The Dark Flower, Book II - Chapter 5, The End of the Chosen

[Mikayla]

Hours passed since the driders were destroyed. Inthara had returned, the poison in her veins having run its course for the most part. Shortly after her return, the enemy attacked again, another wave of giant spiders swarming out of the darkness. These were not sword spiders, but giant black beasts who threw webs at the Chosen. More than one defender was stuck fast, including Gryndal who had to set aside his crossbow to cut his way free. Unlike the sword-spider swarm, Sheyreza did not have to face the spiders alone this time. Dodging the webs as best they could, she and the others had hurled arrow, bolt and spell into the arachnids as they charged. Only a couple of spiders made it as close as the great statue of Eilistraee and they were destroyed by the charge of the Protectors. The attack left a few of the Chosen wounded but none seriously. The attack was not without cost to the defenders, however. Inthara and Akordia both had to expend spells to heal the wounded. For her part, Sheyreza had expended almost all her remaining arrows; by the time the protectors slew the last of the spiders, she had but three shafts left.

Sheyreza set Inthara to studying to the slowly diminishing barrier, but her study was interrupted. The slippery, black clad archer returned and slew one of the Protectors along the slope. Gryndal engaged the archer in a brief duel of bolt and arrow, but the enemy was quickly driven off as Sheyreza led a few Protectors down the mound seeking to engage their bow armed foe in melee. The defenders did not press their pursuit. They stopped short of the western buildings, some of which were still burning. Leaving the scout to flee they fell back and reformed atop the ridge. Gryndal resumed his post standing out upon the promontory keeping watch with sharp eyes and a quick crossbow.

Bloodied and weary, the defenders did not get much rest. Not long after the scout had attacked, another wave of spiders rushed the temple-mound. These spiders were much smaller. About the size of a broad brimmed hat, they were tiny compared to the monstrosities the defenders had been fighting up until now. There were many of them, however, and Sheyreza knew they were poisonous. The swarm assaulted the north flank of the temple’s defense and the Protectors there fought back furiously. Akordia and Inthara supported them, smashing the spiders with sword and spell.

The north flank held. The tiny monstrous spiders were destroyed to the last. More healing spells were expended. Worse yet, the last vials of poison antidote brought by Akordia from the Hall of Healing had to be distributed and used. Though the attack claimed no lives, like the waves before it, it weakened the Chosen by eating through their resources.

With their wounds mostly healed, the remaining Promenade defenders spread out along the ridge of the temple-mound as far a part as practical. There were not many of them; nine protectors and a couple of acolytes including Akordia. Gryndal stood near the defensive line along the promontory over looking the western slope of the mound, while Inthara and Sheyreza talked near the steps of the temple. All of them were covered in soot from the fires, ichor from the spiders, and blood from their own wounds, none more so than Sheyreza herself.

Gryndal raised his crossbow to a firing position. Sheyreza looked to where he was aiming and saw a woman walking through the field of dead spiders and smouldering drow corpses that surrounded the great statue near the base of the mound. The woman appeared to be alone. She looked like a drow but she was too tall. Indeed, she appeared to be as tall as an adult human male though she was far more slender and far more beautiful. Her hair was long and silken, and cascaded about her naked shoulders like the white waters of wild cataract flowing over the dark wet granite of a mountain. The woman’s obsidian skin was flawless, her eyes perfectly shaped and her strut perfectly seductive. She was also completely naked.

“Demon.” Sheyreza said flatly to Inthara and Akordia. There was no doubt in Sheyreza’s mind. This woman was a succubus, a demon, a tan’ari. A succubus was a demon of pleasure and temptation, however, not a warrior. This creature was not being sent here to fight but to talk or perhaps seduce. Quickly, Sheyreza muttered an incantation to protect herself from any magical influences over her mind. As the demon approached Sheyreza walked down the slope to meet it. She stopped shy of the approaching woman and did not attack.

“Aren’t you the smart one?” The beautiful woman asked, her every word a challenge, an insult and an invitation.

For a moment Sheyreza simply gazed upon the succubus. Sheyreza could guess what she looked like after twelve hours of battle and it was certainly not as beautiful a sight as the succubus standing before her. Sheyreza’s normally luminescent white hair was matted and stained with blood, sweat and ichor. Her skin was covered in a thick sheet of grime and grit. Red lines of magically healed wounds crossed her silken skin. Dehydration and fatigue had left her face sunken and weary looking. The creature before her, however, seemed untouched by anything but primping brushes, make up and the gentle caress of the lightest breeze which gave just the right amount of lift to her hair. Though this creature was yet another tool of the enemy, Sheyreza’s first thought was not one of defense or attack or even of negotiation. It was simple jealousy. Why can’t I look like that? Sheyreza hated her and loved her at the same time. She had known as she walked down the slope that a parlay with this creature was as pointless as a parlay with the mage earlier but she could not bring herself to simply attack something so beautiful. Evil or not, the succubus was gorgeous to behold and Sheyreza, like most elves, had a very strong, innate appreciation for beauty.

Sheyreza closed her eyes and shook her head for moment. She had to focus on the problem at hand not her petty vanity or her love of all things beautiful. Contorting her face into a snear and twisting her tongue into a veritable knot, Sheyreza addressed in the demon in its native abyssal tongue. “What do you want demon?”

Next to Sheyreza, Inthara slowly drew her wand. On the promontory above, Gryndal aimed his crossbow. Behind Sheyreza on the slope the remaining Protectors and acolytes stood ready.

The succubus smiled faintly. “Abandon the temple lass, or you die along with everyone.”

Even her voice was beautiful. Sheyreza really did not want to destroy her. It was like defiling a fantastic work of art. Unfortunately, there was just nothing to be gained from talking.

Sheyreza took a half step back with her left foot as if to turn away, gripped her sword sheath with her left hand, and then in one smooth motion drew the blade and struck.

The sword hit the demon-woman and sent her reeling but did not draw blood. Gryndal fired a heartbeat later and a heart beat after that, Sheyreza struck again.

The remainder of the Chosen joined in the attack and the succubus retreated from the furious assault. Her exquisite face registered her surprise and anger. Though caught off guard and struck by bolt, arrow, sword and spell, she seemed unwounded. Quickly, the demon manifested her wings and took to the air. In her abyssal tongue, the demon began spell casting. Sheyreza switched to her bow and let fly her last three shafts, but to no avail. The demon’s otherworldly flesh was virtually unscathed despite the best efforts of the Chosen. Sheyreza knew some of her spells would have affected the tan’nari, but Sheyreza’s spells were all expended. As the last of her arrows left her hand, she switched back to her sword and took cover behind a stone pillar.

All around the Chosen were running, yelling, looking for someway to harm the flying demon. Gryndal put bolt after bolt into her, but with no effect. Inthara’s wand fared little better.

From above the demon snickered at the scurrying drow. “I said my peace. Your weapons are nothing.” Her only answer was more arrows and a splash of arcane acid from Inthara’s spell repotoire. The succubus sighed and it was like silk on smooth skin. “I did my best.” She said. Below, still taking cover behind a stone pillar, Sheyreza also sighed. Even in the midst of battle the demonic creature was seductive. Sheyreza thought it simply was not fair.

The succubus disappeared.

Sheyreza looked around for the creature, but she knew the demoness was most likely already reporting to her mistress or master. At the academy, Sheyreza had learned that most tan’nari could teleport at will.

The protectors regrouped upon the temple-mound and spread out once again. Seeing a demon in service to the enemy had awoken yet another fear in the pits of their stomachs; the fear of otherworldly enemies no ordinary weapon could harm. The only way Sheyreza could overcome such a defense was with a spell but she had no such spell left. She needed to pray and rest but she did not want to leave the defenders without their leader. Of course she was not going to be of much use to them exhausted, dehydrated, and devoid of spells.

Gryndal assured her he would keep watch. If anything happened, he would get her. Sheyreza took one more walk around the ridge perimeter. The defenders were bloodied, but they were not as fatigued as she was. All but Gryndal and Inthara had come as reinforcements from the Hall of Healing. Though they had seen some action at the Hall, they had not borne the brunt of the early fighting.

Satisfied that the defenses were as good as they were going to get, Sheyreza walked around to the sheltered rear of the temple. There was a fountain there. She pulled off her helmet and knelt before the small basin. With both hands she began to splash water on her face and then she simply bent down and began drinking. There was nothing dignified or graceful about it, but the cool water tasted like the finest wine to a throat that had known only fire, smoke and screams for a day. Her thirst sated, she found a small nook along the side of the temple and wedged herself into it. It felt good to sit. With all the pain in her arm and shoulder from the spider’s poison, she had not noticed the burning ache in her leg muscles. How many times had she run up and down the steep temple-mound slopes? She could not even begin to count. She fished around in her satchel, pulled out another strip of meat and ate it.

Afterwards she began her prayers. Normally there would be a dance and an evensong but now she could not afford the time nor did she want to attract that much attention. Though it was not her goddess’s way, Sheyreza prayed quietly, her songs reduced to a barely audible whisper. It would have to do. Somewhere out there that black clad archer was waiting to put another arrow in another throat and if Sheyreza lifted her voice in song she was fairly certain it would be her throat he would aim at.

When her prayers were finished, Sheyreza closed her eyes and leaned back into the nook where she was sitting. She knew she should rejoin the others but she was so tired. She wanted to rest. Reverie would come so easily at this moment. Gryndal was there, he could watch the line, Inthara too, and Akordia. Sheyreza did not need much convincing to talk herself into it. Her dark eye lids fluttered a bit and she slipped into reverie.

Sometime later she came back to reality. Her legs were cramped. There was kink in her neck and she was terribly cold. She had foolishy rested while laying on the stone foundation of the temple, and that stone was cold and sucked the warmth out of her. Shivering, she stood and extricated herself from the niche. On the other side of the building she found all was more or less how she left it. Gryndal stood watch on the promontory, the Protectors stood or crouched among the dead, and Inthara, Akordia and the other acolyte spoke in quiet tones on the steps.

Sheyreza pulled her helmet on and walked the perimeter again. There had been no further attacks but like the previous lulls Sheyreza was certain this pause would come to a violent end only too soon.

As if on cue a sudden viscious chill raced through her; a terrible, deep almost primal fear hit her in the stomach. All she could think about was a spider, a horrible creature that reared itself before her eyes. Suddenly, she felt as if she was being stretched thin, as if this reality was warping. The only other time she had ever felt such a feeling was when her spirit had left this plane with Qilue’s in search of Inthara’s soul.

A sharp pain struck Sheyreza’s chest and she clutched at her breast where the old would have been but for her polymorphing long ago. In her mind’s eye she saw the flash of a spider shaped dagger. Then, for a split second she felt something cold, something terrible, something overwhelmingly powerful and horribly familiar pass through her.

By now Inthara had noticed Sheyreza’s distress and rushed to her side.

The feeling passed. Sheyreza blinked, smiled slightly, took a deep breath and looked down at the glowing cracks running through the temple.

Out in the cavern, beyond the burning bodies and the great statue, a sinister red glow flickered to life and then died out. Someone was casting spells out there, very powerful spells. Summoning spells.

On the temple-mound Sheyreza cast her own spells. She raised every protective spell in her repotoire and then she began laying enchantments on her blade. Once again the black sword was wreathed in dark fire.

A crack formed just beyond the statue of Eilistraee and and a malevolent red light glowed from deep within it. It was not unlike the cracks which ran across every face of the temple, only it was much, much larger.

Something dark appeared in the red glow, something long and slender. It landed upon the edge of crack. Another long, slender black object unfolded from the red glow and joined the first.

Inthara pointed towards the hellish rift. “It comes!”

Sheyreza slid her arm into her mithral clawshield. “Yes, she does.”

Inthara looked back upon the armored priestess. “She?”

“Mother watches.”

Inthara narrowed her eyes but there was no time to press Sheyreza for a less enigmatic answer. Whatever was coming was coming now. It was probably for the best. Had Inthara pressed Sheyreza for an answer the priestess would have had to explain that she knew Lolth was watching the battle, for a moment ago, Sheyreza had felt the Spider Queen’s presence pass through her.

From the top of the temple-mound the defenders watched one dark leg after another appear along the glowing red chasm that had opened up in the cavern below. An enormous black bulk followed the long spindly legs. All at once the creature pulled itself free of the crack from which it issued. The crack sealed up as the beast exited, disappearing as if it had never been there; the summoning was complete.

The summoned beast looked like a spider the size of a house. It stood over ten feet high and at least twenty feet from claw to claw across its legs and body. It was not simply a gargantuan spider, however. Sheyreza recognized its misshapen body, its oversized fangs and the cruel hooks along its eight horrid legs. This was a bebilith, a fiendish spider from Lolth’s menagerie in the Demonweb pits and one of her most powerful servitors. Summoning such a creature was an awesome display of power on a level equal to that which Sheyreza’s mother, Matron Shyntlara of Qu’ellar Auvryndar, might have been able to accomplish.

The end had come. Sheyreza could not defeat such a creature even if she had not had to battle her way through wave after wave of the enemy’s attacks for an entire day first. This creature was simply beyond her. And it was far beyond those who stood with her, whether they knew it or not. No wonder Lolth was watching; she wanted to see how Sheyreza died; perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps out of hate. Sheyreza did not know, but she was flattered that the Dark Mother would take such an interest in her demise.

Gryndal was already loosing bolts at it. Blue-white beams of magic fired from Inthara’s rod. Along the ridge the Protectors formed up into a defensive line, drawing their swords, raising their shields and preparing to melee.

Sheyreza knew it was pointless. The creature would kill all who stood in its way. Only Qilue could have stopped this demon and she had not returned in time. The defenders would fall. Now Sheyreza faced a choice. She could stand her ground and fight and in so doing be slain, or she could flee. The south flank of the mound was congested with Protectors and acolytes preparing for the defense but the north flank was clear. She could run down that slope, circle behind the beast and make for the exits. Hopefully who ever summoned the demonic spider would be too busy guiding this final assault to bother with a single fleeing priestess.

But then what? Flee into the dark alone? Where would Sheyreza go? What would she do? What would be the point of scratching to live one more day of this life with naught but death to look forward to tomorrow?

No. She would not flee. There was no point to it. This, it seemed, was Eilistraee’s test of how her Chosen faced death. As far as Sheyreza could tell, both the Spider Queen and her daughter were watching to see how their children lived, fought and died. Sheyreza would not run.

The bebilith answered the bolts and spells with webs. Great streams of sticky silk issued from its spinnerets arcing through the cavern at the defenders. Up on the promontory overlooking the west slope, Gryndal dodged the stream of webs and continued to loose bolts at the monster below him. Inthara likewise dodged the monster’s attacks while blazing away with her magic wand. Disheartingly, neither bolt nor spell seemed to affect the web-slinging demon.

The Protectors and acolytes formed up and charged into melee with the beast. Sheyreza joined them. They rushed upon the demon-spider’s legs and began hacking away at the hairy, misshapen appendages. The bebilith spun, leaving off its web-slinging, and brought its fore-legs into the attack. A long, grotesque, spindly leg with a wickedly hooked claw at the end slashed through the air and tore the throat from a Protector. The mortally wounded man fell back clutching at his wound. A second leg knocked another Protector down, while a third eviscerated him.

Sheyreza slashed the beast with all the power she had. The effects of the sword spider poison had diminished and she had augmented her natural strength with a prayer to Eilistraee. Her enchanted blade refused to bite the stone-hard flesh of the abyssal arachnid however, even with her divinely-enhanced strength. Each blow she landed failed to cut through the demon’s black carapace. Sheyreza gritted her teeth and struck again and again as did the other Chosen. None of their weapons seemed to be harming the beast. Despite the ineffectiveness of their weapons none of the Chosen ran. This was their home and they had nothing if it was lost. Better to die in its defense than slink away into the underdark only to be slain later and die as a coward.

A splash of foul, burning black ichor struck Sheyreza’s cheek. She stepped back from the demon’s flailing legs and touched a hand to the evil smelling stuff. It was spider ichor, no doubt. Sheyreza looked up at the beast before her and saw a series of burns along its legs and belly. Burns that were oozing ichor. Wounds. Sheyreza danced in, dodging the slashing hooks of the bebilith legs and planted a solid blow upon its carapace. Were the blow landed a burn appeared. A moment later, black ichor oozed from the wound. What the adamantine edge and magical enchancement could not accomplish Eilistraee’s blessing could. While the blade would not cut the beast, the blade’s divine blessing was wounding it. Sheyreza remembered the first lesson about evaluating enemies she had learned at Ched Nasad’s patrol school; If you can make it bleed, you can kill it.

The beast was not invinicible. It could fall. She could kill it. She would kill it.

The bebilith struck again and again, shifting between its legs, striking down those too slow to avoid its slashing hooks. Sheyreza kept moving. Using her claw shield she slipped attack after attack and kept up her assault on the demon-spider. More Protectors fell. One of the acolytes bent to heal a fallen warrior and was herself struck down by the horrid arachnid. Another Protector jumped in to save the fallen cleric. The beast lashed out at him and the Protector stopped the blow with his shield but the demon-spider would not be so easily stopped. The beast brought more of its arsenal to bear. The valiant warrior parried and defended as fast as he could but he could not keep pace with four attacking legs. Slipping past the man’s guard the demon-spider planted one hook in his torso and another in his shoulder. Then the bebilith simply pulled the screaming man apart.

Sheyreza was alone in the melee now. All the Protectors and acolytes who had charged down the slope had been killed or incapacitated. The spider-beast turned its full attention to her and Sheyreza found her self being pushed back. She danced and parried, slipping blows and slashes. There was no sword craft rhythym she knew that could keep pace with this beast, however. Every blow she slipped and every strike she blocked left her open from another angle. The demon-beast took full advantage of the situation. Its wicked hooks found Sheyreza’s body and began trying her armor. The enchanted mithral held. She slashed back, each blow she landed burning the demon further. A screeching, high pitched, unnatural wail issued from its fanged mouth. More blows fell about Sheyreza and panic began to set in. While there had been other Protectors and acolytes to take some of the creature’s attention, Sheyreza had been able to keep up her assault, but now, as the lone object of the creature’s wrath, Sheyreza was unable to hold her ground. Sheyreza needed someone or something to distract the demon-spider and keep at least some of its legs busy. Quickly she began intoning the words to a summoning spell. If allies were what she needed, she would bring them herself.

The bebilith took the opportunity to pounce upon the spellcasting priestess. Its hooks had time and time again failed to tear through her enchanted mithral plate so now it was the armor itself that was attacked. Sheyreza felt a leg sweep up behind her. Another pushed her back. The world spun as she lost her feet and found herself rolling beneath the demon-spider, carried by its legs. A hook slipped into a gap on her armor and then another. She felt the beast pulling at her so hard it seemed as though she would be quartered. She screamed and lost her spell. Though the mithral plates were stronger than the bebilith’s claws, the spider silk ties that held them together were not. A sharp hook sliced through the silken strands and another pulled the armor plates free of the writhing priestess clutched in the demon-spider’s claws. Bit by bit, it stripped her until Sheyreza fell from its black claws wearing nothing but her thigh high enchanted boots.

Stunned, Sheyreza rolled out from under the beast and ran. A long leg slashed at her but she parried it with her shield. She had no armor left, but at least she had her shield. Naken but for her boots, she scampered up the temple-mound where Inthara and Gryndal continued to loose bolts and spells at the rampaging beast.

As she fled she saw Akordia on the slope. The young acolyte had not charged with the others, having frozen with terror. Now, seeing Sheyreza flee caused something to change in Akordia. She gripped her sword tightly and charged down the incline towards the on rushing beast. Sheyreza tried to scream a warning but no words came out of her mouth; she was too hoarse, too dry, too scared on her own. The quickly hooked the acolyte’s sword with one leg, pushed the girl down with a second leg, and then gutted her with two others. Sheyreza stared in horror. Akordia lay, still alive, beneath the bloody hooks of the creature. The young girl was dying. Her eyes rolled in her head and came to rest on Sheyreza. There was nothing the older priestess could do, nothing she could say, no spell she could cast or song she could sing. Akordia was going to die. And so too was the Promenade.

The demon scuttled forward over Akordia’s ruined form and Sheyreza charged to meet it screaming Eilistraee’s name. She did not care that she was naked, she did not care that this was insane. All that mattered was the dance now and if this was to be her final dance, she was not going to run from it, she would run into it. Her sword began to hum and Sheyreza’s first blow burned a bloody, smoking wound right through the bebilith’s black carapace. The creature brought four of its horrid hooked legs to bear and Sheyreza spun away, then leapt back in on the attack. Spider and priestess danced now, slashing and dodging, maneuvering and feinting. Wicked hooks found Sheyreza’s naked skin but her skill kept the beast from inflicting more than superficial lacerations.

They dueled like champions of their gods; the spider beast a creature of the abyssal pits and the physical incarnation of Selvetarm’s wrath on the Prime material, its many legs slashing and tearing like the many arms of Lolth’s champion. Against the spider beast was pitten the naked priestess of Eilistraee, Sheyreza, dancing with her sword in defense of hope and light. Red drow blood and black abyssal ichor mixed on the floor of the Cavern of Song as the two fought. Sheyreza’s wounds mounted, but so too did the creature’s burns. It’s wailing grew louder and more frenetic. Sheyreza knew the beast was learning pain and fear. Desperately, the creature tore at Sheyreza’s claw-shield, the last protection she carried. She slipped the creature’s hooks, however, and launched a riposte leaving another oozing burn upon the beast. It wailed again and Sheyreza could clearly see it was injured. She smiled. There was a chance.

The bebilith was far from defeated however. It kept after Sheyreza with its wickedly hooked legs, tearing and stomping. Sheyreza was forced back and gradually pushed up the slope. She gave ground reluctantly at first, but then realized the spider-demon’s aggressive assault was gradually giving her a high-ground advantage. If she actually got to the crest of the temple-mound she might be able to strike at the beast’s head. Mindful of the creature’s claws and reach, Sheyreza began to work more back steps into her rhythm. Steadily the dueling pair made their way up the slope of the ridge. From above, bolts of electricity, streams of acid and fast flying crossbow bolts descended upon the demon’s back. Inthara and Gryndal had not fled or given up. Though their attacks seemed futile, the pair was determined to fight to the last.

Sheyreza called upon the power of Eilistraee and her long black blade erupted with darkfire. Seeing the dancing priestess pause, the spider-demon made its move. It came in fast and high, and then fell upon her. Sheyreza watched its legs but her defenses could not be everywhere at once. The creature’s pedipalps reached out and took hold of her claw shield. A long, multi-segmented leg struck Sheyreza as the pedipalps pulled and the slender priestess lost her grip on her last piece of defense. The shield went tumbling down the slope.

Blade burning, Sheyreza leapt into attack. The beast fell back under her assault and then scuttled sideways, circling to reach the high ground with her. Sheyreza saw its move but was helpless to stop the enormous creature. Within a moment the two enemies were atop the ridge together. Sheyreza’s advantage was lost and now she no longer had her shield. The beast came forward, claws reaching out. Sheyreza struck at the legs, burning the steel-hard appendages with each swing. Though she was hurting the demon, she was only hurting it a little with each blow. The bebilith’s attacks, however, were far deadlier. Sheyreza danced away and found herself being pushed back towards the promontory where Gryndal had been standing. The crossbow armed scout saw what was happening and cleared off the bluff before the bebilith closed the trap but Sheyreza was unable to escape. With her back to a cliff, she fought desperately against the monster but she had little defense against its tearing hooks. She risked another spell, this one to call upon Eilistraee’s power to defend her. The spider was too quick. It rushed again and this time took its body over the diminuitive priestess. Sheyreza tried to stab the beast in the belly but felt something strike her from behind. Two points of pain erupted in her back, just below the neck and shoulder.

Sheyreza blinked and staggered, her spell and her attack forgotten. The creature pulled off of her and retreated. Sheyreza struggled to bring her blade up but her arms would not respond. Her vision got blurry. She stumbled and she realized that the bebilith, like the sword spider, had poisoned her. The enormous creature sat a few yards away, watching Sheyreza. It did not attack and when she staggered towards it, the beast scuttled sideways or backwards. It was waiting; waiting for the poison to do its work.

Eyes watering, chest heaving, the naked priestess desperately struggled to raise her blade and press the attack. She had to slay the beast before the poison slew her. The effort was in vain. She could not get her sword up and she could not run to catch the beast. She was all but helpless.

The spider-demon came forward with its two front legs held high as if to strike down upon Sheyreza’s head. With the last of her strength she lifed her sword to parry and tried to slip away but a third leg came slashing in at her from the side; the front two legs had been a feint. The third leg’s hook came from low to high and found Sheyreza’s unarmored body. It tore through the soft skin and hard muscle of her upper thigh, skipped off her pelvic bone and then ripped across her abdomen.

Sheyreza fell. She hit the ground and rolled across the cold stone until she hit something soft and warm. Another body. It was over. She felt pain, but not as much as she would have thought. The beast had nearly eviscerated her. Perhaps it had, she could not really tell. Regardless, she had no strength to get up. The demon had won. Sheyreza coughed and spit up blood. She could not see the beast anymore but she knew it was still fighting. She could hear the distinct twang of Gryndal’s crossbow, the soft hiss of Inthara’s rod and spells, and the cries of the two as they fought desperately against the demon. Sheyreza wished she could help them. Slowly Sheyreza raised a hand and tried to push herself up but there was too much pain and not enough strength in her body.

The sounds of fighting began to fade into the background. Sheyreza could see what had stopped her roll from continuing down the hill. It was the burned body of one of the temple defenders. Sheyreza was lying face to face with it. The body’s skin had been burned away but the eyes remained, staring out at the world, dead and lidless. They were lavender. Though her mind was clouded with pain, fear and poison, Sheyreza recognized those lavender eyes. They were Hivarra’s. How long ago did Sheyreza last see Hivarra alive? Twelve hours ago? A day? A lifetime. Now it seemed as though Sheyreza would join her in death upon the temple mound. Sheyreza stared into Hivarra’s dead eyes and found company there. It was a small comfort to be sure, but staring into Hivarra’s eyes made Sheyreza feel less alone.

Death did not come for Sheyreza, however. She lay there for minutes staring into Hivarra’s lifeless eyes but the light did not fade from Sheyreza’s red and blue orbs. As the minutes passed Sheyreza realized the battle was still on. Tearing herself away from her resting place beside the dead, Sheyreza crawled down the slope amidst the bodies and gore to find her lost armor and equipment, dragging a trail of blood from her wounds behind her. At the base of the slope she found what she was looking for; her ruined sash. Above her, Gryndal and Inthara were still fighting the beast with their spells and bolts, alternating between attacks so as not to let the creature fall upon either one of them.

Sheyreza dug a bloody hand into her torn sash and pulled out a vial of healing potion. She drank it and then retrieved and drank another. Strengthened by the healing magics, she picked up her armor with one hand and her sword with the other and ran for the south slope of the ridge. There she pulled the remaining healing potions from her sash. One by one she drank every vial she had until even the great wound that ran from her thigh across her stomach was closed.

Gryndal ran down the south slope and kneeled next to her. His quivers were almost empty, sweat poured down his brow.

“I cannot harm it.” He said simply.

A nod was the only response Sheyreza had the strength or time to give. Hastily she pulled on her breast plate and secured it as well as she could with the torn spider-silk ties. Slipping her hand into her dented claw shield, she noticed the shield’s claws had actually been torn free of the bracer altogether. That creature was strong.

On the mound the bebilith had finally cornered Inthara near the steps of the temple. Once it had her within reach of its legs it made short work of the beautiful sorceress, knocking her down and clubbing her over the head. She fell, senseless, and rolled down the slope until, like Sheyreza, her fall was stopped by a dead body. The great arachnid did not bother to finish Inthara off, however. Instead, it turned its attention upon the glowing barrier and the temple doors. The huge, horrible beast reared back on its hind legs and let its forelegs crash into the door and barrier.

On the south side of the temple-mound, Sheyreza and Gryndal had climbed back to the top of the ridge and now trotted towards the abyssal spawn. A moan reached Sheyreza’s ears. Searching the wreckage of corpses infront of the temple, she found Inthara, horribly wounded, but alive. Sheyreza gave her the last of her healing spells and the sorceress rose.

The three surviving drow now turned to face their enemy. The bebilith was assaulting the temple, oblivious to any other threat. Sheyreza’s bloody, grimy hand returned to her ruined sash one last time and pulled out a potion Jain’n had given her years ago. A protective potion of great worth, it made the flesh as hard as stone. Sheyreza had saved this vial for a desperate day and never in her life had there been a more desperate day. She quaffed the potion and felt her skin tighten until it was like living rock. Snarling a curse upon the demon, she strode forward to enter battle one last time.

A blinding flash of light and a deafening crack of thunder stopped Sheyreza cold. When the drow could see again, the bebilith was laying still, reduced to a smouldering corpse like the bodies of the chosen strewn infront of the temple.

The barrier had been victorious, but the victory had been a costly one; the barrier was now so dim it was hard to see. Virtually all of its energy had been expended to kill the injured bebilith. Sheyreza knew it would not withstand any concerted attack now. There was nothing standing between the enemy and the temple; nothing except Sheyreza, Inthara and Gryndal.

It took a few moments for the reality of the situation to set in. Sheyreza had been fully prepared to die. Indeed, she had thought her death at the claws of the bebilith was an inevitable occurrence. That it did not come to pass was not an eventuality she was not prepared for. She staggered a bit and sat down. All around her lay the bodies of the Chosen. Some were burned by the mage’s fireball, other slain by spiders, and still more torn to pieces by the demon. None remained save for Sheyreza, Inthara and Gryndal.

Inthara was walking amidst the carnage, looking from body to body. “Are there any left alive?”

“ Qilue?” Gryndal yelled at the temple. “Iljrene?” No answer issued from the cracked stone.

Sheyreza took a deep breath and stood. “Gryndal, take a walk around the hillock. See if any live.”

The surviving scout nodded and began walking, checking the fallen for signs of life as he went.

“Collect potions and scrolls, if they have them.” Sheyreza called out. She looked to her own supplies. She did not have a single potion left or a single arrow. Her armor was torn and battered, her shield dented and damaged. All her spells had been expended and her body and mind were fatigued to the point of breaking. If they could find some potions, scrolls, or anything else among the dead, it might make the difference between life and death in the next fight.

Gryndal pointed out across the cavern. “Someone approaches.”

A female drow dressed in black armor and the regalia of a High Priestess of Selvetarm walked towards the temple mound. She was flanked on either side by sword wielding, black armored males. The priestess stepped down hard upon the throat of one of the Chosen who had fallen in battle with the bebilith. She grinned as the dying man emitted a wet bloody gargle. Looking up at the temple-mound, she addressed the three remaining defenders.

“I didnt think you would make me come here myself to rip down the bloody wall.” Her voice held more amusement than frustration.

Sheyreza kept her face impassive. “Speak quickly.” She adjusted her grip on her sword. She knew the high priestess was more than a match for all of them, but showing weakness would not help. Indeed, she had been taught long ago that when weak, one should project strength. “It was foolish of you to come.”

The high priestess smiled. “Its done. You’ve lost.”

Inthara tapped her magic rod in her hand defiantly. “We still stand.”

Sheyreza nodded. “Qilue lives.”

The high priestess snorted. “Not for long. I'll finish her myself.”

“I doubt it.” Sheyreza retorted. It was a lie of course. If Qilue was plane traveling and her body lay inside the temple helpless, then there was nothing the Chosen of Eilistraee could do to stop this bitch from killing her. Of course, the high priestess did not have to know that.

“Then where is she?” The high priestess asked in challenge, her eyes narrowing. “Cowering inside on a fools errand?”

Sheyreza stalled for time and played aloof. “Perhaps. It is not your business.”

“Oh but it is.” The high priestess’s voice dropped low. “Stand aside or you'll be shoved aside at sword point.”

Sheyreza knew she was almost out of time. She had kept the high priestess talking as long as she could, but now the bitch was making ultimatums. Sheyreza had almost nothing left to defend with; no spell, no potion, little strength and few defenders. She did have her wits however.

Stepping to the edge of the temple-mound, Sheyreza stood as erect as possible and glared down upon the high priestess and her body guards with all the arrogance and authority she had ever learned back in Ched Nasad.

“You do not have the power to command.” Sheyreza’s voice was imperious now. She immitated the voice, the tone and the manner of her Matron Mother, Shyntlara, a woman who’s every breath, word and act demanded obeyance. “Your god is a servant of the Mother. And you are subject to the commands of the priestesses of Lolth.”

The high priestess narrowed her eyes suspiciously and studied Sheyreza for a moment. “It is irrelevant.” She said finally, though the tenor of her voice made it clear that she was not entirely convinced it was entirely irrelevant.

Sheyreza capitalized on the hesitation. She reached up and undid the hastily tied knots that held her sundered breast plate. Dropping her armor, she revealed the intricate web and spider tattooing that crossed her body and limbs. She kicked her armor aside and stood a top the ride crest, feet spread wide, shoulders squared, head held high, like Matron Shyntlara standing before an assembly of the Qu’ellar. “As a Yathrin d'Lolth, a priestess of the Spider Queen, I command you to leave...servant.”

“Do you?” The high priestess laughed softly and motioned her guards forward. “Who said anything about Mother?”

Sheyreza changed from the language of the drow to the abyssal tongue of demons and growled out words so foul mortals should never have been taught their meaning. “Do not defy the Mother, fool. Your god is a mere servant of my goddess. Defy Lolth’s priestess at your soul’s peril.” Sheyreza brought her sword up, her weakened, poisoned muscles burning with the weight of the weapon. “Go any further, and you are in defiance of the Spider Queen herself.”

The males paused and looked back at their high priestess but she did not relent. Sheyreza knew now that the priestess probably did believe she was a Yathrin d’Lolth but the high priestess had come too far to give up. She was not going to let any stand in her way, not even a priestess of the Spider Queen. Sheyreza raised her blade with all the strength she could muster and fell upon the bodyguards as they came up the slope.

The fight was mercifully short. The bodyguards were fresh, well equipped and very experienced. In contrast, the temple defenders were fatigued and wounded. Even with the high ground, they did not last long. Gryndal fell first, then Sheyreza. Inthara, never a melee fighter, stayed until the bitter end but was quickly brought low. The bodyguards did not slay them outright however. From the bottom of the temple-mound the high priestess ordered her warriors to take at least the females alive so that they could be sacrificed to Selvetarm. When the fight was over and the temple defenders lay subdued at the feet of the Selvetarm warriors, the high priestess ascended the ridge and walked up to the temple steps.

Smiling, she turned to her body guards. “Hold their heads up so they can see their temple fall.” Her voice was a perfect mixture of malice and triumph. The black clad woman began to chant. Sheyreza felt a strong hand pull her hair and she was jerked up roughly. She could see the high priestess casting before the temple. Sheyreza tried to move but the warrior holding her head had his knee in her naked back and his knife at her throat. Sheyreza reached for her dagger, but could not get a grip on it. She did not even have the strength to kill herself. She was captured. It seemed that her premonitions about being sacrificed were going to come true.

The high priestess paused from her chanting and looked into Sheyreza’s eyes. “Watch and see everything you love fall. It was inevitable. Did she truly think she could challange a god?” Sheyreza supposed the high priestess meant Qilue challenging Selvetarm in some way, but she supposed she would never really know now.

Turning back to the doors, the high priestess resumed her chanting. At the zenith of her casting a loud crack sounded throughout the cavern and the doors of the temple swung open.

The high priestess laughed. “Now to seal them all off!” Sheyreza had suspected that Qilue and Iljrene had been plane traveling. It seemed the Selvetarm high priestess’s goal was to see the duo never came back.

Light poured from the temple’s interior as the heavy stone doors swung open. A voice came from within the light. “You are too late.” The voice was melodius and beautiful. It reminded Sheyreza of the clearest of notes played upon the best crafted harp imaginable by a player of unparalleled skill. It was as clean, crisp and refreshing as a running brook. “We have returned.” It announced.

The high priestess let out a string of curses in mixed drow and abyssal. She back stepped away from the doors, quickly signing to her bodyguards.

A being stepped forth from the temple, tall, radiant, with golden skin, silver hair and great feathered wings as white as snow. “And now it’s finished.” Sheyreza had never seen a solar before but she had heard and read enough about them to recognize one.

The high priestess snarled out another curse and battle was joined. This fight too, was mercifully short, but this time it was the high priestess and her bodyguards who fell. The solar stood over their corpses, bloody sword in hand and looked upon Sheyreza, Inthara and Gryndal. With but a touch it healed each of them in turn.

“They are waiting for you inside.” It said.

Sheyreza stared at the solar, her eyes a bit narrow, her head tilted to one side. She ran a gritty, bloody hand through her matted hair. “Are they?” Sheyreza decided they could wait. They had made her wait after all. It seemed only fair. No, that was not true. Fair was not a word to be used this day. Fair did not exist in the Promenade. It was not fair that more than a dozen of the Chosen like Hivarra had been incinerated by a fireball. It was not fair that a dozen more, like Akordia, had been eviscerated or torn asunder by a demonic spider almost as large as the temple they had defended. Sheyreza looked down upon the body of the Selvetarm high priestess. It was not even fair that this high priestess had her victory stolen from her.

Had she not waged a great battle? She had defeated all that the Promenade had without sacrificing a single drow of her own. Perhaps that was her undoing. Sheyreza knew that Lolth had watched the battle. Perhaps the Spider Queen was upset at the way this high priestess used the sacred spiders as fodder. Perhaps she was upset when the high priestess chose to defy Sheyreza’s bluff, knowing that had Sheyreza really been a priestess of Lolth, this woman would have defied the Dark Mother. Despite all her brilliance and power the high priestess had been betrayed by fortune at the moment of her greatest victory. Was that, then the fate in store for all who served a goddess or god such as she? Would that be Sheyreza’s fate someday?

Sheyreza studied the dead priestess’s face. She was beautiful, just as many drow women were. What had she overcome to be a high priestess? How many had she killed? How many times had she dodged death? What had she sacrificed to make it this far? And how unjust was it that, on the verge of destroying the Promenade and Qilue in their entirety, she had her victory stolen? Such was the irony worked into the web of fate Lolth spun for every drow. The Spider Queen was nothing if not fickle and capricious. Hope, victory, success; these were prizes to dangle before mortals to make their defeat all the more bitter.

It mattered not to Sheyreza that she was the beneficiary of Lolth’s ironic nature this day. Had the high priestess’s web of fate not been imbued with Lolth’s special touch, Sheyreza would likely find herself on an altar to Selvetarm soon, her heart being cut from her body.

This angered Sheyreza rather than comforted her. She made a decision. She would see that the high priestess and her guards were treated with all the respect and dignity they deserved. The gods might play with mortals capriciously but Sheyreza would not. This woman had accomplished much in her life, even if it was evil. She deserved some respect. Sheyreza would see she got it. The high priestess’s body would be washed, dressed and set upon a funeral pyre as was the custom for high priestesses in Ched Nasad. Her bodyguards would be treated similarly. In life they were enemies, but in death, they were kin. Their very mortality made all drow family and separated them from the goddesses and gods who used up mortal lives for their own struggles.

The solar looked upon Sheyreza and motioned to the temple. “Shall we?”

Inside the temple was in ruins. The four people who stood upon the dais looked as though they had been through battle just as Sheyreza, Inthara and Gryndal had. Sheyreza recognized Qilue, Iljrene, and Ithlyn, the half-drow leader of the Promenade’s scouts, immediately. The fourth person was a surface elf male. His face was familiar though Sheyreza was having a hard time placing him.

“The enemy outside appear to be defeated.” Sheyreza offered wearily. “But, there are none left save for those you see here, and a few wounded at the Hall of Healing.”

The surface elf male casually tossed a ring in the air. “I do hope it was worth it.”

The voice jarred Sheyreza’s memory; it was Aravilar Amalith, the wizard who had been sent to Lonelywood to atone for his crimes under Jain’n’s supervision. “I recognize you Necromancer.”

Aravilar snorted like a petulant child. “I recognize you, priestess of Lolth.”

“Priestess of Lolth?” Sheyreza asked, stepping forward. “When last we met, you were the one doing penance for transgressing against the gods of the Elves. Or have you forgotten your time in the North so easily?”

“No, I’ll never forget.” The elf shrugged. “If you’re going by former titles so am I.”

Former titles? Had he heard Sheyreza’s bluff out on the steps? “Oh? You were able to listen to what occurred outside but unable to help? I find it odd you could hear my conversation with the high priestess but were unable to do anything about it.” Sheyreza looked the elf up and down, contemptuously. “But then, trading words with you is not why I am here.”

Aravilar sighed and looked to the Qilue. “I dont need this. Qilue, the payment is done. I'm going home to my son. Give my regards to Storm.” The elf turned to look directly at Shey and held up a diamond ring. Sheyreza recognized it instantly. It was the ring the silver dragon Jhessra had given to Sheyreza long ago. The ring was incredibly valuable and conferred upon its wearer immunity to death magic, negative energy and disease. When the Promenade had first come under attack from the Xanathar and the Slimelord, Sheyreza had given the ring to Qilue voluntarily. She knew the ring would fetch a price so large that the Chosen would be able to afford all the defenses Qilue kept saying they could not pay to erect. To Sheyreza, the sacrifice of one person’s security for the safety of the community seemed a fair trade, but no defenses had ever been erected despite her sacrifice of the ring.

“One soul for another.” Aravilar said.

Sheyreza did not understand what the elf’s words meant, but she understood why he was showing her the ring. It was his now, apparently part of his ‘payment.’ Until now, for all Sheyreza knew, Qilue had done nothing with the ring. Now it was in the hands of Aravilar Amalith, a surface elf sorcerer who had once sold humans to a lich. Sheyreza was disgusted.

The mage did not wait for Sheyreza to express or act upon her disgust. He quickly intoned the words to a spell of teleportation and vanished from sight. A neat trick, Sheyreza thought, given that the underdark’s faerzess zones and earth nodes usually prevented teleportation.

“That was Aravilar.” Inthara said to Gryndal.

“And who is he?” Asked the scout.

“A powerful mage.”

Sheyreza ignored Inthara and Gryndal and walked up to the dais. “Yathtallar, I am afraid I do not understand what is going on here.”

“Neither do I.” Agreed Gryndal.

“What is he doing with the ring?” Sheyreza asked with a cracked voice born of a throat that had seen too much yelling and too much smoke in the last day. She turned and looked upon the ruined temple and the smouldering bodies which lay outside the doors. “And what is this all about?” She turned back to Qilue. “If I may ask.” Her tone left no doubt she felt entitled to ask. It was not a question, but a challenge.

“I gave it to him,” Qilue explained, “for the vaults back in his home. I can hardly think og a safer place.”

“And where is his home?” Anger was creeping into Sheyreza’s cracked voice now.

“The Isle. Evermeet. Whatever you prefer. It was payment of a sort. The aftermath of our journey.”

“I see.” Though it was clear from Sheyreza’s body language she did not see. “And, all of this? Where did you go, if I may ask?”

Qilue’s voice was as tired as Sheyreza’s was angry. “The abyss and back, to retrieve a friend.” The high priestess held up a small gem. “The attacks were a side effect of the gates.”

The three surviving defenders of the temple could not conceal their shock at the callousness of Qilue’s statement.

“A side effect?” Sheyreza asked incredulously. “Your people are dead high priestess!”

Inthara scowled. “That side effect nearly destroyed the temple.”

Qilue sighed heavily. “I know. Don’t you think we know?”

Sheyreza leaned back on her heels, her voice dropping to the ice cold tenor she had not used since interrogating heretics as a priestess of Lolth. “I do not know what you know. I do not know what to make of any of this.”

The high priestess offered a faint smile. “Yet we were successful, even if the cost was great, perhaps too great.”

Sheyreza’s voice remained cold. “And what were you successful in doing?”

Qilue looked puzzled at her question. “Why, we saved Tel, and a number of others whose souls were trapped in the pits. All we could.”

Gryndal was nodding but Sheyreza was not so easily mollified. “Enough souls to trade for all the Chosen?” She wiped blood from her face.

“Perhaps it was a foolish quest.” Qilue offered. “Yet we undertook it, and it is done.”

Sheyreza looked around. “And where is Tel?”

“She is here.” Qilue held up the gem again.

Sheyreza gazed upon the jewel with undisguised contempt. “So was it worth it? The Chosen are destroyed.”

“You are not.” Qilue’s soft eyes looked upon Sheyreza’s bloody, naked form. “You are my sister.”

The naked priestess shook her head and looked away. “I am one of the few you have left then. I would question your fitness to rule these people but they are all dead so it does not really matter now.” Sheyreza looked back into Qilue’s eyes. “I cannot believe you once cautioned me about risking war in my quest to save Tel. What war could I have started that would have killed more of the Chosen than this?”

“It seems our roles have been reversed. It is done and we did what you wanted for so long, at a cost we could not have known.”

Sheyreza’s face contorted with anger. “Don't you DARE blame this on me. At least have the courage to take responsibility for your actions. You decided to go to the abyss without telling us. You put the chosen in this position. You left us outside to fight the bebilith and the agents of the enemy. You...you were the leader. What befalls the people is the leader's responsibility.”

Qilue shook her head. “I'm not blaiming anyone, merely making a observation. Do you truly think we left them, and you, knowing exactly what would come? We had hoped to avoid a major battle, obviously there was miscalculation.”

Inthara looked out towards the cavern. “The Promenade is now severely weakened. Almost all of its defenders are dead.” Her voice was low, sad.

“Then it is time to rebuild.” Qilue stated.

“Is it?” Sheyreza asked, the venom in her voice giving way to fatique and resignation.

As Sheyreza’s voice tired, Qilue’s strengthened. “What else can we do? Give up? No.”

“Most of the people I have met in the last year and a half are dead.” Sheyreza replied.

“Yes I know. Do you think that means nothing to me?” Qilue sighed and looked down, the strength falling from her voice with grief.

“I do not know,” Sheyreza looked upon the high priestess, her eyes searching, “and that makes me sad.”

Tears welled up in Qilue’s eyes and she wiped at them. “Then what do you think it does to me?”

Sheyreza ignored the high priestess’s tears. Her sympathy for Qilue had died with the Chosen. Her voice went cold again, dutiful. “All the non-combatants were moved to the Hall of Healing. What defenders remain aside from us are there guarding them, though we have not checked upon them to see if they are still alive. There are no guards outside, none left to patrol. And we are expended. I've no spells left, no potions, no arrows and little strength.” Sheyreza did not tell Qilue about the bebilith’s poison that was flowing through her veins. She wanted no help or aid from the high priestess now; the rest of the Chosen had not received it, so Sheyreza would not take it.

Qilue listened to Sheyreza’s report and nodded her head. She dried her tears and held her head up high. “Regardless, there is something I must ask of you.”

“Something you must ask?” Sheyreza looked at Qilue. The high priestess was beautiful, amazingly so, but at this moment, Sheyreza hated her more than she hated the dead priestess of Selvetarm outside. If she could have, she would have killed Qilue right then for daring to ask more. Had not enough been given? Sheyreza did not attack Qilue, naturally, she simply regarded her for a long moment. “Of course. You are the High Priestess. Ask.”

Qilue held up the jewel. “Take this gem and this hand to the Sisters-Three. They will do the rest.”

Sheyreza gazed upon Qilue in disbelief. All this and Qilue was not going to bring Tel back herself? What a travesty this was. Did she not have the power? Sheyreza knew Qilue had brought back Sadei and had helped Sheyreza bring back Inthara. Why now did she need help from those three sister-witches to bring back Tel? Had the abyss drained Qilue that much? Or was this not really even Qilue? Had the high priestess been replaced by a doppelganger? Possessed?

No, she doubted it. The high priestess could not have passed into and through the abyss in the company of Iljrene, Ithlyn and Aravilar if she had been replaced.

Sheyreza walked up and took the gem and the decayed hand silently. Without another word she turned and walked out of the temple. She gazed upon the smoking ruin that was the Promenade of Eilistraee. Everywhere the eye could see laid the bodies of those that had fallen in defense of the temple and the enclave, scattered among the wrecked corpses of uncounted numbers of spiders. By Sheyreza’s best guess, and least four dozen Protectors and Acolytes had died in the battle. Three quarters of the Promenade’s adult population was slain. Of its defenders, only a handful at the Hall of Healing remained, along with the three who survived the siege of the temple.

The statue of Eilistraee gleamed before Sheyreza and the priestess stared out upon the stone representation of her goddess. Is this what it means to follow you, Lady? Is this how your faithful are rewarded? Is Qilue truly your Chosen one? Sheyreza shook her head and silently walked away.

[Vendrin]

Nice writing.

Sad to see the Chosen behave like that.

[PensivesWetness]

Nice writing.

Sad to see the Chosen behave like that.

Floored. pasted. exhausted just READING that, love....

wow.

[Sandermann]

Very nice writing Mik

[Burt]

Wow, very enjoyable read.

[Mord]

The voice jarred Sheyreza’s memory; it was Aravilar Amalith, the wizard who had been sent to Lonelywood to atone for his crimes under Jain’n’s supervision. “I recognize you Necromancer.”

Funny story that. If it hadnt been for my elven ranger shooting an arrow through that lich's head in the shander keep, who knows what might have happened to that crazy wizard.

[Ogregrim]

Alas, dear lady, with faith so shaken,
To call the Maiden, and feel forsaken,
So many young lives to pay the price,
And what was gained by their sacrifice?
But strong of heart, and clear of mind,
That which you seek, I pray you find.
For comfort is found in the cruelest hour,
In the thought of the smile of The Maiden's Dark Flower.