Baldur's Gate : The Sword Coast Chronicles : NWN2 Persistent World

The Out of Towners part 1

Cel'lith entered the city through Varalla's Passage, stopping at the top of the stairs to take stock of what had just happened; the magnificent view was no longer as distracting as it had once been.

He had just returned to Sshamath from a solo run deep into Gol territory, his purse and pack bulging with the various trinkets he had recovered when the city's magical alarms started to "gong" across the Dark Weavings Bazaar. Turning to the Priest they exchanged glances, nodded to one another and drawing their weapons ran for the stairs.

Upon exiting the city proper they came upon a group of Sshamathian guards holding a line against a trio of attacking Phase Spiders of inordinate size. With the guard's help they quickly dispatched the three over-grown arachnids; each the size of a small house. During their interrupted shopping trip Nyth had related a similar encounter he had just had in the tunnels not more than a few hours ago; an attack of Phase Spiders led by what looked to be a Lolthian Priestess. This time there was no priestess, but the spiders would surely not have attacked a city on their own without being driven to it. Cel'lith ordered the guards back to the city gates and stepping into the shadows stalked ahead of the small force that was now gathering as a result of the city's alarms. He quickly located a larger group of Phase Spiders further into the tunnels and fell on them with gusto; he was not restrained by the typical respect Illythiri held for the creatures for he was no Lolthian. With the help of Morfeus and the Priest they quickly fell, spurting bodily fluids from their abdomens and coloring the cavern floor an iridescent green. As the last of them was dropping Cel'lith heard a Jabress' cry of rage and was surprised to see what appeared to be a Lolthian Priestess emerge from her hiding place further in the tunnels and charge at them! Her initial attack was propelled by fury at her charges being mercilessly slaughtered, perhaps she had expected some kind of reticence on the part of the defenders to engage such "holy" creatures. If so she had attacked the wrong city, Sshamath was not ruled by the spider queen. Nonetheless her onslaught was brutal and rather than dying where he stood Cel'lith ceded the front line to Morfeus and darted back out of reach of her swinging mace, grabbing enough time to recast some of his protective enchantments and quaff a potion of healing. Once fortified he stepped back into the fray, the Lolthian priestess would make an excellent prize for HIM. Unfortunately she also had the wherewithal to know when to run and with both Cel'lith and Morfeus now focusing their attacks on her she turned and ran. Cel'lith immediately gave pursuit, slipping into the shadows and out pacing Morfeus and Nyth. As he turned a corner in the tunnels he came across the priestess stopping for a breath, evidently she thought she had lost her pursuers momentarily; her last mistake. Cel'lith slipped silently behind her and moving in a practiced motion slit her throat from ear to ear practically taking her head clean off. She dropped instantly, dead. Ah well, there would be no questioning this one. Nyth and Morfeus quickly caught up, the priest kneeling to examine the corpse.
"She already wears the veil" Cel'lith spat, pointing with his killing dagger at her expertly slit throat.
The Priest laughed, "Xas abbil, she does, well done HE will be proud."
Cel'lith grinned inwardly at the priest's approval.
The Priest was keen to burn the body lest Lolth raise her and seeing no reasonable argument against they poured alchemist's fire on the corpse and left it to burn.

Returning to the city gates the trio came upon the surviving guards and a recently arrived emissary from the Conclave accompanied by a Weavemaster! Cel'lith bowed quickly and explained what had just transpired, focusing on the Lolthian's part and encouraging the guard to immediately secure the temple of Lolth to forestall further action. The emissary was skeptical and naut very pleased, he seemed to take particular issue with the burning of the corpse.
"You burned her corpse after you killed her?!" he raged.
Cel'lith had to think quickly, it was time to improvise. If he let this line of questioning continue it would naut be long before he found himself in some conclave dungeon awaiting the ministrations of one of their expert "questioners".
"You idiot novice!" he screamed, "she was unpersuaded by my arguments to come quietly and so I had to convince her with the use of spellfire!".
"Spellfire?" the novice blurted.
"Like this!" Cel'lith exclaimed and with that he swept his hands out in an arc to his left and right and as he did so a circular wall of flame erupted around his body incinerating the emissary and knocking the Priest to the ground.
"Ah, that was naut quite what i was expecting" he admitted to the crowd of guards, "that one was weaker than I had anticipated".
The Weavemaster turned and fled back into the city leaving the guards gripping their weapons tightly.
"Don't worry you will see no fight from me, that shebali was threatening a noble!" Cel'lith continued.
After much back and forth, with the Priest encouraging him via hand sign to kill everyone around and be done with it, Cel'lith calmed and waited for the inevitable arrival of the guard.
"One can only hope that whoever sent that little turd of a novice will be pleased to have a more powerful servant in his debt than that dead whelp" Cel'lith espoused to whomever would listen.

----to be continued-----
::A DM Kelsfar event::

Cel'lith was deep into gol territory once again, moving unobserved from room to room searching for any valuable trinkets the ibblith may have hoarded. As much as it irked him he passed by many of them lounging on their dirty mats or squabbling over bits of food. He would have preferred to murder them all and let whatever god they worshipped sort them out but his defensive enchantments had expired long ago and though he might kill a handful more would surely come at the sounds of their dying screams and he would be overwhelmed.

He shrugged to himself; murder was his true vocation but thievery was a fun diversion every now and then.

Having helped himself to many of their caches of barely valuable items he moved back towards the exit from their lair, stepping unnoticed past the Ogre guards wandering aimlessly in the warren like drunk duergar (and stinking almost as much). With the exit almost in sight his keen ears picked up the wet sound, barely noticeable, of sharp steel sliding into flesh; a sound he knew intimately. The soft thud that followed was expected as much as it was actually heard. He moved around the bend in the passage to see a blurry ball of flashing steel dancing over the fallen Gol as an Ogre guard stood by staring vacantly at the wall in front of it a stupid grin stuck on it's face; a line of red gore pouring down it's back from a precise incision at it's neck line. For a moment Cel'lith appreciated the precision of the strike that rendered it immobile, too high for the rock-hobbit that was evidently celebrating it's reduction of the Gol to mushroom food. That meant a third was around, still hidden and likely very close. As he passed Cel'lith swept his killing dagger almost casually across the Ogres' neck, moving from right ear to left ear beneath it's chin neatly severing it's carotid artery but not penetrating so deep as to impact it's vertebrae. The brute made a loud crashing thud as it fell to the ground, legs akimbo, arms splayed at odd angle now wearing two stupid grins. Noticing him the Svirf stopped bouncing around and came into focus taking a defensive stance. Cel'lith had seen this one before and he wasn't too keen on it's demeanor, it showed little respect for it's betters and was unnaturally competent with a blade. Well it's partner was still about, he would have to determine who it was before he determined a course of action.

"Out for a walk rock-hobbit?" he chuckled to the svirf.
"Hunting Ogres and Gols, dems are now having biggun Ogres here now toos" the svirf chirped in it's annoying falsetto.
"Eh, those larger ones go down just as easily as the rest, they just require a few more licks before they drop. They are certainly naut any smarter".
"Indeed" came a voice to his right.
Cel'lith snapped his head around but he knew who it was before he came into focus, he'd recognize that croaking voice anywhere it was the "homeless drow"; Morfeus.
"Vendui abbil, using this svirf as fodder?"
"Xas, she fights well enough. We were tracking another suspected Lolthian and her brood of arachnids. Their attacks on the city continue".
"Xas? They must be fanatics, no one else would be so stupid to conduct a direct assault on Sshamath with such puny forces."
Morfeus shrugged "They do nonetheless".
"Bwael, let us find these vermin together" Cel'lith replied, wondering to himself exactly what the nature of the relationship was between Morfeus and the female Svirf.

----to be continued----
::A DM Kelsfar event::

The three of them moved in complete silence, on the surface anyone skilled enough to spot them might refer to them as shadows, here in the UD where no light penetrates they weren't even that. Cel'lith knew the rock-hobbit was skilled at moving unseen but having spent the last few hours in her company hunting these Lolthian fanatics even he was beginning to be impressed at her capability. Well she was almost the size of kobold so she did have an unfair advantage in that department, perhaps he should learn that shrinking spell after all.

They had been tracking, and killing, these Lolthite nuts throughout the outer tunnels in an attempt to capture one for questioning, so far without success. Whenever they cornered one she would invariably charge headlong at the group forcing them to kill her outright, failing that they would fall upon their own blade or if they did not have the energy left to perform the act themself they would order one of their spider charges to do it for them. A task they seemed to relish as much as anything else. It was getting tiresome and Cel'lith was beginning to feel they were being lured into some kind of setup. He couldn't explain his feeling of foreboding, logically it made little sense to sacrifice so many priestesses just to lure these three random Sshamathians to their doom. However the feeling persisted, nagging at the back of his mind as they moved into another warren of tunnels.

Eventually the chase led them into the area where the Displacer Beasts lurked, naut a good sign this was about as close to Varalla's Passage, the entry point for Sshamath, as one could get without attracting the guards. As they were about to cross one of the stone bridges over the river they came across a lone Svirf, well a lone Svirf in the company of a Ghast. The undead was obviously it's charge, some kind of summoned fodder no doubt. Odd for a rock-hobbit, they typically focussed on illusion magic naut necromancy. The female Svirf, he had heard Morfeus call her Chloe, seemed to recognize the newcomer and hailed it as a cousin.
Cel'lith wasn't about to be distracted from his hunt by the presence of yet another of these damned deep gnomes and so just continued past as the two svirfs resolved their greetings. He was soon separated from the rest of the group and as he came around a slowly arcing tunnel-way heard the call of a priestess ahead! His pulse quickened and he readied his blades, if all went well she would soon be lying paralyzed at his feet wondering why she could no longer move.

Unfortunately for Cel'lith it did not go so well.

-----to be continued----
::A DM Kelsfar event::

Swooning and disoriented Cel'lith's vision spun wildly as he tried to get a grip on his surroundings; coming back from the dead always had that affect on him. He was standing in a dead-end tunnel surrounded by piles of spider corpses the size of small houses, dead and bleeding drow jabressen in battle armor and two very-much-alive deep gnomes grinning viciously at him. It took him a few seconds but everything began to come into focus rather quickly as the female Svirf finished her reading of a scroll and the corpse of Morfeus laying at her feet shuddered back to life, it's eyes fluttering open.

"Ah, it would seem that those priestesses got the better of us" he said to no one in particular (he couldn't bring himself to fully acknowledge that he had been saved by a rock-hobbit).
"yessum, thems kills youse and the other drow boy ands mes and me cousin hads to finishes thems off to get to your bodies. Nows you twos owes me, better be nicers now drows" the female Svirf sing-songed at him.

Cel'lith was pretty sure she was mocking him, no Svirf and drow had ever become what a surfacer would call "friend", at least not as far as Cel'lith knew. But then again truth be told (if that was possible for a drow) Cel'lith didn't really know what the rivvil word "friend" meant. He took it to mean something akin to "person-you-know-well-that-is-indebted-to-you". According to that interpretation the damn rock-hobbit was now his friend, the ignominy of it! Ah well who said debts had to be paid back? He had once seen his father pay back a creditor by planting a dagger in his back, perhaps that was a reasonable solution to this conundrum. Then again given the gnome's preternatural speed with her blades and ability to disappear at will perhaps he should just pay her back with gold.

Finally recovering his senses Morfeus stood up and gave out a little cackle, at he least appreciated the irony of the situation.

"Let's get back to Varalla's passage, this was an ambush and I suspect an all-out attack on the gates to follow" Cel'lith told Morfeus, studiously ignoring the presence of his two diminuitive saviors.

Arriving back at the gates to Sshamath they ran into the Priest. He was interested to discover what they had been doing in the deep tunnels all this time and as the svirf-with-the-pet-ghast began to recount their hunt Cel'lith noticed a large group of drow approaching from the deeper caves, the direction his group had just come from! Comprising both Jalukken and Jabressen they were dressed in non-descript clothing absent any markings and wearing masks. They openly carried their weapons, it didn't look like they were here for the shopping. A verbal confrontation quickly followed which before long ended with one of the Jabressen loudly whistling as she raised her weapon.

The little group of Sshamathians charged the group of drow right as their spider reinforcements arrived. The battle was quick and vicious in the confined area in front of the city gates. Before long every one of the Lolthites was cut down and lay dead amongst the body-parts of their spider companions.

Cel'lith moved closer to the city gates and quickly recounted their encounter to the city guards. A grizzled sergeant whispered something to a spider perched on his shoulder which quickly scurried down his back and dissappeared. A Weavemaster of the Conclave arrived in a puff of magical energy and immediately launched into a detailed questioning of Cel'lith. He had a Duergar priest in tow, evidently a hired gun, who attempted to raise one of the priestesses corpses and commune with it. All he got was a rather uncooperative spirit who made empty threats before vanishing back to it's plane.

The Lolthites had attacked the city! The temple had to be secured, he could not imagine why the Conclave did not move against it. Something had to be done, and quick!

::A DM Kelsfar event::

It had been a few cycles since the Lolthites had attacked and Cel'lith was beginning to have his doubts about their origin. He had heard whispers of an attack on the spider-kissers temple in the city, details were rather vague and indeterminate but it seemed that more than a few of the misandrist's had perished at the hands of their assailants. He smiled inwardly at the thought of the perplexed look that must have crossed their faces when they finally materialized in Lolth's domain and found no succor, nothing but unending torment at the hands of her infernal minions. It was clearly apparent that the assassins had naut been sent by the Conclave, not at all their style. They would have simpy blasted the temple to the ground with magic and gone about their daily business, they held little respect for religion and to engage in such stealth would have been a waste of time better spent entwined within the graces of the weave. So if not the conclave then whom? Cel'lith was beginning to suspect a third-hand, one that worked to pit the temple against HIS children. But who's hand would pit mother against son? One that held love for neither, that narrowed the field not one iota. Well the Illythiri pantheon was replete with internecine conflict, son attacked daughter, daughter struck at mother, mother held enslaved her grandson and on it went. It was one chaotic jumble of fighting demi-gods with the spider-bitch sitting at the top of the pile, or web as she would have it. And that was even if it was a god at all, who's to say it wasn't another city state acting to weaken Sshamath by cracking apart it's factions? Hmm...well that did tell him something at least. Whoever was behind this knew the pressure points within Sshamathian society, where to apply leverage to break the mixing pot asunder. That meant it was probably another Illythiri, probably.

::A DM Kelsfar event::

Leaving Varalla's passage and heading out into the nearby tunnels Cel'lith went through his standard preparations for the unknown. As his father had taught him in Szith he stowed anything that might move or make a noise, ran his fingers casually along his chest checking the positioning of his brace of hidden daggers and finally letting his arms adopt a more ready position hanging further out to his sides and thereby puffing out his cloak to make him appear larger than he was. Approaching the entrance to the spore beetles caverns he came across a lone Jabress standing idly.
"Vendui Jabress, waiting for someone?" he asked politely.
"You talk to me Jaluk?" she shot back.
Cel'lith's ire began to rise almost instantly, who was this female of uncertain rank to respond with such audacity to a practioner of the art? Perhaps another Lolthite, like the ones he had slain in the tunnels this past ten-day.
He responded with a fairly banal retort intended to put her in her place, "I suggest dos respect dos betters Jabress. This is naut Menzo, you are in Sshamath now; here the Conclave rules."
"What? MY better?" she gasped in apoplexy.
"Xas, you would do well to remember dos station" he grinned at her.
"I will naut bow to such as dos!" she almost screamed at him.
Had there been some company around to demonstrate his rank in more detail Cel'lith would have prefaced his attack with a snide remark, something like "I can see dos are in need of a lesson in civility, allow me to help dos with dos education". Instead he simply flicked out his left wrist that held his killing dagger at the ready under the folds of his cloak. It neatly severed her vocal cords stealing her death cry while simultaneously cutting her carotid artery and neatly avoiding lodging in her vertebrae. She fell to the floor, dead before she hit blood bubbling out of the wound forming a veil of sorts that covered her neck from the chin down.
Turning to leave Cel'lith took a step away from the corpse and then caught himself. Turning back he spat on the cooling body and said to no-one in particular "If you Lolthites will not learn, I will teach you your station". With a swish of his cloak he stormed off in search of other prey.
It seemed that he couldn't resist showing off his rank after all, even if the only one watching was HIM.

::Random Encounter in the UD::

-----Edited from Rayner's original post-----

Rayner stood to the rear of the little hunting party fuming, the kobolds caves had held few prey, carried even less loot and consequently tensions were high. Their Duergar tracker seemed to think there was a group of humanoids ahead, from the smell of them something far more foul than Kobolds.

"Well, what are dos waiting for? Get their attention!" Rayner bellowed. His orders were backed up by the rest of the drow in the group and so the Duergar was compelled to obey. Muttering something to himself about ale (what else?) he made his way ahead to reconnoiter. He quickly returned a pall having fallen over his face, "ghouls, a whole pack, and hungry by the looks of them."

The expedition, a goal now in front of them, went about the task in a methodical if not calm manner. The pack was quickly dispatched with no losses leaving the drow surrounded by their handiwork; rent and smashed corpses of the already-dead. Rayner was considering just why this pack had ventured so close to Sshamath, almost entering Varalla's passage itself when they had come upon them. It was unusual for such ibblith be so daring. Hunger alone wouldn't explain it there was plenty to eat out in the tunnels if you weren't choosy, and ghouls were amongst the least picky of eaters. He was about to give voice to his concerns when a booming, phlegmatic voice echoed down the corridor at them, "I am in need of new petsss...come by my childrennn...."

Rayner looked up to find himself staring in the eyes of what could only be described as a living terror. There was no denying it, that creature with the rotting face, staggering gait and bejewelled crown perched haphazardly on it's balding skull was one of the most powerful of all undead, a Lich!

From under his cowl Rayner chuckled to himself and replied “Usstan have a better idea, how about dos bathe in the contents of these vials?" In both of his hands were two vials of water, both blessed by a Yathrin. At the same moment the first member of the hunting group turned. The lithe and meticulously groomed drow's body practically exploded out of it's clothing, strips of flesh falling off in shreds exposing the bone and muscle beneath. The group stood transfixed as the newly formed ghoul tilted it's head back and let out a keening noise that sounded eerily like "FFEEEDDD" in Drowic. Still in shock Rayner's constant beatings under the lash of the Yathrinen finally served it's purpose, for even without his mind working properly his muscle reflexes carried on their business unaided. Eyes narrowing to force his brain to engage he quickly tossed the two vials at the Lich, and they cracked and burst against the Lich’s flesh creating quick, bright flashes of light. However….the effect of the holy water was not the same on the Lich as it was on the ghouls. It did sear small patches of flesh however the Lich remained standing and almost unaffected as he continued to turn more members of the Drow expedition into his children. With no other option, Rayner let lose a quick volley of arrows and turned to flee down the cavern.

To his dismay this was not the outskirts of the Szith that he knew so very well, this particular passage was a dead end. Now in more ways then one as the Lich glared and turned his gaze to Rayner. The last thing that went through his mind was how odd it felt to feel his stomach and lower intestine burst out his abdomen and hang like a skirt about his waist, now that was not at all flattering, his tailor wouldn't be pleased.

-----To be continued-----
::A DM Kelsfar event::

He was feeling a bit groggy from the previous night spent in the company of the Priest at the Last Elixir. They had met to discuss various items of business and it had quickly devolved into a rambling drinking session covering the finer points of Sshamathian trade routes with their relative import determined by the quality of their associated regional alcoholic beverages. Of course they had to sample each in turn to determine exactly which was the most preferable trade route. Cel'lith was almost sure that the Ched N'asad spider-whisky had won the evening but he couldn't be certain, that was simply the point at which his memory terminated in a haze of fragmented imagery. Levering himself off his cot in the Gloura's wings he made his way, shakily, out of the tavern and away from the buzzing sound of the proprietors' wings. He determined that his first port of call should be a small food stall in the Dark Weavings Bazaar. It was run by a Deep Imaskari and specialized in the kind of greasy, fried fungus his stomach needed right now. As he meandered towards the stall he remembered the odd encounter he had had the previous cycle with the group of Rivvil "traders" in Southern Sshamath. Something wasn't quite right about that group, they radiated more magical power than most illythiri which was somewhat hard to believe. Not to mention they had been in the company of that bothersome female rock-hobbit. Well he couldn't know everything that happened in the city of dark weavings, better to focus on his stomach right now...it required less thought and frankly his pounding head demanded it.

Coming around the bend in the street that led to the entrance to the bazaar he was greeted by a sight that made his mind reel, well it was reeling already from the remnants of the spider-whisky this was just the capper to his hangover that derailed completely any possibility of logical thought. Milling around the main street that ran past the bazaar was a rather large group of ghouls feasting on the remains of whatever random passersby had been unfortunate enough to....pass by! As his head spun Cel'lith stood transfixed by the ghoulish spectacle. These undead had obviously been denizens of Sshamath in their previous incarnation, some even looked vaguely familiar though he could naut place them at first. Unfortunately the nearest one spotted him and immediately let out a peel of hunger that rocked Cel'lith back on his heels, right as the entire group turned and charged him claws outstretched and mouths agape. It looked like they had also come to the bazaar for breakfast and their first course had done little to sate their appetite!

Stumbling backwards to gain a little distance Cel'lith tried to get his mind to work, the group was so large! Instinctively he threw himself into the shadows as the closest ghoul raked his claws across his chest scoring a vicious strike that bled profusely staining his robes a dark red. Gah this would mean yet another trip to the tailor (Belados had burnt his last wardrobe to cinders the previous cycle due to the actions of that cursed squid-head Ithic)!

Pushing his clothing concerns out of his mind Cel'lith clung to the shadows as the large group of ghouls rampaged through the bazaar screaming for his flesh, it seemed they were insanely hungry and they were going to make him their next meal. Well, not if he had anything to say about it, his rapier could be very persuasive. Moving in the opposite direction to the pack he stepped into an unlit alcove and began casting his defensive enchantments, starting with the most powerful ones first. As he completed his final dweomer the ghoul that had first seen him came upon him again, it's sense of smell must have been more acute than the rest of the group. Funny, that one really did seem familiar.

The next few minutes were a blur of blades and claws, but mostly blades. Cel'lith used the shadows to his advantage, stepping in and out of sight with an almost supernatural alacrity. First one ghoul fell to his onslaught then another, soon they all lay dead (or rather dead-er) strewn all about the bazaar. He was thankful for HIS blessing, the power to bend the shadows to his will. Without such ability he would be just another chunk of meat in the maw of that particularly familiar Ghoul.

A few minutes passed with only the noise of Cel'lith's ragged breathing, the bazaar was quieter than it had ever been, the merchants either locked behind stout doors or rendered to their constituent parts by the pack of ghouls. Bending to one knee he began examine the remains of the ghoul that had seemed so familiar, the first one that had attacked him. As he observed it he noticed that something odd was happening to the corpse, it was beginning to lose it's grey-green skin-tone reverting back to the deep black of an illythiri. First one finger twitched then another, and finally it's chest began to heave with a ragged intake of breath. Although he studied the Necromantic arts Cel'lith had no clue what was happening here beyond the obvious, this ghoul was transforming back into it's original form...Rayner! All of the ghoul-pack was now twitching and starting to revert to their true forms. Was this some kind of mass-polymorph spell?

As he pondered this a tell-tale smell of frying fungus wafted over from deeper in the bazaar, the Imaskari had survived! Well the questioning of Rayner would have to wait. They had already fed it was only courteous for Cel'lith to do the same.

----to be continued----
::A DM Kelsfar event::

::The Conclusion of the Out-of-Towners plot-line::

Sshamath was entering the fourth quarter of it's cycle, the light cast from the faerie-fire limning it's many structures dimming slightly, on the surface it would be called "evening". With the "fourth quad" came a bustle of activity as the population moved into a different part of it's daily routine; shops closing, guards changing, restaurants and taverns becoming busy.

Cel'lith was close to the entrance of the Dark Weavings Bazaar perusing the array of magically enchanted weaponry on offer at one of the merchants when he heard a commotion on the main thoroughfare that wraps around the great central pillar, Z'orbruath. Looking over he was surprised to see a member of the Sshamathian City Guard struggling to carry the burnt and blasted body of one of his compatriots. A crowd was quickly gathering, some offering aid, others peppering the guard with questions and some laying bets on whether his unfortunate companion would survive his wounds or expire before reaching the city infirmary. Cel'lith was a little confused as to why the guard was even bothering to drag his companion to medical attention, he should have left him where he had dropped in the tunnels and continued fighting whatever it was that had caused his wounds. Perhaps the unconscious one was a noble in service to the Conclave, males that were not suited to The Art were often so drafted. Still, it was odd. As he watched the scene unfold it became apparent that the guard was intent on reaching the infirmary and was only stopping to catch his breath.

In answer to his questioners he proclaimed, "I have come from Varalla's Passage, we were attacked while out on patrol in the nearby tunnels, the city is under attack!"

It made little sense to Cel'lith that someone would attack at the changing of the guard when the most amount of soldiery was in attendance, unless they were insane or stupid. Which immediately brought to mind the encounters he had had recently with the "Lolthites" in the tunnels and the rumors of the "Vhaeraunites" who had assaulted the temple of the spider-bitch in the last ten-day; both of which were obviously a transparent ruse. Perhaps whichever idiot was behind those attacks was also behind this one, if so it would offer him an opportunity to pursue them further and perhaps even prevail finally. Whomever led such an expedition would garner some recognition in the eyes of the Conclave, recognition that would go far towards engendering a positive disposition towards them and their allies. Cel'lith made these calculations quickly in his head, it was second-nature for a Drow to be constantly assessing how to increase one's rank and standing and to push every situation to their advantage. He surreptitiously flicked his fingers in the correct manner to limn the structure nearest the crowd with a subtle, shifting faerie-fire. This ensured that as he stepped into the circle of Sshamathians he was back-lit in such a way as to highlight his presence; a little drama went a long way.

"An attack on the city?" he exclaimed, "the situation must be dire if the guard cannot repel them, we must assemble a scratch-force and counter-attack."

Looking around he saw some familiar faces in the crowd, ones that would be good fodder to sop up the enemy's attacks while he employed his carefully honed death-dealing skills. "Quickly, all of you who can carry a weapon, you will come with me and reinforce the guard to buy the Conclave time to react."

He didn't expect a Sshamathian to help out of the kindness of his heart and so he added "Their generosity should be quite respectable upon hearing of our performance" at which more than a few eyes lit up and weapons were drawn.

---to be continued---
::A DM Kelsfar event::

The chaotic noises of battle echoed down Varalla’s passage carrying with it the unmistakable chittering of spider-kin and the ring of drow weaponry. Standing at the gates of Sshamath the little group prepared themselves to join the fray, variously readying weapons, stringing bows and preparing spell components each according to their own vocation. Cel’lith was quite pleased to finally face these idiot invaders in pitched battle. He carefully weighed each member of the team for their strengths and weaknesses, he would have to direct this little band if he expected to reap the rewards for their efforts. The group comprised the Duergar tracker Mcgirk, a female Svirfneblin calling itself Renha, the Illythiri Drakken, Morfeus and the brute Zyil in full-plate and wielding a greatsword. Individually they weren’t worth much, well excepting Zyil whom he had seen cleave whole groups of Gols in twain with a single swing of his 4’ long blade. However together they would work as an effective anvil with Cel'lith as the hammer. He would let the fodder draw the enemy into their ranks and once engaged he would choose his moment to attack with surprise from their rear. He couldn’t help but let a wide grin slip across his face, he was about to practice his favorite pass-time, killing. Slipping into the shadows he moved like liquid darkness, sliding on silent feet towards the sounds of battle leaving the rest of the group to finalize their preparations. As he approached the entrance to the Displacer tunnels he stopped momentarily and gave a low hiccup-chirp. To the untrained ear it sounded much like any old cave-cricket on it’s daily routine of mate-finding. However the Duergar tracker knew the sound instantly and pushed the group into action urging them towards Cel’lith’s position. As they approached the Duergar separated from the group and joined Cel’lith, together they stepped into the Displacer warren leaving the rest behind. They scouted the tunnels closest to the entrance to no avail, there were signs of recent battle with bulbous spider corpses as big as rothe strewn about but they were empty of anything living, including Displacers. The battle must have moved on deeper into the tunnels, they would have to return and fetch the rest of the group from Varalla’s passage.

Upon re-entering Varalla’s passage it was clear why they hadn’t found the enemy. The floor of the small cavern was covered in slick spider-gore and piled high with their hairy limbs and pieces of their enormous exoskeletons. Deeps gashes that Cel’lith took to be from Zyil’s greatsword marked the great majority of them. In the center of the pile of parts stood Zyil, looking as though he had ripped open their abdomens and taken a bath in their organs. Standing silent, barely out of breath, he lifted his gaze from the floor and caught the look of surprise on Cel’lith’s face which he must have mistaken for shock at killing the sacred creatures of Lolth as be blurted “they wouldn’t listen to reason”.

Given the situation Cel’lith doubted the spider-queen would care, but then he wasn’t a priestess and could not pretend to fathom the workings of her labyrinthian mind, so he just shrugged and flashed him a smile. The invaders had circled back around behind their little scratch-force and engaged them while Cel’lith and McGirk had been scouting the warren, not so stupid after all he noted. Perhaps he had underestimated his foe.

While they spent a few minutes tending to the wounded and wiping the spider-gore from themselves Zyil just stood by impassively, oblivious to the rest of the group. Cel’lith didn’t know if he was even rational at that point, his eyes seemed to float in the air like red willow-the-wisps, unfocussed and unmoving. He was beginning to be a little unnerving. Having completed their preparations they formed up, moving into the Displacer warren as a group this time. Once more Cel’lith slid into the dark spaces between the light of the glowing cave-fungus and moved ahead of them, the tracker following closely behind. Mcgirk quickly caught the trail of a large group of drow accompanied by several huge spiders that led them deeper into the warren and across the river towards the old crypt. As they approached they were set upon by another group of improbably large arachnids being led by a masked Drow priestess. As the fodder tied down the spiders Cel’lith advanced unnoticed on the priestess.

---to be continued---
::A DM Kelsfar event::

As the fight raged on Cel'lith took a few moments to observe the priestess from the depth of the shadows that he had wrapped about himself. She stood behind the fray, watching with mace held ready. There were no epithets hurled from her mouth as he would expect, she seemed strangely detached, waiting. Waiting for her end perhaps? Such quiet contemplation was hardly the purview of a priestess of Lolth, who was this masked jabress? As Zyil cut down the last of the phase-spiders Cel'lith stepped out of the shadows in front of the priestess and gave her a little nod.

"Vendui priestess, your time has come for now you will surely die. Although such a senseless death would surely be a waste of so fine a jabress. Won't you consider coming over to our side? We will ensure safe passage for dos if the information you provide is worthy." Ce'lith was hoping the gambit would succeed, offer her death or salvation. Most Illythiri would make the switch when the choice was so stark, some would do it for much less. However he held out little hope, all of her previous compatriots had proven to be fanatically driven in their purpose and unswayable by threats of violence. She breathed hard, her breastplate rising and falling with her diaphragm. Cel'lith dropped his weapons to his side in an unthreatening posture and waited.

"You will all perish! My patron will sweep you all into the abyss! Die ibblith!", and with that she swung out with her mace towards Cel'lith's unguarded head before he had time to raise his weapons. As the swing began a small, sharp blade slid into her neck from behind neatly severing her spinal cord and removing any control she had over her actions. Her body dropped to the ground, mace clattering across the floor leaving her corpse lying with legs akimbo and an odd look on her face; her eyes wide in surprise but a smile upon her lips. Cel'lith looked up and nodded to Morfeus. In truth Cel'lith had not expected his plea for treachery to work, he had only been buying time for Morfeus to slip behind her unnoticed. He had kept his arms by his side in order to hide the movements of his fingers as he signed to him "get behind her and slit her throat while I keep her busy".

"Bwael" he proclaimed, "well done Morfeus, the hunt continues".

The group formed up, this time Cel'lith let Zyil lead as he had some thinking to do. She had screamed "patron" not "matron". He didn't think that was misdirection, it had seemed a genuinely angry retort in response to his plea for treachery. The jabress had been calling on her god to strengthen her resolve as she knew she as about to die. So the question remained, who exactly was "he". The only real candidates, given that the "faithful" he had encountered were entirely Drow, was one of the Illythiri pantheon. Considering it was "he" and not "she" that meant Selvetarm, Vhaerun or Ghaunaduar. It was clear that these fanatics weren't Selvetarmians, they were entirely too indirect. A Selvetarmian would just come at his target and attack until they were dead, and they would never attack a temple of Lolth. Vhaerun was entirely more subtle than these nuts, you wouldn't find a Vhaerunian laying down his life so selflessly. So that left Ghaunadar, it made sense to some degree as they were mostly crazed fanatics with little subtlety. However they were usually accompanied by slimes, oozes and such and there had been no sign of them at all.

As Cel'lith was going through his mental calculations he wished the priest was here, his knowledge of the pantheon would have come in handy right about now. He didn't admit to himself that the priest's presence calmed him, gave him a feeling of strength, made Cel'lith feel closer to HIM. Such insights were usually beyond the ability of Drow, they fell much more easily to the more empathic races in Faerun such as Humans.

The little group was now approaching the entrance to the abandoned crypt. This spurred some conversation amongst them that perhaps the lich that had been spotted recently was behind all this. Cel'lith knew this wasn't the case; a ten-day ago he come across one of the masked priestesses fighting a pack of ghouls commanded by the lich. He had waited for her to finish the ghouls and then he had slid his killing dagger into her exposed neck, not killing her but deep enough to knick her spinal cord and paralyze her. Then he had sat her down and began to prepare to question her at his leisure when the damnable lich had appeared and attacked him. She had perished in the crossfire during the battle, from which Cel'lith was unhappy to note the lich had escaped yet again. He would have to deal with the thing soon, it was beginning to get embarrassing. Before he could disavow the group of their suspicions a lone male drow stepped out of the crypt and hailed them.

"Sshamathians! Thank the gods I found dos. I have been tracking these fanatics for days across the Underdark. They hail from another city and are set on bringing down Sshamath!".

His convenient appearance struck most of the band as somehow just too improbable. Zyil in particular expressed his suspicion in no uncertain terms "prove it lest I separate dos head from dos torso and get a priest to extract the truth from dos flapping gums".

"I am Fal'madess from Bregan D'aerthe, I have tracked them for days on orders from Jarlaxle himself" he calmly admitted.

In keeping with his race The Duergar tracker seemed particularly suspicious, "How dee we kna that ye naut be leading us inta aye trap?"

The handsome drow male shot a look of venom at the Duergar and gripped his sword at his side "how dare dos challenge me ibblith!".

Cel'lith used the opportunity to reassert his command, stepping closer to the drow and putting Zyil at his back so he could observe Cel'liths right hand "shut up Duergar, this is drow business."

Eyes locked with the newcomer he said "I suggest dos follow the advice of Zyil here and prove dos assertions jaluk, else he may be tempted to take to dos head to a priest for further questioning". As he was holding the drow's attention Cel'lith moved his hidden fingers in rapid succession signing to Zyil "it would be helpful if dos applied some bargaining pressure with that big sword of yours".

On cue Zyil stepped level with Cel'lith and raised his greatsword to point menacingly at the Fal'madess' abdomen, from this distance he could disembowel him with a twitch of his wrist. "PROVE IT" he growled.

"I carry a signed document from Jarlaxle asking for safe passage. Dare you risk facing the wrath of the mightiest mercenary outfit in the underdark! Nau, in Faeraun itself!" the handsome drow responded with more than a little waver in his voice.

"Let's see it" Zyil continued, pushing his blade forward another inch for emphasis. He wasn't much for subtlety this one Cel'lith thought to himself, but he was a fine tool nonetheless. Sometimes a hammer was necessary. He was beginning to appreciate this brute more and more.

"I have concealed most of my equipment in a cache naut far from here. I was forced to hide when the main body of this group passed through towards Sshamath" Fal'madess admitted.

"Hah, this one be lying methinks" spat the Duergar.

"Shut up!" Cel'lith replied. It was important to put the Duergar in his place, this was drow business. It also helped to assert his control over the group. That was what a drow would call "win,win".

"Very well Fal'madess, you will take us to this cache and show us your proof. If dos does anything to arouse the suspicions of my colleague here he WILL remove dos head with that big sword of his and we will let a priest do the questioning. Am I clear?"

"Very", he replied.

"Bwael, then lead on mercenary. And by lead I mean 'out in front'. Do I make myself clear?"

"Xas" he smiled back.

The Duergar was right, Cel'lith was convinced this was a setup. When the mercenary turned his back to lead the group Cel'lith signed to Morfeus and Zyil, "if he does anything to arouse suspicion kill him without a thought." He didn't wait for a response, he suspected that Zyil would have killed him already if he hadn't restrained him.

Entering the crypt the group proceeded cautiously. The Duergar was certainly ready for an ambush, his suspicions aroused. Cel'lith ordered Drakken to keep his bow at the ready, the little Svirf Renha to take up the rearguard while Zyil took the lead behind Fal and Morfeus clung to the shadows ready to appear at the throat of any enemy at a moment's notice. They fought through groups of bladelings that appeared out of a succession of portals that popped in and out of existence as they moved deeper into the complex. Zyil dispatched them out without breaking a sweat and with little aid from the group, his massive blade swinging in controlled arcs that cut down multiple foes in a single swing. He really was a truly impressive warrior, a fine blunt instrument exactly suited to this kind of work. Fal occasionally called the group to a halt to disable a trap or alarm he had prepared here and there along the way. The Duergar remained suspicious, voicing his concerns about how these traps could have remained primed if such a large group had moved through here so recently. Cel'lith of course agreed, the Duergar was certainly astute, but he just told him to shut up. Better for Fal to believe that whatever ruse he was attempting was working.

Approaching what Cel'lith knew to be the final rooms of the crypt he slipped into the shadows once more and headed out in front of the group. This next room was large, the longest in the crypt. If there was going to be an ambush it would be here. They would position their archers and casters at the far end of the room and their fodder up front. He would let Zyil deal with the fodder while he slipped to the far end of the room and killed whichever casters might be lurking. The room seemed to be empty but he continued ahead nonetheless, there were many ways to cloak oneself, Cel'lith was living proof of that. As he reached the rear of the room the rest of the group was just entering, with Zyil in front Fal having fallen slightly further back. It would be here then, now where were those casters? Steadying himself he crouched, ready. Just as he thought he might have been wrong two drow winked into existence right in front of him their voices rising, arms raised above their heads as they began their incantations. Cel'lith grinned and launched himself out of the darkness at their backs. His rapier went right, plunging into the drow's back narrowly avoiding his spine and impaling his diaphragm, cutting off his breath. Simultaneously his off-hand dagger went left, slicing across the larynx of the other caster and stealing his voice. Both fell dead at his feat, with neither managing more than a syllable of their casting.

"NICELY DONE!" Zyil bellowed at him.

Cel'lith looked up to see Zyil standing over the corpse of Fal'madess, his blade's tip lodged inside his now exposed stomach contents.

"He tried to stab me in the back, fortunately his gut found my weapon before his blade found my throat" he laughed.

That was the first time Cel'lith had seen him laugh. He had to agree however, it was pretty funny.

"Never did trust that one" Mcgirk dead-panned.

That was when they heard laughter from the beyond the door of the adjoining room. It was the laughter of a mad-man, high-pitched and incessant. Cel'lith wondered if they had just been made the butt of some cosmic joke. Well, there was only one way to find out.

Upon entering the room the group fanned out, with Morfeus and Cel'lith taking the points of the "u", Zyil and the Duergar the center at the "line" position and Drakken and the Svirf to the rear with their missile weapons at the ready. Facing them was a drow enrobed in what could only be described as priestly vestments, flanked by two very large shadow-mastiffs. Cel'lith and Morfeus clung to the shadows and began to move into position to deal a death blow should the priest start casting. Zyil lead the line forward and engaged the priest in conversation.

"Who are you priest and what are dos doing in Sshamath?" he mono-toned.

"I am the harbinger of Ergosal! HE comes to stalk the realms and take his place as the head of the Illythiri. Bow before his avatar and dos will be spared!"

"Who?" Zyil replied, giving voice to Cel'lith's bafflement. "Never heard of him, some minor demi-god?"

"HE is Ergosal the deceptor! The one who will bring the spider-bitch to her knees and rule the Illythiri!" the priest squawked, foaming at the mouth.

This was odd, Cel'lith had never heard of "Ergosal". A drow god he didn't know of? He must be piteously weak then, but he did have to admit to liking the idea of this dolt trying to better Lolth. She deserved more than that, far more. However the priest's words seemed to enrage Zyil, he set his jaw, hefted his sword and let out a battle cry that came as little surprise to Cel'lith "SELVETARM!".

Well that did it, Cel'lith was forced to act in support of Zyil. Stepping out of the shadows he targeted the priest first, always silence the caster first his father had taught him in Szith. A flurry of flashing steel cut the priest from behind, chopping first at his neck and then at his kidneys all the while moving quickly down his body ending at his groin. By the time he was finished all that was left of the priest was bloody pile of gore. The rest of the group engaged the shadow-mastiffs and yet another group of spiders that portalled in from somewhere, quickly dispatching them. Standing surrounded by their fallen foes they were left facing the still-functional portal that the spiders had emerged from. It was beginning to shift, collapsing in on itself in slow-motion. Whatever was beyond would soon be out of reach. They looked between one another, wondering what next.

Surprisingly the Duergar stepped forward, "we should be going in there to keel whatever of them's be lurking in there, and bring back whatever gold they may have".

Cel'lith was astounded, "we have no idea what lies on the other side Duergar, it could be a freezing plane of ice or the burning pits of Gehenna. It's madness to go through".

Zyil seemed to agree, "xas, the Morcane is right, it could be a lake of molten lava that dos end up swimming in".

"I don't care, aye there's money on the other side I smell it", and with that the Duergar jumped in.

Cel'lith scoffed, "never see him again".

However it seemed that madness had taken hold of the group, Morfeus gave a little smile and stepped through followed by Drakken and the gnome.

"Once that portal's closed there's no way back Zyil".

"Xas, but I can't let that Duergar show me up, if there's god-killing to be done I'm going to be the one doing it not some stinky Duergar" and with that he stepped through the portal.

Which left Cel'lith standing by himself as the portal began to wink out of existence.

"Fools" he proclaimed to no-one. As he turned to leave an arm reached out of the portal, grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and yanking him off his feet and into the abyss.

---to be continued---
::A DM Kelsfar event::

Lying on his back looking up at Drakken Cel'lith realized what had happened before his underling opened his mouth.

"Couldn't leave you behind to miss all the fun, 'boss'," Drakken drawled with a wry smile planted on his face.

Cel'lith wasn't happy at the tone in his voice, and particularly the inflection he used to emphasize "boss". However now was not the time to argue about such semantics, his nostrils were being assaulted with the stench of charnel house mixed with brimstone. That meant they were somewhere in hell. Not good. Getting to his feet he looked about and was somewhat taken aback, after all this his first time in hell. All about lay half-demolished buildings, rubble and and ancient ruins. Everything was wreathed in a bizarre reddish-blue flame that was neither true fire nor faerie-fire but some kind of magical dweomer that burnt even the stone itself. For all he could tell it may have been burning for eons.

"Where in the hells are we?" squeeked the Svirf.

"Does it matter? Wherever we are we're stuck here now" Cel'lith responded. He was not in a happy mood, they really could be trapped here for all eternity.

"Well Faerns, you two had better find us a way out of here. I will slay anything that gets in our path." Zyil mono-toned. To Cel'lith's chagrin he seemed genuinely at ease in this infernal place.

"GAH! I have no idea where to start looking for a portal, let alone how to conjure one. It was madness to come here, madness! You should have listened to me when.."

Before he could finish his rant about what idiots they had been he was cut off by a large tremor passing through the ground and under his feet.

"What was that?" falsettoed the svirf.

"A tremor?" drawled Drakken, the wry smile still affixed to his face.

"Very funny Drakken, it could be.." began Cel'lith but once again he was stopped mid-sentence.

Another tremor swept under their feet, this time accompanied by the not-so-distant sounds of collapsing buildings and falling rubble.

"Something approaches", Morfeus interjected.

"You dinna say.." the Duergar shot back, gripping his axe tighter and taking up a fighting stance.

Zyil grinned, "perhaps it's this fool-god-thing Ergosal".

Cel'lith hoped it wasn't Ergosal, this was likely it's own plane of existence, one where he would be nigh unbeatable. He quietly slipped into the shadows and prepared to leave the group to whatever fate approached. But first he would see this god for himself, just so he could describe him in the event that he did manage to escape. At the end of the street a sagging wall of masonry erupted, blasting into dust as if hit by charging oliphant. What emerged made Cel'lith's blood run cold and turned his feet to rocks. The little Svirf let out a squeek of dismay and took off running. Even the steadfast Zyil took a step back muttering "Selvetarm protect me". For what had emerged from the rocks-turned-dust was a thousand pounds of intelligent, bipedal horror. Lashing its burning whip about it's head, it's body wreathed in brimstone-fire it stalked at what could only be described as a leisurely pace towards the group. It was relishing the moment, soaking up the fear cascading off the group in waves.

"Oh sussun, a pit-fiend!" Cel'lith exclaimed.

"SELVETARM!" Zyil replied with as much gusto as he could muster and he charged headlong at the thing.

Well, oddly enough for once Cel'lith had to agree with Zyil, there was no escaping this thing. Not here, not in it's own domain. They would either kill it or die trying. Not stopping to give orders to the rest of the group he gripped his blades tightly, hoping their enchantments would be enough to penetrate the fiend's protections, and stalked after Zyil. A fusilade of arrows went over his head, squarely impacting the fiend's torso. It only laughed as they bounced off, arrow heads bent and bolts shattered.

"PUNY DROW I WILL FEAST ON YOUR SOULS" it's voice boomed, a wave of terror accompanying it that made Drakken and the Duergar turn and run.

Zyil reached the fiend and brought his weapon down in a keening arc, it's point slashing across it's chest leaving a wound that bled a black, viscous ichor.
"SELVETARM!" he cried as his body followed the motion of the blade, swinging a complete 360 and coming around again for another pass. The fiend only laughed again.

"You cannot hope to prevail, you are in my realm. I will kill you quickly and then slowly dissemble your soul and it feed it to my hounds over the millenia".

Zyil seemed unimpressed, he was fully in his battle-rage now and intent on only one thing, killing. Absent a defensive stance the monstrosity simply waited for his next swing, absorbing a blow that Cel'lith had seen cut five foes in half at once, and then responding with a strike from his whip that caught the Selvetarmian by the foot tossing him head-first to the ground. This was his time to act, when the fiend was distracted and focussed on Zyil. He appeared out of the shadows dancing in close and leaning all his body weight behind his rapier so that it plunged up to the hilt into where the demon's kidney's should be. Such a grievous wound would normally slay outright any who suffered it, the pit-fiend merely staggered a step and gurgled out a forth of blood from his grinning maw. Then it turned on Cel'lith.

"I WILL FEAST ON YOUR SOUL DROW" it bellowed again, a wave of pure terror washing over him again.

His will backed by an enchantment against such effects Cel'lith stood firm. He had to buy some time to let Zyil get back up on his feet and for the others to recover from their fright. He pushed to the back of his mind the thought that they might not regain their senses in time and attempted to spin out the confrontation. Crouched low, circling just out of reach of it's whip he began to taunt it.

"You will die here fiend, and when you die I will cut your horn from your head as a trophy".

This seemed to do the trick, enraging the demon who charged headlong at him. "I will feed your carcass to my hounds and pry your soul from your flesh".

"Typical daemon banter" Cel'lith spat back, "always with the 'eat your soul', 'feast on your essence' nonsense. Do you naut have something more original in dos repertoire?"

As the fiend's burning blade lanced out at him in attempt to spit his head like a ripe fruit Cel'lith winked out of visibility and dodged to the side, his nostrils burning with the stench of brimstone as the sword passed within a hair's breadth of him. The fiend was momentarily befuddled and staggered forward carried by it's own momentum. Cel'lith was rolling, his body balled up, using his own momentum to carry him away from the daemon's stumbling attempts to regain it's balance. Zyil had managed to regain his feet just as the rest of the group had regained their senses and together they fell upon the unprotected back of the pit-fiend. Once again Drakken's arrows and the Duergar's bolts hit but merely bounced off it's thick hide, ensorcelled with who know's what protections. It didn't matter though, Zyil's sword was the real show here. He brought it down in a mighty overhead swing that bit deep into the daemon's back, penetrating it's hide, cutting bone and slicing through vitals. Black, bitumenous ichor squelched out of the wound leaving small steaming globs clinging to the Selvetarmian's armor. The Daemon staggered, turned, and somehow stood up.

"I WILL FEAST ON YOUR SOUL FOOLS" it bellowed again.

Cel'lith was beginning to wonder if there was some kind of pit-fiend training academy where they taught them how to speak common, there was certainly little originality in his banter. Staying in the shadows he moved around behind the fiend to strike once more. They had to move quickly now, the fiend was badly wounded from Zyil's strike but the gash we sealing up with every passing second. Pit-fiends had a remarkable ability to regenerate from everything but a completely severed head. Getting into position was proving more difficult than he had anticipated, the fiend was using his whip to cover his back, whipping it around him as he parried Zyil's attacks with his sword. Zyil kept up the pressure, bringing his greatsword around in a fierce series of short, chopping attacks that forced the fiend to concentrate his attention on him. Cel'lith wondered if Zyil was anticipating his maneuverings, despite not being able to see him and despite his battle-rage. Whatever his intent that whip had to be neutralized before Cel'lith could launch another attack on the fiend's back, one swipe from it thing would cleave him in two. Luckily, or maybe it was planned it was hard to tell, Zyil over-commited with his last attack leaving him slightly off balance and unable to parry. The fiend couldn't resist, it stepped forward and brought it's whip and blade down batting Zyil's blade aside and cleaving a huge rent in his plate-mail. The force of the attack knocked Zyil to the ground and left him dazed, at the mercy of the fiend.

"I WILL FEAST ON YOUR SOUL MORTAL" it bellowed once again. This time ducking low to actually rip into Zyil's exposed abdomen with his great fangs.

Cel'lith saw his chance and took it. He ran two steps and leaped into the air both blades pointed down at the beast's neck using the momentum of his body to carry him forward. Putting his full weight behind his blades he dropped onto the fiend's shoulders both piercing it's hide and plunging hilt-deep into it's neck either side of it's spine. He felt his dagger sever it's spinal cord and his rapier plunge through it's carotid artery and down into where it's heart should be. Clinging to it's back with both legs he jerked his dagger around breaking up as much of it's spinal column as possible while he withdrew his rapier so whatever damage had been done to it's artery and heart could take it's toll. It fell.

As its death spasms wracked its body Cel'lith leaned in close to it's ear and cooed "No, fiend, you will die and I will take dos horn as my trophy".

---to be continued---
::A DM Kelsfar event::

Standing over the dead pit-fiend, it's body still wreathed in the stench of brimstone, Cel'lith felt a level of power surge through him unparalleled by anything he had experienced in his 200+ years. It was a purely emotional response, this was no magical or divine enchantment. He had vanquished a pit-fiend in hand-to-hand combat, in it's own realm...and he held it's horn in his hand as proof! A grin split his face from ear-to-ear and he couldn't help but let out a long laugh that echoed off the broken ruins of this hell. Cel'lith Morcane! Slayer of daemons! HE would know, HE would be proud. Turning to the rest of the group of Sshamathians he beamed at them, "well done, we have prevailed, the fiend is dead".

"Yar, so what? We're still stuck here" the Duergar McGirk monotoned.

Zyil had finally stood up, examining the rent in his armor that ran from his right arm-pit across his chest reaching his left hip. "WE did indeed kill the fiend. However it will have to be YOU that gets us out of here, we need a portal mage".

Cel'lith was about to demur, his skills with his blades far outweighed his proficiency in the Art. Before he could open his mouth to protest a shimmering, flashing portal popped into existence right in front of him, almost as if his subconscious had willed it. For a brief moment he wondered if it had, his drow-mind running away with itself swayed by it's megalomaniacal tendencies. A sultry, overtly sexual female's voice coming from the portal broke his fantasy. "Come my drow, step through the portal and return to your beloved Faerun."

None of the group needed any further encouragement, even Zyil who had seemed untroubled by the appearance of the pit-fiend, stepped through without delay. They emerged in one of the tunnels that fed into Varalla's passage facing a very familiar alu-fiend, Alisze. As was her want she wore little clothing, just enough to conceal her most private parts, and a wide salacious smile that hinted at her thoughts.

"Well done my drow, you have thwarted Ergosal, just as my master wished," she purred.

"Huh? why would a devil care 'bout some Ergosal den eh?" the Duergar inquired.

She gave a little shrug that made Cel'lith practically weep with it's beauty. "I have no idea...dwarf. My master commanded it, I obeyed. And for the record I am no devil!"

"Xas...she...she...she's right Duergar she's a..a..daemon" Cel'lith stuttered. She had this effect on him every time he saw her, it would be embarrassing if she had been anything other than what she was.

The Duergar shrugged, devil, daemon, they were all the same to him.

"The question still stands, daemon, what is dos master's interest in this?" Zyil interjected.

"HE wished it, that's all you need to know. He sent me here from his hold near Menzo and now I must return."

"Well, who is 'HE'?" Zyil continued.

"Uh, urm, eh, ah Kannar Vhok? Xas I think it's Kannar Vhok she's bound to," Cel'lith managed to stutter out.

"How do you know that drow? TELL ME!" she bellowed, no longer smiling.

"Uh, hehe, urm, ah...the Archmage of Szith...uh...Rizzen Morcane...he uh mentioned something about him before I left."

"Xas, well you would do well to forget such things," she glared at him.

"Xa..xa..xas"

"Well, suffice to say Ergosal deserved what he got. You were all reasonably proficient instruments for the task and so I have been instructed to reward dos. I must return to...HIM, so enjoy your reward if not my absence." She flashed another broad smile that almost knocked Cel'lith from his feet and dissapeared in a poof of brimstone.

Ergosal was thwarted, the threat to Sshamath was ended and Cel'lith still lived, what more could one ask for? Oh, xas, he held a pit-fiend's horn as his trophy, that was a worthy prize in itself.

---The End, Finaly---
::A DM Kelsfar Event::

Celith Morcane dismounted from his pack lizard and stretched backwards, cracking his back and relieving the tension in his neck. Riding pack lizards was generally reserved for the Shebali Drow, all highborn ride battle lizards, so for Celith this was a step down. If there was one thing he had learned in all his years beneath Faerun it was to be adaptable. The only caravan leaving Menzo had been this one bearing a lolthite priestess, which was bad enough. Celith had enjoyed the trip nonetheless as it provided ample opportunity to embarrass the priestess by secretively disposing of her retinue one by one en-route. By the time they had arrived at Varalla's passage all that remained of the entire 100 person caravan was the pack lizard Celith had just dismounted from. He smiled at the thought of the priestess' snarl of rage as he casually embedded his admantium rapier up to it's hilt into her back. It had bypassed all of her protections and wards quite easily and all that remained was to watch intently as she jerked about, desperately attempting to twist herself from the metal before her heart stopped beating. At one point she even stopped and attempted to call forth a blessing from her bitch-daemon-godling but Celith put a stop to that by slapping her across the back of the head to disrupt her concentration. By the time she had gathered her wits enough to attempt to kick him in the shin her strength had drained and she only succeeded in stamping on his foot like the little girl she was.
After she stopped struggling he dropped his blade to the ground and she slid off in one motion, the dark blood from her stilled heart pooling under her.
"Ah well, they don't make 'em like they used to" Celith mumbled to himself.
"Praise be to HIM" he intoned before he climbed back onto his pack lizard for the final leg of his journey home.