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A Wing and a Prayer

McIan

Journeyman
*A message arrives at the Castle of Blood (Schloss von Blut) via an imp named Irkmi.*

The undead castellan took the tied and sealed scroll from the creature and gave it a handful of glittering gems in payment. Upon receiving the sum, the imp flew away muttering to itself. The castellan immediately took the item to his master, who sat in deep contemplation on his dais in the great hall deep beneath his castle. The servant bowed and offered the scroll to his master. Receiving it, the Elder waved him away. Untying the string that bound it and opening the seal, he slowly read it:

(Written in formal high Drow dialect, known only by a very, very, few non-drow)

“Greetings Scaramandine, Master,

Discovered the formula you seek have I. Bring it to you soon shall I. Expensive it is. Dangerous to cast it is. Inform you of all this shall I when we meet. Directions I send for you to prepare. Again, cost is high. Reject it you may. No other way possible. Send word via Imp prior to my arrival shall I.

Signed,


Dharzhal T’Ar, the Black Prince”

“At last,” he muttered. “After all these ages, I shall soon be free of this curse. Free again to move about the living in the world, free to be seen and not frighten, free to taste, free to laugh and… free to love.”

He set out to fulfill the preparations included on the lower part of the note.
 

McIan

Journeyman
The process would be lengthy, and, as the drow prince had indicated, costly. First of all he needed a suitable “container” some one or some thing to house his combined spirit/soul force. He already had a phylactery, as all liches did, which was his sword. He had to extract that by a delicate and time-consuming process. That required a spell, which the drow was bringing with him, to extract the soul force from the weapon. The spell required reagents which were no small thing to collect, though he had enough agents to acquire them even if some perished in the attempt. Then he needed the aid of a spider, something he never had much use for and held in contempt largely. This was no ordinary one; it was Navrey Night-Eyes, the engorged spider queen of the Underworld dungeon, and an attempt at parlance with her to obtain her webbing and, basically, blessing. (These drow-related components truly concerned him as no one ever knew for sure if they were telling the truth or being deceptive for their own ends).

Dharzhal himself would cast the spells and ensure all was correct. He would then be encased in a cocoon for an undefined period of time and emerge a living being once more – no longer a lich but perhaps not even human. His vampirism may not be cured as well. Yet he would be fully mortal again, though vested with all the necromantic powers he had gained and sought over the years.

Already his minions, all but two, were out searching for the components needed, except for the “container” which, he had to give much deliberation.
 

McIan

Journeyman
The spell components finally gathered, the Elder and his entourage entered the lair of Navrey, who, as usual, immediately attacked them. Using sign language, Dharzhal was able to communicate with the spider and the attack ceased. Her demands were high: leave offerings for her weekly, in the form of twenty-eight victims, that she may feast properly, four each day; defend her lair from intruders whenever possible, and assist her when she came under attack. Finally, he had to bow before her, acknowledging her superior position. This he was loath to do but the drow assured him it was absolutely necessary. The Elder complied, and she gave a vial of her poison as a blessing, a vital ingredient. She also rendered sufficient reams of webbing that he might be, at the proper time, fully encased in it, that the metamorphosis could develop unhindered and untainted.

They returned to the castle and so began the creation of the potion and the accompanying spell. It took days but, following the exact instructions given him by the elder drow mages, Dharzhal was able to finish. Lying side by side, the Elder on a stone slab and the deceased host (the new “container” as it were) on a stretcher, the drow gave one half of the potion to his master and then poured the rest into the mouth of the well- preserved corpse. Almost immediately the body of the Elder, the decaying husk he was as a lich, began to dissolve and disintegrate. Soon nothing of it was left except a few smoldering, tattered, rags.

The last part was the enchantment to extricate the Elder’s soul force from his phylactery and it took ten full minutes to recite. The spell freed it from his ancient sword, his phylactery, and transferred it into the host he had chosen, a stalwart soldier from among his ranks, the ideal physical specimen of humanity: young, strong, yet of keen and sound mind. The body of the dead warrior was raised to a standing position and the body swathed in the webbing until it was fully enclosed in it.

The cocoon was taken to the Elder’s chamber and placed upright next to his coffin.

The only thing left to do was wait.
 

McIan

Journeyman
Rebirth

The Elder tried to open his eyes but succeeded only with grim determination as they seemed stitched together…

Utter darkness! I’m blind!

He panicked, and immediately sought to bring his hands up but his arms were frozen in place.

Not blind, just enclosed in webbing. I must get free, but how?!

The drow had not explained in detail what would happen on his awakening. He gritted his teeth as anger, born of frustration, welled up within him.

I guess they meant this all as a joke! Never, ever, trust drow!

He squirmed and fidgeted but could move only in twitches, spasmodically, nothing more. As the fear that he might die of slow suffocation mounted, he relaxed and allowed his mind to seek solutions.

“Kal Vas An Flam!” he mumbled. Immediately an intense cold projected from his body, striking the webbing at all points around him. He heard a crackling sound; the webbing began to freeze.

It weakened! How did I cast that without reagents?

He repeated the spell of withering again and again. Finally the webbing solidified into ice, shattering by his movements and fell in fragments to the floor. He was free! He looked upon what he could see of himself that was not hidden under the arcane robe he wore, now depleted of magical charges.

His eyes widened in unwelcome surprise at what he saw of himself. Fury gripped him. “What have they done to me?!!”

Somewhere they are laughing! I can hear them laughing. They will pay for this!
 

McIan

Journeyman
The Gift

Damian Racsen lounged on his plush dais in the great hall of his castle. He calmly awaited the appearance of the one he summoned to meet with him.

Damian Racsen. It has a good ring to it. Never did like my old name. At least my son was smart enough to use an abbreviation that fits him well.

He heard the blood-red curtains part at the end of the hall. The nearly imperceptible footfalls were those of the one who had begun and fulfilled his quest to return to life among the living… the Black Prince, Dharzhal T’Ar.

I wonder if you knew?

“Aluve, milord Scaramandine,” the drow spoke before bowing briefly.

“That name is as dead as I was. Master Racsen will do from now on,” Damian replied.

“As you wish, Master Racsen,” the drow corrected himself. “I see you have completed the transition. You look well, younger than any of my race… your race now. I hope you approve?”

Your race indeed! I am drow. I did not wish to become drow. I despise drow.

“It pleases me well. The attributes of your race are worthy of me… wisdom, immortality, craft and cunning.”

“I feared you might be disappointed. I swear I had no idea the extent of the change. My friends among those of the mage academy did not mention that aspect of it.”

Disappointed?! Infuriated beyond sanity is more like it. I could slaughter them all, slowly.

“They did a superb job and I owe them a great deal. What is left to be paid to them?”

“You paid them well enough, sire. Perhaps an occasional gift or boon as a reminder, and as a means to continue the liaison?”

“That is precisely what I had in mind,” Damian said, motioning to the guard next to him who held a spherical object in his two large hands, covered with a black cloth. “Show him,” he ordered.

The guard obliged, removing the covering. In his hands was an Orb, the size of a large cantaloupe, translucent, gleaming with all the stars of the heavens, scintillating and pulsing an emerald glow as if it were a heartbeat. “I created this some time back, for a special gift to friends. I still am versed in the lore of the crystals and infusion of magical power within them.”

Dharzhal gaped. The Orb was stunningly beautiful to behold. It was as if he could not take his eyes off of it. Within it he could see faint outlines of fantastic cities, faces of gloriously dressed people, dragons, and all the trappings of the world colliding in a fantasy parade of color and cadence. “It is… beautiful sire!”

The guard handed it gently to the dark elf and with it, the black cloth. “What powers has it?” Dharzhal inquired.

“Have your friends view it together. It will open unto their brilliant minds all the vistas of the universe. I could not make it do all as I intended, but I am sure they can. It has the potential to carry them to the stars themselves, if they work as a team and devote their lives entirely to it. It is my gift to them. And thank them for their aid,” Damian added.

Dharzhal nodded but he was a mite suspicious. “Milord, are you sure you wish to part with this? It seems unique and you may regret giving it away later?”

I created it for one purpose and one use. This is the time.

Damian waved away his protest, shaking his head. “It is the only real thing I have that could tell them the enormity of my feeling that I have for what they have done for me,” he calmly replied. “After all, what can one give dark elves as powerful as they?”

Not entirely satisfied with the answer, but accepting his duty and fate, Dharzhal bowed.

“Go now to them and bear them my gift. Return to me and report their joy.”

The drow, carrying the Orb, bowed again, turned, and departed.

Waiting for him to leave, a shade emerged from the shadows beside its master, awaiting orders.

“Follow him as far as you can,” Damian told it. “He goes to a drow city named Targrancimon, the place of his birth. He is its rightful heir, but was banished by the matrons there. They would kill him on sight if they caught him, but he has powerful allies among the mage guild and its cadre of males. Do not go within the city. They are adept at detecting invisibles as is he. Just make sure he takes it there. If he does not, inform me at once.”

“As you wish, master,” the shade replied and departed swiftly.

Let’s see how you all enjoy my little gift!
 

McIan

Journeyman
Preparations

Dharzhal was no fool. He had not survived these many centuries by being duped by supposed friends bent on evil ends involving him or directed at him. While the Orb was indeed a fascinating thing to behold, he knew that its maker was someone never to be trusted. He also knew that he would be watched by one or more of the Elder’s minions. Already he sensed one of them, unseen, and keeping the proper distance to avoid exposure. This awareness heightened his suspicion that this object was not what he was told it was; that if he brought it to the mage school in Targrancimon it might unleash deadly magic, perhaps even explode, killing him and the few true allies he had there.

He decided he must at least make a pretense of taking it to the drow city. There were many dangerous places, narrow spaces, fissures, cracks, pits, and crevasses along the way where he might “accidently” drop it and lose it forever. Perhaps an attack by one of the many Underdark dwelling beasts might afford him that opportunity? Whatever the case, it must be convincing enough for the agent or agents to report to their master its loss and his good-faith effort to take it to his allies.

He had lied when he told the Elder, Damian, that he did not know it would transform him into a drow. It was a necessary one. The mages told him that was to ensure his kinship if not loyalty; for by making him one of them, their fates would be forever intertwined, linked by flesh and blood, and purposes perhaps. Besides, the magic was derived from drow blood and bone. There was no escaping it.

Packing all necessary items, water, food, extra clothing, and, of course, the Orb, he picked up his staff and set out for the dungeon that would lead him to the Underdark. His natural skill in hiding and stealth would take him past most, if not all, the beasts he would encounter along the way. He might even lose the one or ones tracking him, but no matter. He would find a way to be rid of the Orb long before he got to his destination.
 

McIan

Journeyman
Fatal Encounter

The hazards and perils of traversing the Underdark were constant and abiding even for a dark elf as skilled in their ways as Dharzhal was. He bypassed in silence wandering Orcs, goblinoids of various kinds, spider-kin, and not a few undead, knowing all the while that he was being shadowed by someone not malicious as there had been numerous opportunities for attack untaken.

He was coming slowly up on his destination, a small circular pool of crystal water surrounded on three sides by steep, vertical, cavern walls. A cascading stream of water poured into it from high above, filling the chamber and tunnels beyond with the incessant splatter of water on water. Dharzhal unslung his backpack and set it at his feet. He began waving his arms to perform an incantation.

One small bolt slammed into his pack. Out of the shadows, hidden by spells of cloaking, appeared three dark elves, one to his immediate left, his right, and a third directly behind him. Their hand crossbows were ready, and the one who fired his was reloading quickly. The only distinguishable features among them was the one to his right sported a snow-white goatee. He spoke in drow dialect. “Move not! State your name and your purpose for being here,” he commanded. “Be quick. You have entered the premises of Targrancimon unbidden.”

“I am Querzin Xurr, High Mage of Sorcere. Speak to Rassitor, the Grand Mage if you need any confirmation.”

“I have heard of you, if that is your name. What are you doing here?” None of them lowered their weapons.

“I am returning from a mission to the surface world. I have vital information that Master Rassitor sent me to acquire. Please do not impede my progress,” he stated.

The drow leader laughed. “You are on the wrong path. You must be lost. Come with us,” he ordered.

“I cannot do that. I cannot be seen in the city. My mission is secret and my identity must remain concealed.”

One of the guards saw the pack. “What do you have in there?”

“Supplies: food, water, what is left of them. Clothing, a dagger.”

The leader tilted his head toward the drow to his right indicating he should examine the pack. He moved quickly to it, and, kneeling, opened it, rummaging through the contents. He found the Orb wrapped in the black cloth, rose, and brought it to the leader, who retracted his crossbow, took the Orb and removed the cloth. His eyes had to adjust to the greenish light emanating from it, but when they did, he stared into it. “What is this? I have never seen its like!” he exclaimed, rotating it in his hands. The other two drow seemed enthralled also, as they looked on.

“That is none of your concern. It is for Master Rassitor’s use only.”

Again the leader laughed. “I think not. This would fetch a good price in certain quarters,” he mused.

“If you kill me and take it, they will find you out and you will all die horribly,” Dharzhal warned.

“He’s right, Szrysnak. Give it back to him, or let us escort him there with it. They may offer us a reward,” one of the others suggested, trying to avert a crisis.

The leader shook his head. “They won’t give us a thing. They might even kill us for knowing. No, we kill him, throw his body in this pool and keep this hidden until we can find a suitable… Wait! Who is that?!!”

The wraith materialized behind him, the smoky-gray tattered rags of its hooded robe billowing up and down as its sickle swept in and relieved the drow of his head in a crimson gout of arterial blood.

Before the other two could react, Dharzhal punched the drow nearest him square in the face, knocking him senseless to the ground. He turned to cast a spell of paralyze on the remaining one. Too late! The tiny crossbow bolt of his opponent whizzed into his neck and he felt the poison take effect instantly. As he slumped to the ground, the last thing he saw before unconsciousness was the wraith casting a pain spike spell into his nemesis, disabling him, and then immediately disemboweling him with its blood-drenched sickle…
 

McIan

Journeyman
Delivery

Upon opening his eyes Dharzhal could see nothing plainly. All was a mirky blur: the cavern ceiling receding into darkness, the moist walls glistening, and the ethereal humanoid form that hovered nearby looking down at him. He sat up quickly. The poison that had incapacitated him had been neutralized; he felt achiness in his extremities but nothing worse. Flexing the fingers of his hands to improve the blood flow, he stood up to face the being that had saved him. “I owe you my thanks,” he said, kindly.

The being said nothing.

“I suppose Master Racsen sent you to ensure his gift was properly delivered. He was wise in doing so it seems,” he remarked. Receiving no reply he added, “Do you not speak?”

“Complete the task.”

Looking around, he saw three distinct piles of greyish ash formed in humanoid shapes. He recognized they were the outcome of the use of the spirit speak skill used as an aid in healing. “You are a necromancer,” he deduced. “You were wounded.”

“The last revived. He fought well but I triumphed. Complete the task.”

Dharzhal dusted himself off. “And so I shall.” He took a glass vial from a pocket of his robe and dipped it into the pool filling it with water. He took a small bag of reagents and sprinkled a few into it, while preparing to cast a spell with the rest.

“What are you doing?” the shade inquired, approaching him.

“I am casting a spell akin to polymorph. It will allow me to transform into a water elemental. When it does, I will take the Orb with me and enter the pool. The pool drains into the sewer system of the city and from there I can make my way, as I have done many times, directly into the mage school water cisterns. I can exit there and take the gift in unseen and undetected. I cannot share this with you however; I must go alone from here,” he explained.

“Complete the task. The Master will know if you succeed or fail. Do… not… fail.”

There was an ominous ring to the shade’s warning and the drow did not disdain it. He nodded and began the spell…

* * *​

Grand Master Rassitor, and the handful of ambitious mages who were his friends, received him as warmly as drow were capable. After a brief exchange of formalities, Dharzhal showed them the Orb. The Grand Master took it, frowning, but examined it closely. “It is some kind of portal,” he declared. “See these various places? It can be used to open a gate to other realms.”

Dharzhal nodded. “That is precisely what I was told. The Elder said he could not complete the purpose for it but thought that, as a group, the mages here could. He said it had the potential to transport us to the heavens. I doubt that, but it may be of some value.”

Rassitor smiled. “Then he likes his new body?”

“He is glad to be free of the old,” Dharzhal admitted. He was fairly certain he did not like becoming drow at any price.

“Master, I think we should destroy this thing at once,” one of the attendant mages, Jexmir, stated. “There is something about it that reeks of revenge. This whole thing makes no sense. There is no “portal to the heavens” of which he speaks!”

Removing an ornamental and ordinary orb from its golden tripod stand, the Grand Master replaced it with the new one. “Do not rush to judgment, Jexmir. You are ever the cautious one. One does not simply discard a gift out of hand.”

Dharzhal spoke up. “Master Rassitor, I agree with Jexmir. A minion of the giver followed me into the Underdark and intervened to save me from a patrol of soldiers who were going to kill me and take it. The Elder sent the minion to ensure I delivered it to you. If it were a mere trinket, why would they go to such lengths to see it brought here?”

“It is a valuable gift, prince, and a potentially powerful object worthy of us. I sense no menace in that precaution.” The Grand Master could hardly take his eyes off the Orb and its swirling scenes.

“Listen to him, Master! Destroy it. Destroy it now!” Jexmir was nearly beside himself.

Rassitor turned to the mage. “Jexmir, for many years your keen premonitions have saved us from discovery and death by the matrons. Your sixth sense is amazing and not to be ignored. I will take it under advisement, but it will stay here the night at least while I determine how that can be accomplished.” Then, turning to Dharzhal, “Dine and rest well prince. You know your way around. We will meet here early on the morrow to take action.”

Dharzhal nodded and made his way to the dining area, closely followed by Jexmir and two others.

“You have brought destruction to us! Why have you done this?!” he accused.

The black prince stopped. “I had no choice, but I will stay until its destruction is completed and will do all I can to aid in it. Is that enough for you?”

Jexmir gritted his teeth. “I will not sleep tonight,” he remarked. “Not for a moment.”
 

McIan

Journeyman
Observers

Matron DeBleiss, of House DeBleiss, the foremost House of Targrancimon, gazed at the tower Sorcere from a high vantage point in her own palatial manor. Her chief advisors, assistant matrons, and captains of her soldiery stood with her, also watching. “How much longer?” she inquired to no one in particular.

One of the minor matrons responded, “Only moments, Mistress. The signal was given and the command issued.”

“If the Elder, rivvil that he was, has told the truth, then soon that nest of traitors will be finished once and for all. Far too long they evaded my nets and traps adroitly.”

“As did the prince,” the matron added, immediately realizing the foolishness of reminding her mistress of their consummate failure to apprehend their ancient enemy, the Black Prince Dharzhal T’Ar. She lowered her head, expecting swift punishment. None came.

Never turning her gaze from the mage tower, Matron DeBleiss smiled. “They have no idea what awaits them. Is the dobluth (traitor) with them for certain?”

“He is, Mistress. The Elder assured us that he would be. We will see the end of them all today.”

Matron DeBleiss nodded. “At long last. But do the Undithallan troops know the limitations of their objectives? I do not want hordes of enemy soldiery pouring into the streets. They were given strict orders to assault only the mage tower from within; they may take as prize anyone or anything who has not been already warned to leave, few as they are. And they must exit the tower before the Orb-gate closes.”

“We have their word, Mistress,” a Captain replied. “Yet we have taken great precautions just in case. It may be that the mages will observe some of our soldiers surrounding the tower and so be warned, but it was necessary. Undithal will not invade our city without a fight they cannot win.”

“Excellent! I want this operation to succeed. It must, and it must be done discreetly,” she added.
 

McIan

Journeyman
Unwelcome Visitors

“Wake up, prince!” the urgency of the tone aroused Dharzhal from his deep slumber, sleep he had not enjoyed since before entering the Underdark. He rose up in bed and looked at the speaker, his roommate. “Jexmir! What the…?”

The drow mage threw clothes at him in rapid succession. “Get dressed… NOW! Something is wrong! We have to get out of here… fast!!”

Dharzhal shook his head, trying to dispel the mental fog. He rubbed his eyes and finally eased out of bed, putting on his clothes. “What is going on?”

The frantic mage was throwing items into Dhar’s pack. “People have disappeared!”

“What do you mean? Vanished?”

“No. At least three of the high mages are gone. When Rassitor summoned us to discuss destroying the Orb, only eight showed up. He sent me to wake you, but we will not be going back! We must get out of here.”

“Do not some of the mages sleep elsewhere, in their own House quarters?”

“Yes, but at least three of those who have disappeared never do; they stay here all the time. Hurry, get your shoes on!”

* * *​

“Shall we wait for them, Master Rassitor?” asked one of the High Mages, an older one named Enzorq. “We may need all the power we can muster for this.”

Rassitor stared at the Orb. “They will be coming,” he mumbled.

A massive, blinding, flash of intense white light issued from the Orb filling the room. From the Orb, a thick, swirling, cone of projected green-purple energy focused on a section of the ebony marble floor. Seconds later, an oval magical gate opened suddenly, the loud noise of rushing air emanating from it. Yet it was not air, but the flight of dozens of poisoned bolts which flew into the room at all angles, striking walls, objects, the Orb itself, and, of course, the group of mages standing nearby.

Having spent years perfecting personal defenses in the eventuality of such an occurrence, many of the bolts found no living mark, but only walls of stone, or force, blocking them, protecting their intended targets. Only one or two fell stricken from them. The rest of the mages scattered, fleeing to long-prepared defensive positions within the confines of the expansive, circular, domed room, the center of the tower. They began casting defensive spells and summoning elementals to do their bidding.

* * *​

Dharzhal and Jexmir heard the shouts and cries of battle below. The door to his sleeping quarters opened to a circular balcony that overlooked the Orb chamber one level down, but Jexmir had seen to it that it was locked both magically and with its door-key. The drow looked at each other and Dhar rushed to open the door.

“NO! Leave it be! If you go out there you will die! Come with me! I have a plan of escape for us!” Jexmir shouted, extending his arm, beckoning him to return.

Dharzhal stopped and withdrew from the door. “What is going on?!”

“It was as you said… a gate, but not to the stars. Enemies have entered the tower and all of us are to be slaughtered or worse! Follow me!” He tugged at his sleeve, beckoning him toward a tall, black, armoire. “Get in,” he ordered. Dhar complied and Jexmir followed suit, closing the twin doors behind him.

* * *​

The chamber below filled with the inrush of a hundred or more Undithallan troops, soldiers and mages, all seeking targets of opportunity and valuable spoils. Undithal was a neighboring drow city, once a resettlement of Targrancimon when it had been destroyed in a colossal war between deities. Some of the drow did not wish to rebuild the old city and remained. As the decades passed, each vied with the other from regional prominence. They first became rivals, then devoted enemies, but each city’s Houses used the other’s forces when it suited their purposes of decimating their own House’s rivals. Such a deal had been struck, first by the Elder informing DeBleiss of Dhar’s coming gift and the spells to activate it, and her own plotting and secret machinations to finally destroy the traitorous mages, discreetly, including the arch enemy prince among them. The troops did not wish to kill the mages if possible, but to capture them for torture and other uses, perhaps converting them to their own side. Yet these mages were in no way ordinary. They fought long and well, killing many of the attacking forces before succumbing to injuries or death. Eventually, however, all but one in the battle escaped… the High Master Rassitor.

* * *​

Jexmir had prepared the armoire long ago for this very event. It provided instant teleportation to the water cisterns that allowed him and Dhar to enter or exit the tower undetected. Both knew how to combine the vials of water and a rare polymorph spell. Soon they were long gone, traveling as water elementals out of the tower and the city toward the relative safety of the Underdark beyond.
 

McIan

Journeyman
Epilogue

There was a small cave behind the waterfall, often used by those in the know as a reasonably-safe resting and camp site. It was well-hidden and defensible. Jexmir and Dharzhal built a small fire to warm themselves, dry their wet clothes and the goods in their backpacks. It was not long before they were joined by Grand Master Rassitor, who entered unbidden. He and Dhar locked eyes.

“I should kill you for what you did, prince, but first an explanation,” the drow high mage remarked.

Dhar sat down on a smooth stone slab and shook his head. “You know as much as I do,” he stated with a sigh. “I tried to warn you. I told you I had no choice; I was being followed and watched.”

“Don’t blame him,” Jexmir commented. “If he had been part of it, he would have disappeared like the others to escape the melee.”

Rassitor went to the fire and undressed, piling his clothes on the ground near theirs. “Well, in any event, they made a fatal mistake,” he stated.

Jexmir traded glances with Dhar. “Oh? Really?” Jexmir mocked. “Did anyone other than the three of us make it out alive?”

Ignoring the jibe, Rassitor continued. “The gate opened and a horde of Undithal warriors and mages poured forth. It was proceeded by a blinding light and a volley of bolts. I was heavily warded and quickly moved to my fail-safe location to stay hidden, killing a few of the intruders along the way. The others had no chance and I could not save them. I was able to watch as they captured a few of our allies and literally looted the place bare. They seemed to know they were on a time schedule, and disappeared back into the gate about an hour later after collecting their dead. The Orb exploded into a thousand shards and the gate closed. It was all very tidy, neatly done. No evidence remained to implicate anyone.”

“What do we do now?” Jexmir asked, resignedly. “We have nowhere to go.”

“I have several hideouts around the city,” Rassitor explained. “We will go there and wait. Dharzhal shall go and get proof that Undithal was involved and bring it back. We will then go before the city council and implicate Matron DeBleiss. The other Houses will not want to miss this opportunity to bring her down. She and her House will be punished, wiped out. Not even House DeBleiss can overcome the combined effort of twenty-six other Houses chafing under her rule,” he explained. “We will have our revenge.”

Dharzhal shook his head. “What makes you think I can get proof of this? Do you think Racsen will sign an affidavit implicating himself and her, and if he did, do you think they would accept the word of a rivvil (human)? The defense lawyers will have a field day.”

“He is no longer a rivvil, remember? And no, you shall bring no affidavit. You shall bring him. He will stand before the council and confess his role because if he does not, I shall kill him myself. If he can make good his escape after that, then so be it – I care not for his part in this, though I am not certain why he did it.”

“We changed him into a drow, Master Rassitor,” Dharzhal calmly replied. “He was expecting to be human in form. With all due respect, sir, how would you like to wake up as a human?”

Rassitor’s eyebrows raised and he nodded. “Good point! Still, bring him here. Find a way even if you have to kidnap him.”

Jexmir rolled his eyes and looked to Dharzhal. “I shall go and help you. I have a few powerful contacts on the surface, some humans, some orcs. We will get him one way or another,” he vowed.
 
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