow would go to war, even if it was not the war that some might think.

In stark contrast to the rushing around of others, Isendu't'tar seems calm. He merely stands behind his altar, petting the funnelweb spider that has been his 'companion' for some time now. Although the sound of drums echos from the tunnels, he does nothing more to prepare. He is ready, but for what?

Following the Warsage's letter which was followed by Yath'tallar Nizzre'tyne d'My'afin's own retort, the spirit and resolve of Edonil finds itself in turmoil.

The non-combative citizens, already on the barges, remain there and are unsure of what to do, but stay in place as they are less willing to take their chances against a horde. Doubt is sewn in the ranks of the newly established Vanguard. Questions are heard but none seem to admit to speaking them: "The matrons helped establish this new order, they appointed our commander, and he is a fraud? The plan they approved is not the path? Where has My'afin been, but hiding behind stone like Duergar?" And a select daring few go so far as to utter near heresy... "Has Lolth has abandoned us that our Yath stand divided before an onslaught?"

In one fell swoop, what had been growing courage in the Vanguard has been replaced with growing doubt. Doubts of survival arise. And the drums beat ever nearer...

"Warmistress" Ada'vrae is quick to respond. Perhaps characteristically she does not answer in writing - she gathers those of the citizenry, militia and soldiers she can, as if for a sermon. She is clad as always in spiked, articulated platemail, armed and warded as if expecting the horde to fall upon them any moment - quite normal for one of the Selvetargtlin.

"So at last those we once called leader have emerged from their private sanctuary. Your very lives are at stake, and hear their offering; empty words. Ah, but surely they advise us on how to survive? What to do? No, no." She paces before whatever gathering she's mustered, shaking her head. Her heightened fervour of late remains apparent - but perhaps there is an edge of barely-controlled rage simmering beneath. "They insist the one who has stood among you and mustered an army, gathered the fiercest of our warriors and charted the road to our destiny, means you ill. They ask instead that you "depart". Ah, but surely My'afin have been working hard to provide us with a means of escape! For indeed, moving an entire drow colony is no simple task, and one which requires lengthy, tireless planning." She pauses, for effect - then utters a cold, pitiless laugh. "Nothing! Insistence that you would be doomed if you follow this path, but no alternative is offered. They may have a way to save their best and brightest, but to move all of you? Drow lives, each one of you capable of unleashing a maelstrom of destruction upon this pathetic plane? If they truly are your allies, they would have worked to create another path. What reason have you believe their word?" She gestures quite wildly with her sword, probably almost slashing up a poor bystander - even with her most dramatic phrases she does not seem to waver, thoroughly caught up in her own energy.

Then she stops, her vigor seeming to fade... or perhaps tighten, as she gazes over whomever she has coerced into being her audience. "I am Ada'vrae, warpriestess of Selvetarm. I know full well that trust is an illusion; it does not exist." A careful, measured silence. "The barges may well herald our doom as well. Or they may not. Our fate there is uncertain, because such is the will of Lolth." She stepped among the gathered, moving as if expecting those in her way to step aside. "But to remain here, you will suffer death with certainty. All to indulge the final grasps for power by a weak and dying House." She shook her head, storming back to her original position. "I don't care much for rhetoric. We have a task, Sargtlinen, and that is all that matters." She shrugged offhandedly, seeming uninterested - perhaps surprising, given how she spoke earlier. "The Selvetargtlin will fight. We will tear life from the jaws of death for a chance to revel in our power, in Lolth's glory. May Lolth permit our labours not be carried out in vain, and let us seek our destiny across the waters."

It is clear that "hope" is not a concept that exists in Ada'vrae's mind - there is only war. Bloodlust. It's not apparent if she even cares how they react to her words, but nonetheless she stands as a beacon of mindless destruction and drowish vigor. And so, with the words concluded, she weaves her blessings upon the assembled, and resumes their training drills.

Should the priestess known as Zrae'a'stra'fryn have anything to say she would keep it to herself as of yet. Instead her time would be spent with those gathered and boarding the barges, though she takes her leave to patrol the city still. She listened more than anything, keeping her ears open to the words of those she had promised to lead to safety, an oath to Lolth she would not soon break. She would, however, ensure them that Lolths' priestesses are not divided.

Perhaps the last remaining Archmage of the Sorcere, Alakton d'My'afin, sits upon one of the benches in the main area of Edonil, one leg raising and dropping over the other.

He claps, as if mocking the female in public, a foppish, genteel gesture as if to give some praise to the woman's vigor.

"I would be pleased to see that one Warpriestess of Selvetarm knows the ways of Divination far greater than I. But, I believe it is mere bluster and that very same rhetoric that you seem to have little time to care for that you are indeed stating here. Perhaps, when you are as schooled in the Art as I, my honoured Ust'ilharess will take your words as the truth, unlike this weak rothe cattle that seems to panic and bolt upon the words of others."

There is a sniff of disdain behind the Wizard's faceplate, as he rises himself to his feet, drawing the long staff that he clutches to his side like a walking stick with him, his weight resting upon it.

"The strong manage to find a way to save themselves. The weak are no more worth saving than any pathetic rivvil that would beg you for mercy as you take what is theirs for yourself. I have offered my own advice as to how to help these rothe "depart" by the will of my Ust'ilharess. And you, yourself, /Honoured Warpriestess/, should know better than to attempt to insult the Ul'ath'tallar in such a public display. The end game of this little farce has been foreseen, and it does not end at all well."

He pauses then, to draw out a small wand. A flicking gesture to open up a portal, and the Wizard steps into it.

"Good luck, Selvetargtlin. You are going to need it."

Ada'vrae, thoroughly absorbed in training, seems to note none of the mage's response - she remains focused on her combat drills, which involve a great deal of shouting and the clanging of metal. Unless the mage is bellowing, it's unlikely that she even heard it.

Alakton wrote:

Perhaps the last remaining Archmage of the Sorcere, Alakton d'My'afin, sits upon one of the benches in the main area of Edonil, one leg raising and dropping over the other.

He claps, as if mocking the female in public, a foppish, genteel gesture as if to give some praise to the woman's vigor.

"I would be pleased to see that one Warpriestess of Selvetarm knows the ways of Divination far greater than I. But, I believe it is mere bluster and that very same rhetoric that you seem to have little time to care for that you are indeed stating here. Perhaps, when you are as schooled in the Art as I, my honoured Ust'ilharess will take your words as the truth, unlike this weak rothe cattle that seems to panic and bolt upon the words of others."

There is a sniff of disdain behind the Wizard's faceplate, as he rises himself to his feet, drawing the long staff that he clutches to his side like a walking stick with him, his weight resting upon it.

"The strong manage to find a way to save themselves. The weak are no more worth saving than any pathetic rivvil that would beg you for mercy as you take what is theirs for yourself. I have offered my own advice as to how to help these rothe "depart" by the will of my Ust'ilharess. And you, yourself, /Honoured Warpriestess/, should know better than to attempt to insult the Ul'ath'tallar in such a public display. The end game of this little farce has been foreseen, and it does not end at all well."

He pauses then, to draw out a small wand. A flicking gesture to open up a portal, and the Wizard steps into it.

"Good luck, Selvetargtlin. You are going to need it."

Unlike Ada'vrae, it is highly likely someone had, in fact, heard what the mage had said. They may even be reflecting upon how much of the puzzle it solves for them.

Yath'tallar Nizzre'tyne d'My'afin appears once again to those in the Temple cavern. On the steps she encounters Ul'ath'tallar Widow and bows. They have a quiet conversation as an armored male stands nearby. Words like "location of army", "banishment", "Vilrath" might be over heard. The main gist of the conversation seems to be about House My'afin's latest information pertaining to Edonil and the army approaching. Although no specifics are discussed one might guess that Ul'ath'tallar Widow has previously received the details in writing.

Not long after, Nizzre'tyne enters via portal and makes her way around Edonil. She has Hulen her psudodragon with her and has True Seeing active. She circles the upper levels that are reachable, meanders down to the merchant stalls, into Iniquity with a glance and little smile to the dancers yet not stopping her slow glide around the bar and then exiting. Although she doesn’t go everywhere she covers most of the cavern. The only building she entered was Iniquity. Her pace may be slow but she is not interested in conversation and doesn’t stop for any. Every so often her hands seem to engage in drow hand sign but nothing really recognizable. Hulen mainly stays up high only gliding to rest on a high place on a building or rock outcropping rarely.

The same cycle Nizzre’tyne would have been seen in L’Obsul bartering with Nibril. Then she headed for the passageway that can get one to the cavern filled with rats & bats and the cavern of the lizard creatures among other things.

One thing is clear, Yath’tallar Nizzre’tyne d’My’afin is very busy.

This cycle saw the commotion of the War Sage revealing himself to be a Deep Dragon.

Courage was seen slowly returning to the streets in turmoil, but not necessarily as intended for it was perhaps the most dangerous courage: The courage to ask difficult questions and even the daring to give voice to them. Some remarks started to float around the Cavern system...

"Did the Matron Council know?" "They must have! They know everything!"

"What army can stand against Edonil if a Deep Dragon has been swayed by the strength of Lolth's Chosen People?""None! Let the foolish Orcs come! Lolth tlu Mala!"

"What is My'afin's standing?"

"What are the Matron's Council's thoughts?"

"High praise to the Ul'ath'tallar for having swayed such a beast to work Lolth's will!"

The City of Webs sees those Webs filled with rumor, gossip, and daring questions as the drums beat ever closer...

[IC] The City of Webs

Who is online