Shaddar is thinking about the magic in this world while sitting in his study that evening. The magic of the globes of light that seem to act as an alarm. The magic that the knight seemed to posses. The magic combined with mental power that brought him here to this pocket dimension – this Realm.
“It is good that I have studied the arcane arts myself. But I lack the depth in the arcane that is required to pry out the secrets of all of these things. It is a pity that I have no mentor here to continue my studies,” he thinks, “Perhaps I can find one and force him to teach me? Yes. I will look for ways to solve this weakness in my skill set. Somehow…”
His internal musings are interrupted as he detects the approach of several minds. Ah, ha! Again, it seems that some fish are swimming into his baited trap.
Drow this time. Six of them. But his mind-bent zealot, Halvyr, is not among those that approach. Interesting.
From their thoughts, they knew to come to this meadhall at the words of Hayvyr, but the obvious change in their fellow drow is worrisome in the extreme. They studied the drow spy. Examined his condition. Their discoveries did not comfort them. Halvyr’s mind had been ripped apart and reformed around the single idea that he and all of the drow must obey and worship their returned deity: Shaddar. Such a transformation was indicative of great and unknown power. Even their greatest sorcerer was baffled at what could have been done to cause such a profound event.
These men have been sent by the drow elders. The elders can not ignore whatever power could warp their most trusted spy into a raving zealot. More information is needed and whomever wields such new and fearsome power must not be insulted. So. The six drow men that are steadily coming nearer to the meadhall are quite aware of the rumors that have been swirling the city both above and below.
Each one of them is prepared to die this night. But their loyalty to their elders and to their people is absolute and these feelings have allowed them to overcome their fear and their sense of self-preservation. Shaddar is impressed with their resolve, in spite of himself.
Shaddar goes downstairs to welcome these new fish into his lair and to see what they will say. He opens the door for them as they draw near and gestures for them to come in.
His frank welcome and wavering tentacles do not seem to concern the drow. All six are severe and stoic types. All six heard from frothing lips the description of the, “current physical form of the god of drow!” as Halvyr screamed it at them. They enter and Shaddar shuts the door, walks to a chair, and sits.
“Great one,” one of the drow begins, “We have come from the elders of the drow. They have received your invitation and your… messenger.”
Shaddar chuckles at this. The dark elves stiffen at the sinister sound, but remain composed, wondering why he would find humor in this statement.
The fellow continues after a moment, “We have instructed to invite you, if you wish, to come with us to visit with the drow elders.”
“I should like this very much,” Shaddar says smoothly. “I will gather my entourage at once.”
“We assure you, great one, that you will not lack for protection while in our district. All will treat you with the respect and honor that you deserve.”
Shaddar mentally summons his thralls and gives them instructions as he waves one hand in the air lazily, “Oh, I am not concerned about that – I merely wish my counselors to be present to do your elders the honor that they deserve.” Shaddar is lying, of course. He is a touch concerned that the drow elders may recognize him for what he is – that they will know he is an illithid. Should they recognize him it is likely he will require the services of his thralls to escape.
The drow are more concerned than ever at the strange and unknown quality of his thralls once they arrive. None of them seem to have seen a minotaur, kou-toa, or even a gnome! Odd.
One of the elves is convinced by his thrall’s unearthly appearance, “They must indeed be divine beings!”
Shaddar stands once his thralls have assembled behind him. Not once does he waste a motion or a word. The drow are more nervous than ever, but determined to stick it through.
“Lead on,” Shaddar says regally, tucking his hands into the voluminous sleeves of his robe.
Matching his silence, the six elves turn and leave the meadhall. Shaddar follows with his thralls surrounding him.
The path that they take is twisted and long. It would surely be confusing to one with a lesser intellect, but Shaddar is unconcerned. He knows exactly where he is. Through several alleyways, and then into a plain-looking building. From there to the cellar, where a hidden door opens to reveal a path underground. Then through caverns and halls some natural, some carved from the rock. And finally, the work becomes finer and they have arrived.
It takes over an hour.
Shaddar was expecting nothing but more squalor. But the living quarters of the drow elders seem to him to be opulent. An underground palace, fit for the rulers of an entire race. But the finery seems out of place. Shaddar realizes why it would seem so almost instantly: “Why, it looks like a human palace! Even here have their masters ruled them and purged from them their cultural identity. How very odd... Well! Masaxle’s new artwork will be a revelation for these drow from top to bottom!”
Shaddar is lead past many closed doors, behind which he can sense no one. The palace seems to have been cleared for his reception. Soon they walk through a grand hall and enter a large ballroom and Shaddar sees the three drow elder’s: first with his mind and then with his sight.
“I didn’t know that drow could live to be so old!” Shaddar thinks with surprise at the shriveled and tiny forms that wait for him, “Of course, in their true culture no dark elf would survive to reach such an advanced age without being assassinated or dying in battle.”
Each one of the three elders has a bevy of young attendants that hover nervously behind them, waiting to be of service should the elder’s need to move or require assistance of any kind.
One of the elders is most certainly a sorcerer; Shaddar can almost see the aura of mystic power surrounding him. There is a fearful female, who Shaddar assumes at first must be chief among them, but is surprised to learn from her thoughts that she is least. The third elder has a needle-like nose that has two sets of spectacles clipped to its comical length. All of them are very intelligent and wise, having lead their people for many centuries. All of them are wary of the unknown and the new.
Shaddar is careful to look for any trace of recognition in their minds as to what his race is or what his powers are. A total blank. None of them have a clue as to what he or any of his thralls might be.
The bespeckled elder speaks, “Ah! Great one. You requested a meeting with us.” A statement.
“Yes,” Shaddar confirms.
“By the mouth of your messenger, who was originally our messenger.” This with a trace of annoyance.
“Yes,” Shaddar says again, his tentacles writhing. “And now that we have some measure of mutual respect, I trust that you will not try to plant people of such nature in my vicinity?”
“Of course not,” the sorcerer says, “How were we to know that doing so meant losing our best spy!”
“Or what your nature was, great one,” adds the female elder.
“But I have your attention now, yes?” Shaddar asks. All three of the elders nod gravely and so Shaddar continues, “Can I trust you with some information that I hope, regardless of any decisions you make, will not leave this room?”
The long-nosed elder waves away all of their attendants and even the six drow guides. Shaddar is pleased that they understand how to keep secrets. Once the doors have shut behind them, he says, “Say on.”
Shaddar’s voice lowers as he speaks, “The dark winds of change are upon the surfacers…” The drow elders go rigid with surprise at his words, but he continues, “I will bring about this change. Your people can be party to it – or not!”
The female elder is trembling uncontrollably as she whispers, “It is the prophecy!”
The sorcerer scoffs, “Bedbugs! I don’t believe in those old tales!”
“But it is the prophecy!” the drow crone hisses. “Even you must see that it is so, Filazar! It is one of the oldest stories of our people! Yes, the first teaching from the Elder Evils, during our enslavement during the Dark Times!”
“That’s all just spots and drips, Griselle!”
Shaddar focuses his attention to her thoughts as she repeats this prophecy in her mind: “It is known: Since the moonrise of the world, since the web mother spun the sky, since the Elder Evils came to rule: The Destroyer will come.
“The Destroyer will harvest the world – all flesh, all brains, all power. His face will be the sign of authority and all will obey him.
“Despair when the Destroyer changes the world – for the end is nigh!”
The sorcerer, Filazar, continues to speak as the female’s thoughts begin to repeat the words Shaddar has listened in on, again and again, “Yanivlitan, tell her that those tales are old nonsense. The words of the Elder Evils were lies. It is proven in their very destruction!”
The long-nosed elder narrows his eyes, “True. Many sages have said as much. But it is disturbing, nonetheless.”
Shaddar tosses his head back haughtily, “Summon my messenger, Halvyr. He will assist me in showing you the truth of these matters.”
The elders glance at each other and by some slight gesture they all agree to accede to this demand. Yanivlitan rings a small silver bell and the door opens. A single attendant enters the room.
“Bring in Halvyr,” the elder says. The drow attendant bows and leaves and Yanivlitan speaks to Shaddar, “It may take some time to fetch him. We’ve had to restrain him. He’s a bit wild since he returned to us from your presence.”
It is only five minutes before the ragged and wild-eyed form of Halvyr rushes into the room. He sees Shaddar and gasps with relief.
“Your worshipfulness!” The drow falls to his knees at Shaddar’s feet. “They told me that your glorious presence had at last graced these halls!”
“I am here, Halvyr,” Shaddar says gravely, “Bow before me!”
The drow falls to the ground and grovels at his feet in a disgusting display of self-abasement. He makes content and happy sounds as he does so.
The three elders look at their chief spy with stony faces, but their minds are filled with horror at the complete and total domination that Shaddar has over Halvyr. Shaddar lifts his zealot to his knees and looks over his head at the ancient drow.
Halvyr speaks in humble tone, “I’m so pleased they finally obeyed your commands! What can I do to serve you now, your worshipfulness?”
Shaddar ignores his question and speaks to the drow elders instead. “And now? Your proof that I am here to fulfill the prophecy!” He wraps his tentacles around Halvyr’s head and hastily consumes his brain in a fine display of performance eating. The drow's mouths hang open in shock as the victim laughs and thanks Shaddar even as he dies.
Shaddar throws Halvyr’s body to the floor as if it is an object which now disgusts him and glares at the drow elders. All three of the dark elves are terrified and confused – their thoughts almost frozen with the horror of what they have seen happen before them. Halvyr’s quite empty skull thumps hollowly on the ground. Shaddar is sure to cast the body down in such a way that they can see what he has done.
“He ate Halvyr’s brain? Ate it?”
“To his own devoted slave!”
“It is the prophecy! Doom has come to us all!”
“All flesh. All brains…” he whispers with a sticky voice to the shocked silence which now fills the chamber, "All power!"
Chapter 1 < Chapter 33 Chapter 35 >
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