Lord of the ALFA, Book I, The Fellowship of the Forum

[Mikayla]

Table of Contents
[Author's note, these chapters are copied from the site Zicada is hosting. Unfortunately, in the translation between the original posting and the site Zic is hosting, a number of formating errors occured - I have not had time to correct these, so chapters 1 through 9 still contain these errors until further notice]

Chapter 1: An ALFA Fairy Tale.
Chapter 2: Fionn Bartadil.
Chapter 3: Big Trouble in Little Waterdeep.
Chapter 4: The White Lady
Chapter 5: Its the Cheese!
Chapter 5.5: The Shameless Time-Stalling, Tension Building Interlude.
Chapter 6: The Sands of Anauroch. In Character.
Chapter 7: The Tower on the Edge of Darkness. In Character.
Chapter 7i: Interlude – the Good, the Bad and the Rezzed.
Chapter 8: The Turning. In Character.
Chapter 9: The Stand. In Character.
Chapter 10: The Seed of Evil. In Character.
Chapter 11: The Aftermath. In Character.

[Mikayla]

Lord of the ALFA: The Fellowship of the Forum
(previously entitled "An ALFA fairy tale" until the studio recognized some obvious marketing strategies...)

Chapter 1

Once upon a time, somewhere along the Sword Coast near the city of Baldur's Gate.

Sir Kalbar, a paladin of some renown, sat upon his warhorse on a Sword Coast beach. As the light faded he looked up from the book he was reading and watched the sun dip low in the west over the ocean. Above the deepening blue of the sea the sky was afire in reds, oranges and yellows as the sun set on another day in Faerun.

“Sir,” came a voice from behind Kalbar. The paladin turned to see Sergeant Pelham waiting patiently. Pelham was Kalbar's man-at-arms and a professional soldier, Kalbar occasionally thought Pelham, a practical and brave warrior, would make a good knight if he could just get his thick soldier's head wrapped around some of the higher concepts paladins such as Kalbar needed to grasp.

“Yes sergeant?” Sir Kalbar replied, his shiny armor gleaming in the fading rays of the sun.

“The other members of the….'party'…have arrived sir.” Sergeant Pelham reported. “All but one anyway. So far there is no sign of Gromnir.” Pelham gestured towards a small knot of people waiting by the road just up from the beach where Kalbar now sat upon his horse watching the sunset.

“Very well.” Kalbar said. He nudged the huge charger forward and approached the small gathering.

Pelham watched him go noting the shininess of Kalbar's armor as opposed to Pelham's own, mud and blood encrusted plate. The sergeant had great respect for those of higher rank such as Sir Kalbar, but really wished they would spend less time reading and watching sunsets and more time actually swinging a sword. Such was the plight of the common soldier.

As Sir Kalbar approached the small group he looked them over one by one. There was Ava the sorceress, her pale skin offset by the black of her gown. Beside her was M'kayla, a drow Matron Mother and a high priestess of Lolth. She too was wearing a silk gown and she and Ava seemed to be competing to see who could reveal the most cleavage. Talking to them was an aged human male known as the White Warlock, or just Whitey to those who did not fear his wrath. He wore robes and leaned on a gnarled staff looking every inch the stereotypical wizard-sage though his leather-skinned, bearded face looked more dwarven than human. The last member of the group was a wood-elf male called J'kin, or sometimes just mother, with fierce tattoos adorning his merciless face and muscled arms. Just as Kalbar approached J'kin had been sneaking up behind M'kayla with dagger in hand. The wood-elf heard the approaching warhorse and realized he had missed his opportunity. Reluctantly he sheathed his dagger.

Sir Kalbar could hear the quartet talking. There seemed to be something of an argument going on.

White Warlock spoke. “What is wrong with all of you mindless idiots is that we have no party cohesion. If we are going to go into battle, for whatever cause, we must act as a team. Fighters in the front, backed up by spell casters and healers. Our rogues and rangers should be scouting and flanking. Solid tactics and solid teamwork will result in better chances of victory. And you are all morons.”

Pelham nodded in agreement. He recognized the soundness of Whitey's ideas and, as a soldier, was able to dismiss the gratuitous insults.

“I like totally agree Warlock.” M'kayla said. “But, like, there's no need to dis' us.” She said, putting her hand on an outthrust hip. Unlike Pelham, M'kayla came equipped with a +5 super-sensitive ego.

“That's IT!” The warlock shouted. “I QUIT!” With that, the Warlock stomped off down the trail.

The trio watched the Warlock go with puzzled looks then turned to Sir Kalbar.

“Welcome,” Sir Kalbar said. “I am Sir Kalbar, Knight of the Silvermarches and Paladin of Goodness, Light, and Justice not to mention the handsomest man on the Swordcoast and the only person of any real importance or common sense in all of Faerun.”

Ava the sorceress smiled while M'kayla just rolled her eyes. J'kin gripped his dagger again and decided that Kalbar's head should be taken even sooner than M'kayla's.

“I have summoned you here this evening to hear what I have to say. Naturally, sense its me saying it, you will want to hear it.” Sir Kalbar smiled.

“Oh joy…” muttered M'kayla.

J'kin smiled and addressed Sir Kalbar. “Weren't you that Squire who used to model swimwear for 'gentlemen' in Waterdeep's more, um, 'male-friendly' districts?”

Sir Kalbar ignore J'kin and spoke again. “I offer you the words of the illustrious religious, economic and political scholar, Sir Headuphisass of Silverymoon, Sage and Priest of the Tyrran Academy, a close confidant of Alustriel, advisor to certain right-thinking Lords of Waterdeep, a friend to Goodness and one-time Nixon appointee.” Kalbar opened the book he was holding, and in the fading light of the sun set, began to read. “In the name of Goodness, Justice, Light and Mercy, we must go forward from our homes, sword in hand, and kill everything that does not agree with us taking from those we kill anything which we find useful. Do unto others before they do unto us.” Sir Kalbar snapped the book closed and smiled smugly in his righteousness.

Ava looked up, her eyes large with wonder. “You are so right Sir Kalbar, I totally agree with you.”

M'kayla, however, had her reservations. While killing everyone who did not agree with her sounded fine, doing it in the name of Goodness, Justice, Light and Mercy sounded…well…wrong.

“Wait a moment here.” M'kayla said waving one ebon-skinned finger around. She brushed back her long snowy hair and furrowed her brow. “How can you, like, claim to represent Goodness, Justice and all that when you advocate killing everybody?”

Kalbar smiled. “Not everybody, just those who do not agree with us. The forces of Good must be strong, resolute and deadly. Otherwise, the cancer of appeasement will kill the body of justice.”

“Ooh, you are soo right Sir Kalbar.” Ava offered.

Sergeant Pelham frowned. What is 'cancer'? He wondered.

“Well,” M'kayla replied, “I think that is, like, going to be a lot of people. I mean, who agrees with Sir Headuphisass? That guy is, like, a prejudiced, discriminating jerk.”

“No he is not.” Answered Sir Kalbar, still smiling, his pearly whites outshining even the stars in the night sky. “Sir Headuphisass is an unimpeachable bastion of correct political, religious and economic thinking. I could argue with you and prove it, but I am too lazy to actually do that. Instead, I will satisfy myself, the only person of any real importance around here, by simply pointing out you are a freak and you are stupid.” Kalbar sat back in his saddle, smiling proudly.

M'kayla frowned. “Now I remember where I heard this jerk's name before. Sir Headuphisass is the Tyrran priest who opposes marriage for drow! Yeah, like that guy has anything to say worth listening too. Whatever. Anyone opposed to drow marriage is clearly NOT a force for Goodness and Light and Justice and whatever because he is a drow-phobic prick.”

Sir Kalbar frowned. “In my opinion, again, the only one worth regarding around here, drow marriage is wrong. You drow are evil. Marriage is for good people. Like me.”

Ava nearly swooned.

M'kayla balled her fists up in rage. “Then you are a drow-phobic prick too! What did we ever do to you?”

Sergeant Pelham raised his eyebrows and muttered. “Well, you drow have been raiding, raping, pillaging and murdering all across the surface world for almost 10,000 years.”

From out of nowhere came corporal Danubus, one of Sergeant Pelham's soldiers. “Its right here in the Monster Manual, the PHB and all the other good books - you drow are evil. Especially you priestesses of Lolth. No offense, but you will be damned to the pits of the Demonweb…uh…pits.”

Without warning M'kayla cast a 'Slay Living' and burned Corporal Danubus to the ground with unholy, abyssal fire. “I am not evil you insignificant book-thumping wretch. I am just 'mizzunderstood.'” She said to Corporal Dan's fried ashes. “No one invited you anyway.”

Ava rolled her eyes. “Give it a rest M'kayla. You drow have had this persecution complex forever. Its like, sooooo tired. Get over it.”

“Persecution complex?” M'kayla responded. “We were driven underground! We have been the subject of non-stop genocidal warfare on the part surface elves for 10,000 years!”

Behind M'kayla, J'kin suddenly got red faced. “Well…you deserved it.”

“Bite me!” M'kayla replied.

“Love to!” J'kin growled, his hand reaching for his dagger.

Ava interrupted. “Give it a rest M'kayla. Stop waving your little 'drow-flags' and black skin around and just get on with life alright? Besides,” Ava said, now looking dreamily upon the paladin, “Sir Kalbar is always right.”

M'kayla looked puzzled. She rubbed at her indigo-black skin. Was this sorceress crazy? How could a drow be anything but a drow? M'kayla frowned and turned back to Kalbar.

Sir Kalbar regarded the trio haughtily, ignoring Ava's flattery. “In my glorious and wonderful opinion, this drow marriage thing is really unimportant. I am dealing with the greater political reality of the heartlan…”

M'kayla cut him off. “Don't switch subjects you tweaker. I will not rest until I have equal rights! We drow get to marry! And no more KOS scripts!”

Sir Kalbar looked perturbed but Pelham spoke first. "I think you are hi-jacking his thread."

M'kayla just looked sideways at Pelham like Johnny Depp looking at Orlando bloom across a flintlock. "Drow," was all she said.

J'kin looked sideways at M'kayla. “If I am not mistaken,” J'kin said, “and I am not mistaken, the Way of Lolth, which I shall quote in great detail later if needed, does not even permit marriage. In other words, drow do not marry at all. By the way, have I pimped Elder in the last five minutes?”

M'kayla started jumping around pointing. “SEE?!? SEE?!? Discrimination, pure and simple!”

The rest of the assembled people just shook their heads at M'kayla.

J'kin started quoting chapter and verse of the Way of Lolth. Everything sounded accurate as J'kin quoted the sacred text except some part about J'kin doing the Spider Queen up the butt.

M'kayla looked around, stopped jumping and pointing, and just shrugged. “Well, I had to try.”

At that moment, the White Warlock reappeared.

“I have said this before,” the Warlock shouted. “You idiots all need to work together. If you do, your party will be more successful.”

Private Krbang, who suddenly appeared after Corporal Danubus was slain, spoke up. “Pfft. Shut up old man.”

“Well, I suppose you need an INT score above 7 to understand me.” The Warlock pointed his staff at Krbang and flames fired out burning the private to ash. “That's IT!” The Warlock yelled. “I QUIT!” With that, the warlock stomped off down the trail. Again.

“Huh.” Said the remaining party members all at once.

“Anyway, back to me and my glorious ideas.” Sir Kalbar said.

“Shuh, whatever you tweaker, back to me and my eternal persecution complex, err…victimization at the hands of you discriminating surface types,” said M'kayla.

From the pile of cinders that was Corporal Dan came a faint voice. “But you are evil.”

M'kayla quickly summoned a fiend from Hell and sent it off to go find and torture the soul of Danubus for all eternity. “I'll teach that punk to call me evil.” She said.

“We thinks you are all in need of therapy,” came a voice out of the darkness. The group turned in the direction of the voice and it spoke again. “We thinks you are all a little wrong in the head.”

“Gromnir!” Shouted Pelham happily.

“We is Grom, we is.” Replied the voice.

“Will you join us? We are setting out under the great knight Sir Kalbar, to slaughter and kill everything in the name of Goodness.” Pelham asked.

“Yes, join us.” Ava added. “Sir Kalbar is just dreamy..I mean…he is always right.”

M'kayla and J'kin looked at each other for a moment, and then both slapped Ava from either direction.

“We will not join you” the voice out of darkness said. “We are going to back to play KOTR, a stupid game but one we inexplicably cannot stop playing. Ha! Good fun.” With that the voice was gone.

“Well, we have lost both Gromnir and White Warlock, now what will we do?” Asked Sergeant Pelham, always the practical one.

“It does not matter,” answered Sir Kalbar, “so long as we have me.” He smiled.

Another voice came out of the darkness. This one had a British accent.

“Well, the reason you lost Gromnir and White Warlock, and the reason you will lose all your battles, and the reason Sir Headuphisass is wrong, is….” Whereupon the voice proceeded to accurately, deftly and occasionally humorously tear holes in all that the party had done and said so far.

Ava looked bright eyed. “Its Cassiel! Cassiel is so dreamy..I mean…he is always right.”

Sir Kalbar finally took notice of something Ava said and frowned as M'kayla and J'kin slapped Ava again.

Cassiel rambled on, happily pointing out all the party's errors and flaws.

In unison, as if channeling the White Warlock's advice, Sir Kal, Sergeant Pelham, Matron M'kayla, Ava and the J'kin fired their bows and spells at Cassiel sending the limey back to the Outerplane of Britain where he belonged.

The group smiled but their joy was shortlived. A hand from the sky reached down and turned each one of them upside down emptying out their packs and pockets.

"Any illegal items in there?" Asked the deafening voice of DM Andrew.

"No" replied M'kayla. "Who do you think is down here? Lafter?"

"Thats not funny" came the voice of White Warlock from the trees. "I QUIT!" And with that the White Warlock stomped off down the trail...again. This time though he nearly tripped over the short figure of Hignar Iron-something-or-other who was desperately trying to deposit his illegal items in a persistant chest before DM Andrew got to him.

“Right,” Sir Kalbar said, “off we go.” And with that, the party set forth to have many adventures. Sir Kalbar would be forever right, while Ava would be forever entranced by the handsome and charismatic paladin. Alas, he was too self-involved to care. M'kayla and J'kin tried to kill each other repeatedly until one day…they started a family together. The tainted love was hotter than the flames coming out of White Warlock's staff, but then the fighting really began. Still, the only thing that could stop their tainted love was Kalbar who occasionally tugged on M'kayla's hair to get her attention.

The White Warlock returned of course, bearing more great, sage like wisdom befitting one of his intelligence. Of course, he quit again, but all knew the lovable wizard would return. And quit. And so on. From time to time the voice of Grom was heard. No one ever SAW Grom of course, they just heard a disembodied voice which spoke about itself in the third person. Meanwhile, Sergeant Pelham was left to actually do all the fighting, which was his lot in life anyway so he had no complaints. And they all lived happily ever after…sort of.

[Mikayla]

Chapter 2, Fionn Bartadil

[Author's note: As this has gone from being a one-off fairy tale to a longer story, comparisons of this piece to the first installment would be unfair. Please bear with me as I attempt to cobble together some sort of plot. Otherwise, I will burn your sorry, ungrateful, story critiqueing a**es in a later installment or...ignore you. ]

Sir Kalbar the Paladin surveyed his small entourage as they walked east, leaving the sandy, scrub brush-covered dunes of the Sword Coast behind them. Now they were entering the green, often-foggy forests sitting just inland from the coast itself. Sergeant Pelham, Sir Kalbar's doughty if dull man-at-arms, walked just ahead of the Paladin. Somewhere ahead of the sergeant the wood-elf ranger J'kin was scouting a path through the trees. Sir Kalbar was glad the wood-elf had taken up the job of scouting. The silent tension growing between J'kin and M'kayla, the drowess, had been…deafening. If they were not kept separated, one would surely kill the other. That of course, would mean less people to pay attention to Sir Kalbar.

An abhorrent, foul thought suddenly occurred to Sir Kalbar. I am thinking of other people. WHY am I thinking of other people? Why are not other people paying attention to ME?

Sir Kalbar looked behind himself in a panic. There, floating behind the Paladin was the drow high-priestess M'kayla. She sat upon a strange device she called a 'drift-disc.' In essence, it was a large metal plate, approximately three feet in diameter, which floated above the ground and moved as M'kayla directed it to. She had covered it in throw pillows and a quilt and now she sat atop it cross-legged with her fuzzy-spider reading a book.

Outrageous, Kalbar thought, she is not even looking at me. Sir Kalbar reigned in his horse and waited for the drift-disc to catch up. M'kayla paid the Paladin no attention. She was busily scribbling something in her book. The fuzzy spider however, saw Kalbar beside the Matron's disc and hissed softly at the Paladin.

Frustrated, Kalbar reached out and grabbed some of M'kayla's hair and tugged on it.

“Ouch!” The Matron yelped. “What did you do that for?”

“I wanted to read to you something else Sir Headuphisass had to say.” Sir Kalbar explained. This was not true of course, Kalbar simply wanted her attention.

“Stuff it.” M'kayla replied flatly. “I'm writing.”

Kalbar looked puzzled. “What do you mean you are 'writing'?”

“I mean, I am writing. You know, I pick up a pen, dip it in ink, put words on a page. You know…writing.” She looked at the Paladin somewhat bewildered at his lack of understanding.

Kalbar leaned back in his saddle and regarded the drow princess suspiciously. “Why would you do that? Everything worth being written has already been written by someone else, usually Sir Headuphisass. I should know, I quote him regularly. He is, after all, the one and only bastion of correct political, econom…”

M'kayla cut the Paladin off. “Stop, don't even go there. Listen, I am writing a journal of our adventurers, alright?”

Kalbar leaned forward, a little less suspicious. “It is about me?”

M'kayla thought about telling him the truth but knew that would only lead to more talking, so she lied. “Yes, its about you.”

Sir Kalbar smiled. So, she WAS thinking about me.

M'kayla went back to her writing and starting humming Carly Simon's “You're so vain.”

As Kalbar searched for any other members of the party who might not be thinking of him, J'kin came goosestepping out of the woods. The bald, goatee wearing, tattoo adorned wood-elf gestured to the trees and quickly spoke with Sergeant Pelham. Sir Kalbar, M'kayla and the rest of the party joined the two men.

“Some one is coming uphead.” J'kin said. “A gnome I think. And he is…well…he is typing.”

“Typing?” Asked Sir Kalbar.

M'kayla rolled her eyes. “Its another form of 'writing.'”

“Ah. Very well then.” Sir Kalbar said. So long as the gnome is typing about me that is.

Just then a small, grey skinned figure emerged from the dark, misty woods. The figure waved to the party and skipped in their direction. He came on leaping and jumping, almost merrily. M'kayla could see the newcomer was a gnome, a deep gnome in fact, and perhaps just a bit overweight. Her blood began to boil. There were few things above or below the face of Toril that M'kayla hated as much as deep gnomes. Usually, she liked to collect their scalps. The one now approaching had a fine scalp; a full head of hair, long and wavy, bouncing with well-conditioned body as he skipped towards them.

J'kin had been correct - as the overfed, long-haired leaping gnome approached, M'kayla and the others could see that he was continuously typing with one hand on the keyboard of a laptop abacus.

“Welcome to land of silken bunnies!” The Gnome exclaimed.

“Thank you sir gnome. I am Sir Kalbar, Champion of all that is Right, Lawful, Good, Merciful, Just and Correct.” The Paladin said.

“Really?” Asked the gnome. “I thought you were that gay swimsuit model.” The gnome shrugged. “No matter, I am Fionn. Fionn Bartadil.”

“Who is Fionn Bartadil?” M'kayla asked.

“I am. (+1)” Said the gnome, smiling.

M'kayla frowned. “Like, I got that part you runt. I was looking for a little more detail, thanks.”

“Ah! (+1)” Exclaimed the gnome. “One moment.” The gnome finished typing on his laptop.

“What are you doing?” Asked Sir Kalbar.

“Spamming! (+1)” Explained the gnome. “Its what I do. I am the Spam-master, the master of spam. Though, truth be told, I would rather be called the 'Dragonmaster' - it has a much better ring to it. Anyway, I spam.” Sure enough, the Gnome began typing again. “Indeed, I express myself in no other way. Everything I have said to you I have said through spam. Do you see my lips moving?”

M'kayla blinked in surprise. Indeed, the gnome was not actually talking to them, he was merely spamming.

“This is no ordinary gnome.” Ava said. “Fionn Bartadil is a Spam-spirit. In the forums, he is the first, and he is the last. He is the oldest posting creature in all the forums. No one has posted as much as he. Not even close.”

M'kayla looked over at Ava expectantly. Ava returned the Matron's gaze. “No, I do not find him dreamy.” Ava said. M'kayla recoiled a bit on her drift-disc. Ava looked back on Fionn and smiled. “Though his hair is dreamy…err…I mean always right.”

Sir Kalbar grew bored. This gnome was hogging all the attention, a sin the Paladin would not tolerate. “You there, overfed, long-haired leaping gnome. Tell us why you are here or prepare to be killed in the name of Justice and Mercy.”

“Ok! (+1)” Fionn spammed in reply. “Do you all not know why you have been brought together?”

Sir Kalbar smiled. “Of course we do. We are setting out in the name of Goodness, Justice, Light, Right and Mercy, as defined by the eminent scholar Sir Headuphisass, to slay all those who are,” the Paladin paused, leaning forward to look down on the gnome threateningly, “different.” The Paladin gave the gnome his best toothy-Osmond-worthy grin.

“No! (+1)” Spammed the gnome. “You have all been brought together because you are the Chosen of the Forums.”

“Huh?” the group replied in unison.

“Yes! (+1)” Spammed Fionn. “Each of you is a special champion of the Forum. You have been chosen. In other words, you are the Chosen of the Forums. Like the Chosen of Mystra, but, you know, less famous.”

“Do we get Dental with that?” Asked the always practical Sergeant Pelham.

“No! (+1)” Answered the gnome. “But, you do get FORUM-FIRE!!”

“Huh?” the group replied in unison.

“Forum fire,” explained the gnome, “is the power to spontaneously generate flames that devastate your opponents. Forum-fire. You are the wielders of this awesome and usually annoying power. Others aspire to wield it, and occasionally they do generate a small flame, but you, you are the true masters of forum-fire.”

This part caught M'kayla's attention. “Really? So, like, how powerful is this forum-fire?”

The gnome smiled and spammed. “Very powerful Dark Matron of ALFA, very powerful indeed. Truth is, no one really knows how powerful. For example, you M'kayla, have unwittingly used your forum-fire to vanquish many foes. Devin, Moosh, and Valamyr to name but a few.”

J'kin looked at the gnome and then M'kayla. “What did he just call you? Did he just call you Dark Matron of ALFA?”

M'kayla nodded to J'kin. “Yeah, I think he did. Cool beans.” M'kayla quickly scribbled the appellation in her journal.

“Hey!” Shouted Ava. “I am the original Dark Matron of ALFA.” Several of the group nodded their heads in agreement.

M'kayla looked sideways at Ava like Johnny Depp looking at Orlando Bloom across a flintlock. “Toril” was all she said.

Ava shrugged. “Fair enough.”

M'kayla looked around for something to test out her forum-fire on. Nearby, DM Andrew was lecturing a group of other DMs as he often did. M'kayla smiled and floated her drift-disc toward the half-man, half-machine, cybernetic monstrosity that was DM Andrew.

“And Hignar told me of a Lich, and that makes three I have heard about so far.” Andrew said to the assembled DMs. "Obviously, thats too many for ALFA-Toril."

“You talking about my Lich?” M'kayla asked. “You second guessing my plots? You cheap-shotting me in front of the other DMs?”

Andrew looked over at M'kayla, his brow furrowed just a bit. “Um, no, I was jus..”

M'kayla did not let him respond. She thrust her hands out and let loose with a blast of forum-fire engulfing the hapless cyborg. “Eat that you RP-Nazi!”

J'kin looked up. “Nazi?” Then he realized she meant an RP Nazi, not an Elf-supremacist like him.

DM Andrew screamed. M'kayla turned up the heat on the forum-fire and the flames grew brighter. “Boo-yah biatch, how do you like that? Now cry Matron you freak!”

The other DMs watched in horror as all that was flesh of DM Andrew was burned away leaving a terminator-like-chassis-thingy.

“Matron!” Andrew exclaimed. M'kayla smiled and stopped the forum-fire.

“Ow…” Andrew cried. “I…I …was not talking about you at all.” He said.

M'kayla shrugged. “Oh,” she replied, “my bad.” M'kayla floated back to the party. “This forum-fire rocks.”

Ava was a bit more suspicious. “What are we supposed to do with this 'gift' gnome?”

“Ah,” spammed Fionn, “a good question. One I cannot directly answer, despite that I am the ALFA and Omega of the Forums. You must seek out the good queen of Silverymoon, the most powerful force for justice in all these lands, the one person whom evil cannot touch, whom greed cannot entice, whom lethargy cannot slow.”

“You mean Alustriel?” Sir Kalbar said hopefully.

“No! (+1)” The gnome spammed. “I mean the White Lady of the Ivory Tower……Wynna.”

As the others nodded M'kayla cringed. There was no greater threat to the drow priestess-princess in all of ALFA-Toril than a Paladin of Grammar, armed with a +5 Holy Sword of Editing and Armored in +5 Fullplate of ALFA's Respect. Lady Wynna, was, of course, just such a person. Suddenly M'kayla's jubilation at the discovery of her forum-fire ability was replaced with dread at the thought of meeting the White Lady in her Ivory Tower. As the icy hand of fear took hold of M'kayla's black heart, the party, along with the overfed, long-haired leaping gnome Fionn, headed north towards the metropolis of Waterdeep on their way to Rivendel….err….Silverymoon.

[Mikayla]

Chapter 3 - Big Trouble in Little Waterdeep.

And so it came to be that the Fellowship of the Forum learned what they all had in common from Fionn Bartadil, the spam-master. Following Fionn's suggestion, the small group of forum-fire wielders turned north and headed up the coast towards Waterdeep. Well, sort of north. No matter where they went, they seemed to run into 60 degree bends in the road. They turned left, then right, then right again, then left. No road was truly straight and yet, no road was truly un-straight.

“The beauty of the hills is unmatched, but for the life of me I cannot understand these ridiculous roads and paths.” Sir Kalbar whined. “Its as if whoever laid the roads did so by superimposing some sort of hexagonal grid over the country side. Not that any engineer would ever be so stupid. Why use hexes when simple squares would do? Still, it almost feels that way.”

“I suppose you will have to ask the Great Architect in the Sky that question if and when you meet him.” Answered Fionn. The long-haired gnome was leaping along beside the mighty charger of Sir Kalbar.

“The Great Architect in the Sky? Lord Ao you mean? The god of gods?” Sir Kalbar asked.

“No (+1)” Spammed Fionn. “I mean, Indio of course.”

“Ah,” said the group in unison.

“Indio is actually the name of the main bad guy in the Clint Eastwood spaghetti western, For a Few Dollars More.” M'kayla said from her drift-disc. “He was a pot-smoking psycho who carried a musical pocket watch. When he wanted to kill someone, he would open the watch and let the music play. When the music ended, he would draw and shoot. Although he was the main antagonist, Clint, the 'Man with no name,' was not the one who killed him. Lee van Cleef, playing Colonel Mortim….”

Ava interrupted M'kayla. “Your shoes are ugly.”

M'kayla stopped in mid-trivia recollection. She looked down at her stiletto heeled Manolo Blahnik boots. Were they ugly? Were they last season? M'kayla quickly began flipping through fashion magazines and watching the most recent episodes of Sex in the City.

Ava smiled, looking at the rest of the party. “Shuts her up every time.”

And so the party traveled ever northward until they came to the great metropolis of Waterdeep, the City of Splendors. As they entered the city a large election banner was suspended above the gates.

“BOOMBRAKH for LORD OF WATERDEEP, District 12” the sign read.

As they walked through the gate a team of beer bellied men climbed up the wall and tore the sign down.

“Why are you doing that?” Asked Sir Kalbar.

“Ah…dis fella here, he pulled outta da election.” Answered the worker. The man shrugged. “That's politics in da Deep.”

“Da Deep.” Echoed the other workers, nodding in agreement.

The fellowship entered the city and immediately M'kayla and Ava set about trying to find the best shopping. As they were right at the gates, someone suggested the Wall-mart but the deadly look from the two cleavage-bearing women said all that needed to be said about Wall-mart.

Unfortunately, this was da Deep, and in the da Deep, trouble abounds and often finds the unwary before they find the best bargains on the latest fashions. A cart rolled up along side the fellowship and slowed to a walking pace. A fellow in pin-striped leather armor holding a repeating-crossbow jauntily in one hand rode on the running boards.

“Ah, da boss wants a sit down with youse guys.” Said the fellow on the cart. “An' da boss don't take 'no' fer an answer, if you get my drift.”

“Who is your boss?” Asked the ever-practical Sergeant Pelham.

“My boss? Da boss of bosses dats who. The Oddfather. Don Evro.”

A hush fell over the fellowship. Who among them had not heard of the infamous gangster Don Evro? Leader of the treacherous SoBs, Don Evro had a ruthless reputation as a thief, racketeer, and assassin. He was known to be a man of few words but apparently this day, he wanted words with them. What treachery, what crime, what evil lay in store for the fellowship? Would they be bolted down in a cart-by shooting? Would they be poisoned? Would they soon be sleeping-with-the-dragon-turtles?

Frankly, the men in the fellowship did not care.

Whatever Don Evro had planned for the fellowship could not be nearly as bad as having to accompany M'kayla and Ava shopping. The men perked up and in unison shouted. “OK, we're there!”

All except Sir Kalbar that is, who secretly wanted to try out the new swim-wear lines.

Just then the party noticed some workers putting up a sign. “BOOMER for Lord of Waterdeep, District 12.”

“He dropped out of the race.” Offered Sir Kalbar, ever-ready to correct others.

“He dropped back in,” said the workers, ever-ready to put shiny-good-for-nothin'-paladins back in their place.

The fellowship then followed the pinstriped rogue and moments later the party was standing before a heavyset older man with unusually pronounced jowls. He motioned them to sit and they did. In the background they could hear a mournful violin playing, occasionally accompanied by an accordion. It was...silly actually, but they went with it.

Beside the heavyset older man stood a lean, younger man. He was pale, with a close shaved head and he wore his leather armor inside out. In his baldric was stuffed a cheap hand-crossbow with tape around the stock. Sitting in a chair next to him was a cute, underage girl wearing a 'Miami' t-shirt taking hits off a bong…err….off a “water-pipe.”

“Welcome to Waterdeep,” said the older man, his voice little more than a husky whisper. “I am Don Evro. Despite what you may have heard, I am a simple businessman.” Don Evro gestured to the pale young man beside him. “This is my adopted son, Coby.”

The underage girl looked up from her 'water-pipe'. “And I am Vixy, Queen of the Drow Pirates.”

M'kayla frowned. “But, you're not drow..or a pirate.”

“Shut up or I'll have my boy friend bust a bolt in yer ass.”

Don Evro silenced her with a wave. Vixy got up in a huff and stomped off pouting. The girl exhaled her bong smoke and muttered “I am too the Drow Pirate Queen” as she left.

“Now,” said Don Evro, “I am a gonna make you an offa you don't refuse…”

“Yo yo yo,” said the younger man, interrupting the Don. “That drow ho' is a DM-Narc!” Coby shouted. Quickly, he drew his hand crossbow and pointed it at M'kayla. “Dis ho' be a DM herself.” Coby turned the hand-crossbow sideways gangsta style and moved in on M'kayla. “Damn DM's always be tryin' to sneak a narc up in on us SoBs.” M'kayla just smiled as she watched the bolt fall out of the sideways crossbow. Coby did not seem to notice. “Yo yo yo, let me bust a bolt in this ho's ass right now!”

“Metagamer.” M'kayla said flatly.

“I ain't no metagamer ho', I know you 'cause I ain't just Coby, I also be Treowe.” With that, Coby ripped off the rubber mission-impossible mask he had been wearing revealing…another pale young face. Pretty much the same one as before.

“Who the hell is 'Treowe'?” M'kayla asked.

“Treowe be me!” Yelled Coby/Treowe, who now tore off another rubber mask to reveal ... another pale young face, again, pretty much the same as before. “Devin Drakeswind!”

“Oh.” M'kayla said, nodding in recognition. “Dragonfart. Nice to see you again. Hey, Fionn, I thought you said I vanquished this guy with my forum-fire?”

The gnome smiled sheepishly. “Yes (+1),” he spammed, “but you cannot ever really kill someone with forum-fire unless they choose to be slain. They can always comeback even if humiliated beyond recognition. They just get a new forum name.”

M'kayla frowed. “Some power. Useless piece of sh..”

“Bottom line, I can't stand you.” Coby said to M'kayla. “So, yo yo yo shut yo mouth ho.” The young gangsta motioned extravagantly, waving his unloaded crossbow around sideways.

Don Evro spoke up, his voice calm, husky, but carrying a note of disappointment. “Please forgive my son. He speaks when he should remain silent and…”

Coby turned on the Don.

“What? Whatcha' say old man? I ain't no James Caan-Sonny-Corleone-son-of-yours up in no tired-ass Godfather movie. I be like Eminem up in yo' face you old has been!”

Coby pushed the unloaded crossbow sideways into Don Evro's face and the two began growling at each other.

“Guild war!” Someone yelled.

“Not again.” Someone else sighed.

Thieves, rogues, and assassins leapt out from hiding all around the fellowship and the house and the streets. Within seconds young Nike-brain-washed fashion-victims began trading crossbow bolts and kung-fu punches with older pin-stripe wearing Soprano-wannabe fat-guys. Just when all looked hopeless, an enormous wagon crashed through the wall. One of the rogues threw a dagger at the wagon's driver but the man was fast as lightening and caught the blade in mid-air. With a flick of the wrist he hurled it back dropping the thief dead. The dexterous driver regarded the fellowship amidst the chaos and smiled.

“You know what Jayde Burton always says at a time like this?” The driver asked cockily.

The fellowship just shook their heads.

“Run!” Yelled Jayde.

And so they did. The fellowship ran for the huge wagon and Jayde Burton threw it in reverse as guild thieves fought through the streets. Jayde Burton smiled at M'kayla as she jumped on. “How's my fav narc?” Jayde asked as he backed over a team of men who were trying to tear down a 'Boomer for Lord of Waterdeep' sign following his latest drop-out from the race.

“Not bad,” M'kayla said. “Coby/Treowe/Devin made me, but ever since the DM-Homeserver-Protection Act being a DM-Narc is so much easier. Everything is legal now. We can tap modem lines, review forums, play PCs, whatever.”

“So I hear.” Jayde shifted and the wagon lurched forward, its huge wheels running over another team of workers, this group having just arrived to post a new Boomer election sign.

“Fourth guild war this month,” Jayde said. “The only thing more common in da' Deep is Boomer dropping in and out of the race for Lord of District 12.” Jayde looked over at the rest of the party. “Well, where are you headed?”

“Silverymoon.” Sir Kalbar said. The Paladin's voice rose just a bit and he began to sing. “We're off to see the Wynna. That wonderful Wynna of ours…..”

[Mikayla]

Chapter 4: The White Lady.

Jayde drove the fellowship north in his eighteen-wheel wagon, driving along the road that runs along the river to Silverymoon wh......

***

STOP. STOP right there.

Who said that?

I did.

Who are you?

I am the sponsor's rep. We've done a little market survey and it tells us that you are not connecting with the right demographic.

Huh?

A lot of your so-called 'humor' involves things that happened quite awhile ago; Months ago, or even in some cases, an entire YEAR ago. Today's consumer does not have a 12 minute attention span let alone a 12 month attention span. Your humor needs to be more topical, more today, more now. A lot of the people who might find what you write humorous are gone now - victims of the ALFAquake. Forget them, get in touch with the youth of ALFA.

Youth of ALFA? Like Gauntlet-Dragon? Surely you are joking?

I am not joking. And don't call me Shirley. Anyway, get more current. Talk about things the ALFA player cares about today, like DMs as players and PrCs.

Uh…I did. In chapter three I humorously spoofed M'kayla's time as an….

NO no no. That was yesterday's 'DM as players' controversy. We want TODAY's 'DM as players' controversy. We want hip, we want now, we don't want yesterday's old news. M'kayla is old news. Try Fionn. That's fresh, that's funny, that's now. And talk about PrCs! You have not mentioned PrCs at all. You need to stay topical. Don't get stale - today, PrCs are where it's at.

PrCs?

Yes, PrCs. Like blackguards and assassins. You should know, you're evil.

**Raises her hands and summons a blast of white-hot forum-fire utterly incinerating the Sponsor's rep., leaving behind nothing but scorched bones - notably absent is a spine….**

ALFA does not allow pricks. And I am NOT evil……guess I picked the wrong week to stop sniffing glue. Now where was I?

***

Jayde drove the fellowship north in his eighteen-wheel wagon, driving along the road that runs along the river to Silverymoon when all of a sudden a man ran across the road waving his arms. He was shouting “The sky is falling, the sky is falling.” The shouting man ran past the wagon towards the cliff over looking the river. At the edge he jumped yelling “Bye bye - and thanks for all the fun!”

The fellowship just stared. As Jayde put the wagon back in gear another man ran across the road waving his arms. “The sky is falling, the sky is falling!” He too ran towards the cliff and jumped off.

“That's weird.” Said Jayde.

“Yeah,” said Sergeant Pelham. “You don't usually see back-to-back suicides like that.”

“No, not that,” said Jayde. “Did you see the second guy? He cast-no-shadow.”

Just then a horde of others ran across the road like and began diving off the cliff like lemmings yelling “the sky is falling, the sky is falling.”

“Poor, poor boys.” Ava said. “They're sure to drown in the river.”

“Don't worry about those &$*%$ cry-baby losers,” J'kin advised. “I'm sure they'll find a LoG to grab onto.” J'kin's eyes widened. “Wait a moment!”

J'kin jumped off the wagon and ran to the front of the lemming line.

“Are you here to save us?” Asked the lead lemming, smiling hopefully. “You're an elf, and everyone knows elves are good and wise and thoughtful and often help save humanity from itself.”

J'kin scowled. “F*** that you cheese-ball, I am the evilest person in ALFA. I am not here to save you, I am just here to pimp my other projects.” J'kin slapped a pair of links to Elder and the 5th ring onto the ALFA-lemmings and kicked them over the edge.

The party drove on and a short time later Jayde brought the wagon to a halt again.

“This is it,” Jayde said. “This is as far as I can take you. That's the Silvermarches up ahead. Just keep going and you will find Silverymoon.” Jayde looked at the fellowship. “We really shook the pillars of heaven, didn't we wang?”

“What the hell is he talking about?” Asked Sergeant Pelham.

“Who in the hell is Wang?” Asked Sir Kalbar.

M'kayla started to answer but Ava just pointed at the Drow priestesses shoes shutting her up instantly.

And with that, the fellowship bid a fond farewell to Jayde Burton and headed towards Silverymoon. Hours later the fellowship realized they had not seen another living soul for….well…hours. They passed by farm houses and inns, river landings and villages, and yet, no people. No animals either, or monsters. It was spooky.

Soon they came to the great gates of Silverymoon with their famed mythals. Still, there was no sign of any living person.

As the party entered they came upon a great oak tree, the like of which none had ever seen before. M'kayla smiled and pee'd on it. Quite the trick for a girl. She then set about carving her initials in the bark - “M'K”. Not to be outdone in evil, J'kin too pee'd on the tree then carved HIS intials in it - “J'K”. The leaping gnome quickly added a heart between the two sets of initials and with the blink of an eye blades were drawn and the three set to fighting. Steel clashed as Drow tried to kill Wood-elf, Wood-elf tried to kill Drow, and both tried to skewer the gnome.

Just as the dueling elves managed to grab hold of the gnome their fight was interrupted.

“They're here!” Someone yelled. “They're here!”

The fellowship looked about and all around them doors and windows opened. People appeared, running into to the street only to stop together in groups as if they had been there all along. Shops opened, taverns opened, inns opened. Carts started rolling through the streets and knights-in-silver marched out of their barracks towards the gates. A well dressed smiling man approached the fellowship.

“So, my good adventurers, what is it?” Asked the smiling man. “Nothing Ventured, Nothing Gained? Shades of Grey? Or perhaps…Outside the Law? Is that it? Nudge, nudge, wink, wink, know what I mean, know what I mean?”

The fellowship was stunned.

“No, my goodman, I have no idea at all what you are blathering on about.” Said Sir Kalbar.

“Shall I kill him sir? In the name of goodness?” Asked Sergeant Pelham, ever practically.

“Hmm…” mused the smiling man. “Tunnel Without Truth then? Is that it? You don't look dark enough…except for the one little birdie right there, but I suppose you could be 'incognito.'” The man winked at Kalbar. “Nudge, nudge, wink, wink, know what I mean, know what I mean?”

“I'd love to kill him now.” Offered Pelham.

“I have no idea what you are saying at all you Eurofaggish buffoon. You remind of Cassiel - only without the brains, politics or wit.” Sir Kalbar said.

The smiling man frowned. “Aren't you folks with any of the established campaigns?”

“Not hardly.” Said Sir Kalbar. “We are the Sacred Wielders of the Forum-Fire, the Chosen of the …”

The frowning man turned and yelled interrupting Kalbar. “False alarm, false alarm. No campaign, no ad hoc. Go back home everyone. Bob, de-spawn the critters and for Waukeen's sake, someone get the lights this time would ya'?”

“I demand to know what is going on here!” Said a rather miffed Sir Kalbar.

“Well,” answered the smiling-turned-frowning man. “Normally, we are only allowed out during regularly scheduled campaign times. Sometimes though, they have an ad hoc session. We heard the fighting and thought you were one of the campaign groups coming in at an odd time.” As the frowning man talked the knights-in-silver dutifully rolled up the sidewalks as shopkeepers closed up store.

“What do you do the rest of the time?” Asked a concerned looking M'kayla from her drift disc.

The frowning man shrugged. “Nothing. No one is hear. Its quite boring really, though we have gotten really, really, really good at pinochle.” The frowning man tried to smile but it faded quickly. “Oh well, I've got to go do nothing.”

“We are here to see the White Lady of the Ivory Tower, the Steward of ALFA, Wynna the Just.” Sir Kalbar said regally.

“Yeah, well, I think she is in one of the campaigns, so come back like on Wednesday around 6 PM Pacific time.” Answered the frowning man.

What is a 'Wednesday' wondered Pelham. What is a 'Pacific'?

“I demand to speak to someone in charge!” Cried Sir Kalbar.

“Through the gates, down the road, big white house across the lawn.” Said the frowning man as he walked away. And just like that, all was quiet in Silverymoon again.

The party went through the gates, down the road and came to the big white house across the lawn. There, on the steps, stood an imposing figure.

“Who is that?” asked Sir Kalbar.

M'kayla's Knowledge (Movie Trivia) Roll 8 + 17 skill modifier = 25.

“It looks like Hugo Weaving.” Said M'kayla.

“Who?” Asked the fellowhip.

“Mr. Smith from the Matrix and Elrond from the LOTR.”

“Ah…” they said.

The man who looked like Hugo Weaving approached the party.

“Welcome to Silverymoon, Mister Anderso…err...Sir Kalbar. I am Vice-President Duck.”

“Vice-President of what?” Asked the ever-practical Pelham.

“Of the U.S.A.” Answered Duck.

Sir Kalbar drew his sword. “Sergeant Pelham, prepare to kill this imposter. I happen to know that the Vice-President of the United States is Dick Cheney, a right thinking friend of Manifest Destiny for the New Millennium, subscriber to the writings of Sir Headuphisass and undead puppet for certain necromantic oil interests.”

Duck frowned. “Not the United States of America you air-headed homo-swimsuit model, the United Servers of ALFA.”

“Whatever you #$&#&@!” Said J'kin to Duck. “Hey, why are you wearing one of Alustriel's dresses? And is that a wig? Are you wearing an 'Alustriel' wig?” J'kin and the others began to laugh.

Duck looked down in a panic, his face turning beat red. “Um, well this is not a regular campaign night and I was not expecting guests.” Quickly Duck tossed the wig aside and motioned for one of his servants to bring him something to cover up with. The servant returned with a big, fluffy pink robe.

M'kayla just shook her head sadly and handed Duck the number to a gender-friendly support group.

“The White Lady is awaiting you,” Duck stammered. “In the Ivory Tower.” He pointed.

The group headed up the steps into the white house which led to the Ivory Tower, laughing as they went. Behind them, Duck was furiously changing into slacks and rubbing the rouge off of his face while trying to keep up.

The party entered a great library and there, before them, clad in an aura of shining untouchable, brilliant holy light was the Steward of ALFA, the White Lady…Wynna. The great Paladin of Grammar walked gracefully down the steps towards the awed fellowship. On her belt M'kayla could see the +5 Holy Sword of Editing and that belt was fastened around Wynna's impenetrable Armor of ALFA's Respect. M'kayla felt fear and hatred and envy all at once. The drow princess slowly reached for her whip-knife, anger growing in her black heart. Then, as Wynna approached, M'kayla saw something she had not noticed before. Were those crow's feet at Wynna's eyes? Hah! Thought M'kayla, she is older than me! M'kayla relaxed. All would be well.

Wynna moved among the party looking at each member of the fellowship in turn. None could hold the White Lady's gaze for long. She walked beside them, touching each person one by one. M'kayla felt Wynna's hand slip into the folds of her gown but then it was gone before M'kayla could even gasp. Finally, Wynna returned to her dais and addressed them all.

M'kayla whispered to J'kin “I think she just cut my purse.”

“I think she just picked my pocket.” J'kin whispered back.

Wynna's voice carried through the hall. “Velcome….err….Welcome. I see the White Warlock is not with you. Did he fall in battle with a terrible evil?”

“No,” said Sir Kalbar. “He just quit again.”

The White Lady nodded solemnly. “Ve…we.. shall sing about his departure…and reappearence…and redeparture…and so forth in the elvish forum tradition…at least for 10 pages - then we are locking the sucker.”

“Anyvay,” she continued, “ALFA needs your aid. You, of all people, have been granted a great boon. You are the vielders …wielders…of forum-fire, a terrible and mighty veapon …weapon…whose unchecked use could destroy ALFA itself. Now, you have the chance to show this 'gift' of yours can also do good."

J'kin leaned over to M'kayla and whispered. “Pelham says she picked his pockets too, and is she speaking in a bad Russian accent?”

M'kayla nodded.

What is a Russian? Pelham wondered.

Wynna spoke on. “ALFA has an enemy. We do not yet know who this enemy is but we know the threat is real. Many refugees of this evil leave ALFA everyday. You have witnessed the ALFA-lemmings commit Role-Playing suicide. Though some may grab a LoG, most will simply drown without a suitable RP outlet and be lost to NWN forever. This is but one sign of the coming ALFAgeddon. Yes, there are those who think we have already had an ALFAgeddon, but that was only a tremor, an ALFAquake. ALFAgeddon still lays in our future. We do not yet know who is behind this insidious plot, this terrible evil. I will let vice-president Ducky fill you in.”

“Thank you Steward,” Duck began. The vice president had changed into a suit but was still wearing Alustriel's earings which only called attention to his balding, wigless head. “We believe the evil is gathering all the forces of darkness to itself, somewhere in the east. It cannot yet take physical form, but its strength is growing.”

Ava frowned and rolled her eyes. “Where have we heard this before? Can't the writer get more original than ripping of LOTR?”

M'kayla whispered to J'kin. “Wynna picked Kalbar's pocket too, and cut Ava's purse. The damn ruskie sneak.”

J'kin reached for his dagger but let it lie in its sheathe. Though angered, he knew Wynna's Armor of ALFA's Respect would make her impervious to anyweapon the fellowship now wielded - even the forum fire.

Duck continued. “We believe it may be another manifestation of the Brian-Jesse-Karen-Evil-Phenomenon, and it may soon be strong enough to coalesce into another Forum personality. You MUST prevent this.”

The faces of the fellowship grew pale (except for M'kayla of course) at the mention of the evil that was the Brian-Jesse-Karen-Evil-Phenomenon (hereinafter “BJKEP”).

“Worse yet,” Duck warned, “we believe BJKEP may have allied with…..wait for it…..wait…..a little longer……GEORAGE.”

Panic nearly swept the room…except for M'kayla. And J'kin. And Ava, and Kalbar and Pelham none of whom was really afraid of Georage, but like, Duck was scared enough for all of them.

“We believe,” Duck said slowly, “Georage has been developing and stockpiling SMD's - Scripts of Mass Destruction! We want you to find these scripts, at all costs, and destroy them before he uses them on innocent characters in the Vault.”

Suddenly, there was an awkward silence as Duck's great revelation fell flat like a dead ballon falling into the mist like an Ayergo stepping out of the door like a ghost into the fog like......

“Um, why?” M'kayla asked, breaking the awkward silence. “Whats in it for us? Geo was cool to me when I was on Earthspurs. I like totally lost all my stuff once, and was like oh_my_gawd what I am going to do in the snow naked? And then I thought of something, and when I was like through doing it…Geo returned all my clothes. He said he didn't even watch. Much. Why should we go fight him?”

Duck just smiled. “Because it's a DM'd campaign with guaranteed experience points.”

“Ahhhh…” All the fellowship nodded.

“Just one question though. If you are the Vice-President, where is the President?” asked Sergeant Pelham.

Duck smiled. “President McJoker is campaigning - I believe he is in Daggerdale trying to secure the farm vote.”

The party nodded at the obvious wisdom.

So, the wielders of forum-fire were called upon to save ALFA…but who would save ALFA from the forum-fire?……

[Mikayla]

Chapter 5: Its the Cheese.....

It seemed like weeks since the party had left Silverymoon…mostly because it had been weeks. The party now found itself moving across the great desert of Anauroch along the infamous Black Road. The Black Road was, of course, the trade route of the Zhentarim. Though the Black Network, as the Zhentarim was known, was decidedly evil, it was also decidedly mercenary. The Zhents wanted money more than they wanted a fight. To those of the Black Network along the caravan rout of the Black Road, the small party of the fellowship appeared to be a source of easy coin and quick death. Granted, the combined forces of the Zhents could probably overrun the fellowship, but how many would die? How much would they be weakened? And for what? The fellowship carried no cargo, guarded no caravan and transported no slaves. While their personal magics and possessions, especially Ava's enormous collection of pretty crystal ponies, would be valuable, the cost in blood would far outweigh the profit. Instead, the Zhents simply accepted the bribes offered by the fellowship and let them pass.

Sergeant Pelham rode at the head of the fellowship beside Sir Kalbar.

“Sir,” said Pelham. “Those bedine riders have been following us for days now.”

“And why wouldn't they Sergeant Pelham? Everyone needs more Kalbar.” Said Sir Kalbar happily.

Sergeant Pelham frowned. “I think all the 'more Kalbar' they want is your head Sir.”

“Well then, those towel headed camel-jockeys will have to take it from me! I will not give in to this campaign of terrorism. Cormyr, Sembia, France, Germany and the Dalelands be damned! If they won't help us invade the middle east (of Anauroch) to hell with them. We are fully prepared to act unilaterally. The U.S.A. is the worlds only…”

“Um boys.” Ava said. “Shades ahead.”

Pelham and Sir Kalbar looked ahead of them. Sure enough, a division of Shadovar stood in their path along the road.

M'kayla also looked forward but saw nothing. She took off her sunglasses and was instantly light blinded. She screamed in pain at the light and J'kin laughed.

“Please, you and your persecution complex again.” Said a familiar voice to M'kayla. The voice came from behind the party from an old man walking up to them. The White Warlock had returned!

“But…the sun really does hurt my eyes.” M'kayla whined.

“Don't undermine what I am saying!” Yelled the White Warlock. “You are undermining me! I can feel it. I am being undermined. Everyone see that, I come back, out of the goodness of my heart, and as soon as I say anything I am being undermined. Undermining is going on and I am not afraid to say so - if you had something negative to say about what I said, why didn't you do it in a PM?!? I will not stand for mmmppphh…”

M'kayla's sight had returned and she dug out one of her toddler's old pacifiers and plopped into Whitey's mouth. After a moment of protesting he smiled and started sucking on it happily.

“Anyway…” M'kayla looked forward and now saw the army of Shadovar. It seems their army was precisely the same tone as M'kayla DKNY sunglasses. Should of bought the Gucci's M'kayla thought. But that's so mafia-ghetto. What's an evil drow to do?

“Hold right there.” Came a voice from the Shadovar army. “None shall pass.”

Pelham laughed and pulled out his sword. “Hey, it's the black knight from the Holy Grail, let me cut him up boss…errr…Sir Kalbar.”

Sir Kalbar like that idea. “Very well Sergeant Pelham.”

“Ha,” said Sergeant Pelham, “its about time I got to jack-slap somebody and get away with it.” Sergeant Pelham advanced on the Shadovar eagerly, his gleaming sword held high.

A Shadovar leader stepped through the crowd. “It is not the ridiculous, arrogant black knight with easy-to-sever limbs from the Holy Grail you now face fool.”

“Who is it then?” Pelham asked.

“It is the Eternal Darkness, the Savior of Nethiril, the Master of Shadows, the most beloved of Shar, the Big Cheese of the Shades and Deputy Director of Global Plots (surface) for Alfa-Toril - High Prince Grand Fromage!”

A fearsome looking shade wizard stepped forward. “I am indeed Big Cheese Grand Fromage of the Shadovar, and all the Shadovar are at my disposal. I am a confidant and servant of Shar, and none can harness the energy of the Shadow Weave as I can. Those who try are doomed to be disciplined as Shar, through my position as Deputy Director of Global Plots (surface) for Alfa-Toril has given me the responsibility for ensuring only those loyal to Shar and the Shades learn the secrets of the Shadow Weave!”

“Uh….whats the Shadow Weave?” Asked the fellowship in unison.

Grand Fromage smiled. “I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you.” He paused, still smiling. “And since I plan on killing you anyway, here goes!" He said happily, falling into the ever popular James-Bond-supervillain-reveals-plot-when-he-should-just-shoot-Bond-in-the-head-cliche. "The Shadow Weave is an alternate source of magical energy created by Shar to undermine Mystra. A spell-caster with knowledge of the Shadow Weave can use it to power his or her spells but there is a price to pay. A caster…”

“Oh THAT Shadow Weave.” Said Ava. The rest of the party nodded. “Yeah, we heard about that over beers in Silverymoon.”

“Yeah, and there was that guy in Waterdeep who vandalized all the street lights with the Shadow Weave.” Said Fionn.

“Oh, oh, don't forget the one old pasty dude in Candlekeep who had that book about the Shadow Weave - “The Shadow Weave Bible.” Said Kalbar. “Naturally, its not the real bible or anything worthy of such a title, just a freakish dimwitted recollection of some great source of mystical evil, darkness and weight-loss.”

M'kayla nodded. “Hey! The weight loss part is true, this month's Cosmo has an article on the Shadow Weave No-Light Diet and they say it works and you can eat whatever you want too!”

“Don't forget this months Popular Arcanist article,” Whitey added, “ 'Shedding Light on the Darkness, 11 things you need to know about the Shadow Weave.' ”

Grand Fromage turned pale, which for a shade, meant his cheeks disappeared altogether. “What?!?” he yelled. “I will kill them all! I will kill all of you! Your souls will belong to Shar as will the souls of every person who has ever even heard the words 'Shadow Weave' uttered! The Shadovar are unstoppable and under my leadership, we shall cover Alfa-Toril in a blanket of darkness which shall never lift - prepare to learn why you fear the dark fools!!!”

M'kayla reached into her bag and pulled out an long, thin fork. She held it in her left hand and with her right hand, conjured a ball of Dark-Forum-Fire.

“One word you putz.” M'kayla said to Big Cheese Grand Fromage. “Fondue.”

Grand Fromage stopped yelling and looked in fear upon that most dreaded weapon of cheese-slaying, the Fondue Fork. “I …. I thought all of those were gone, lost to the ravages of time. None of those fondue artifacts were thought to have survived the fall of Netheril, and the cancellation of the Sonny & Cher show in the seventies.”

“Remember the retro craze of the late 90's and early 2000's?” M'kayla asked.

No thought Pelham.

M'kayla continued. “Bowling shirts, martinis and all that? Well, what followed the 60's rat-pack days? The 70's, sweetheart. Fondue is retro-cool..or would have been if it wasn't so damn fattening. Anyway, I picked up this fork from my mom. Now scram before we melt you onto a little piece of bread.”

Grand Fromage looked around in near panic. “Uh….ok, fine. Um…yeah….well….we have things to do. Come on boys, lets go make some little kids scared of the dark - and remember, no talking about the shadow weave.”

GF looked back at the party. “Besides, I think the bedine and Zhents are going to kill you for me. So there! Nyah nyah nyah nyah!”

The fellowship looked to the north and sure enough, a bedine army had gathered on the hill and looked like it was assembling to attack. One pale faced leader was already screaming "No prisoners, no prisoners!" Not a good sign. To the east and west, black armored Zhents were moving in their direction, and from the south, came an army of Fondue immune, non-dairy Shadovar.

“How in the hells? Why would the bedine and the zhents support the Shades? Infact, why aren't the bedine and Zhents fighting each other and the Shades? There is no way these three groups would cooperate.” Asked Whitey. “This makes no sense at all.”

GF laughed as he fled towards the Shadovar's city. “You brought this on your self WW. There is NO HDM of Anauroch but we took your advice and decided to share server passwords - as long as no other DM logs on - I have ultimate power here. They will do as I say, no matter if it makes sense or not - and who cares? I am just visiting - its not my mess! Someone else can clean up the plots - and your bodies! Mwahahahahaha.”

“Beat it fondue boy.” M'kayla growled.

“Yes mistress.” GF replied, slinking off to the shadows.

“Sergeant Pelham, it appears as if we have a fight on our hands, prepare our defenses.” Ordered Sir Kalbar.

Sergeant Pelham smiled. “Yes Sir!” Pelham whirled around to face the other members of the fellowship. “Alright, you heard the officer, we are going to prepare a defense. Now I want fighting positions dug. Layout your firing stakes first. Make sure your fields of fire interlock. Then get your e-tools out and dig those holes deep. We ain't got no engineers and no 'C' is going to come along and dig out yer hole for ya, so work quick. I want at least three sandbags depth on top of each fighting position. We'll get the plywood and metal stakes while you dig. J'kin, you got the Rapid Shot feat? That makes you and your bow our automatic weapon. I want that thing on one end of our line - put it up on a tripod and set the T&E so your FPL runs right infront our positions. When the bedine hit the FPL, you just swing that bad boy around on the tripod and open her up. Fionn, gnome, you're J'kin's AG. Keep his quivers linked. That bow goes down and we're all in trouble. Get the extra string out and keep it ready incase the first gets to hot. Don't let it warp.

“Ava, Warlock, you're on the 60 mm staff. Dig yer pit in the center of the position, near the CP. Seperate but linked pit for the ammo of course. Set your spells for airburst - the enemy is infantry and unarmored cavalry in the open. M'kayla, you're a priestess right? Yer our medic. Set up a CCP somewhere central, how about over there. We are way outnumbered so when you're triaging, only urgent-criticals get medevaced.”

Pelham regarded his command. “Alright people, we got a job to do - lets get to it!” Pelham clapped his hands to dismiss the troops and set them inaction.

No one moved. The fellowship just stared blankly at Pelham.

“What wrong with you people, the orders are clear, you….uh….wait. Shit. Wrong era.” Pelham paused. “Right, medieval tactics. Alright, we are heavily outnumbered by a combined force of cavalry and infantry who will move to attack us across an open field. Same thing happened in the Hundred Years war to the English at Poitiers, Crecy and most notably, at Agincourt. We will treat this like Agincourt - get some long stakes, sharpen both ends and plant them in the ground facing the oncoming cavalry. Everyone, including the knights, will fight dismounted. Now, they have to cross that big field just like the French Knights at Agincourt, but at Agincourt, the field was wet and muddy and slowed the French horses to a crawl. We will do the same thing - Whitey, Ava, M'kayla - use your spell powers to create water and mud between us and the bedine. J'kin, the gnome, Sir Kalbar and I will position ourselves amidst the stakes and use our bows. Aim for the horses first - when the lead horses go down they trip or block the way for the following horses. Pretty soon, all the bedine will be slogging through the mud on their own two feet and we can cut them down at our leisure. If any live through the arrows, by the time they get here, they will be so tired, they will have no fight left in them.”

Pelham regarded his command. “Alright people, we got a job to do - lets get to it!” Pelham clapped his hands to dismiss the troops and set them inaction.

No one moved. The fellowship just stared blankly at Pelham.

“Oh fer Christ's sake.” Pelham cried. He looked over the bewildered fellowship.

“Fine,” Pelham sighed. “Tanks in the front, healers behind them, nukes in the back. Everyone buff up and for god's sake don't chain agro the mobs.”

The fellowship broke into a blurred frenzy of action.

“Wait a moment.” Cried Sir Kalbar. “We are the Chosen Wielders of the Sacred Forum Fire. Lets just burn these towel-he….err….bedine…to the ground with our Forum-given powers.”

M'kayla shot Kalbar a dirty look for nearly crossing the dreaded line of political correctness.

The rest of the fellowship just nodded at Sir Kalbar's wisdom and began to conjure their forum fire. All except Fionn who could not conjure forum-fire and would not even if he could have. The gnome yelled “No!”

It was too late. Streams of holy fire from Kalbar, unholy-dark fire from M'kayla, withering flames from White Warlock and J'kin, biting flames from Ava and simple, yet still effective, ordinary fire from Pelham, tore across the desert and struck the gathering bedine, Zhents and Shades. A brilliant, multicolored inferno erupted where the streams hit and the fellowship poured it on. The flare grew in intensity becoming white hot and it spread all along the enemy's lines until all the bedine, Zhents and Shades were engulfed in white hot flames.

“That's enough Sergeant Pelham.” Said Sir Kalbar.

Sergeant Pelham began waving his hand infront of his face in an up and down motion, palm out, yelling “cease fire, cease fire!” The fellowship kept flaming. Pelham frowned. Damned amauteurs. “STOP!” He yelled. The streams of fire ceased.

All around the fellowship the bedine, Zhents and Shades stood unharmed.

“How can this be?” Asked M'kayla, recalling the power of her flames when she burned away DM Andrew's flesh.

Fionn spammed up. “Forum fire only works on other PLAYERS and DMs. It is useless against NPCs and monsters. They have no feelings, no egos, nothing for forum fire to hurt.”

“What do we do?” asked Ava in near panic.

Fionn looked out on the horizon. “There is only one thing we can do.” He said grimly. “We will have to go in-game and kill them there.”

The fellowship gasped. “In game?” Ava asked. “But…but…I don't even really have an IC namesake character.”

Fionn turned on Ava and the party. “Then you will have to roll up a new PC. It's the only way I am afraid. There is no other way out of this. We have to go……in character.”

[Mikayla]

Chapter 5.5: The Shameless Time-Stalling, Tension Building Interlude.

****

Ava sat on the ground and watched the others prepare for in-character combat. Each did what he or she thought would ensure survival in the coming combat: Pelham was checking his armor; Sir Kalbar cinched his saddle tighter; White Warlock readied his wands and scrolls; J'kin slung an extra quiver over his back and stuck extra knives in his boots; M'kayla maximized her cleavage and tried to show a little more leg.

Ava frowned. She had never gone into IC combat like this before. Forum-fires? Sure, she was one of the chosen, but ... combat?

She opened her purse of holding and began to go through the contents looking for something helpful. From her endless bag she pulled makeup, perfumes, toiletries, a pretty crystal pony collection and some wand that casts a "double talk" spell that makes her seem much nicer than she actually is when she's having her "bitchy" cycle. She set the wand aside. That might be useful.

She pulled more from the purse including magic spray of perfect hair, a +2 ring of "Don't I look pretty and important?" and several other rings, all silver, white gold, or platinum with various stones. The rings made her think of her jewelry. She had necklaces, all silver, white gold, or platinum with various stones and she had her Platinum Diamond Earrings of Pouting (allows her to play the "I'm just a pouty girl, please let me get my way" card once a day) but she did not think the mindless NPC Zhents, Bedine and Shades would care if she was pouting.

Suddenly she found something more promising - a Black Metal Dagger of Spooky Fun and Games with a red gem set in the pommel. It allowed her to have spooky and enchanted BDSM encounters and allowed her to backstab and have people like it. She set the dagger aside with the wand excitedly. She reached back into the purse and pulled out a bunch of Charm Person, Eagle's Splendour, and Invisibility scrolls.
This was fantastic! She actually had stuff that would help!

She reached back into the purse but all she could find was a small cat statue and more crystal ponies.

Still, she had the wand, the dagger, and the scrolls. She was virtually set.

Sir Kalbar finished cinching his saddle and checking his weapons. Satisfied, he pulled out his bag lunch of turkey (white meat only) with mayo on wonderbread and began to eat happily.

"How can you eat at at a time like this?" Asked Ava.

"What do you mean?" Responded Sir Kalbar.

"Aren't you nervous? Aren't you scared? My stomach is in knots. There is no way I could eat right now." Said the sorceress.

Sir Kalbar frowned just a little. "You know, I have noticed a little tension in the group since the gnome announced we would have to go in-character. I really don't understand why you are all so scared of going in-character."

Sergeant Pelham rolled his eyes but managed to avoid a frustrated sigh. "Sir....ALFA has......Permadeath."

"ALFA has permadeath?" Asked Sir Kalbar, a bit of chewed wondebread hanging from his lip.

"Yes Sir, ALFA has permadeath." Sergeant Pelham answsered matter-of-factly.

Suddenly, Sir Kalbar found he was no longer hungry.......

[Mikayla]

Chapter 6: The Sands of Anauroch.

In Character.

Pelham sat astride his warhorse and wiped the grit from his face. The glaring, remorseless sun of the Anauroch day caused him to break out in a sweat and the sporadic desert winds stirred up coarse grains of sand. The sand and sweat came together to form a gritty paste everywhere his skin was exposed and even under his armor. The paste dried into an annoying crust that caused chafing and itching. Wiping the crust off hurt almost as much as leaving it on; with every wipe, course particles of sand scratched already inflamed skin.

“What do you think?” Asked the man next to Pelham. Pelham glanced over. Sir Kalbar, a Paladin and Knight of Tyr sat astride his own warhorse. Around his eyes and nose, he too wore a crust of sandy grime. Pelham returned his gaze to the northern horizon. Far in the distance he could see horsemen gathering. They appeared to be Bedine, the nomadic desert people indigenous to Anauroch. Pelham then looked Eastward. Three small, tight phalanxes of black armored fighters had formed across the Black Road. Zhents.

“I don't know,” Pelham said. “The Zhents and the Bedine should be fighting, but from what I can see, I think they are working together.”

Sir Kalbar nodded, then leaned over his horse and spit sand out of his mouth. “I think so too. The Bedine paralleled our travel until we ran into the Zhents. Now they are massing.”

It was Pelham's turn to spit sand. He spared a glance to the south where an unnatural darkness obscured the distant mountain range he knew was there. “A good choice for this ambush. Their infantry block the East, their cavalry the North, and the city of the shades lies to our South.”

Kalbar looked to the four directions. “That only leaves us with the West. And that is where we just came from.”

Pelham nodded. “Its our obvious choice, so, I would think it's a trap. Besides. There really is no getting away. That light cavalry can ride twice as fast we can and can do it for longer.” Pelham looked back at the rest of the party. The warlock, the human girl, the gnome and the drow rode in a four-wheeled wagon pulled by a team of horses. Near them, the elf sat astride a fast, lean warhorse. The elf might ride fast enough to get away. Maybe.

“Agreed.” Kalbar said. “How many riders do you think there are?”

“I don't know.” Pelham replied. “They are too far to see clearly. At least with human eyes.” Pelham turned in his saddle. “Elf,” he called out to the man on the fast looking horse, “can you count the riders to the north?”

J'kin regarded the human named Pelham slowly, his face expressionless. Not only could J'kin count them, he already had. The human's arrogance in thinking they were the only ones versed in tactics and battle was annoying, but ultimately served to J'kin's advantage. He pretended to count the riders as if he had not already done so.

“I count thirty-three.” J'kin finally said. He knew what was next so he just offered it without waiting to be asked. He could only play so dumb. “And there are three phalanxes of twelve each to the East. Behind them are another dozen crossbowman, and they have one wagon as yet uncovered.” That last part disturbed J'kin. The Zhents had appeared on the horizon looking like a typical caravan. Heavily laden wagons rolling slowly across the Black Road under a typical guard of Zhentarim warriors. The party had continued to approach. In the week or so they had been traveling across Anauroch, J'kin and the others had passed several Zhentarim outposts and bribed their way past each one. The one caravan they had met had paid them little mind once it became clear the small party was neither Shade nor Bedine. So, the fellowship had thought little of seeing another caravan on the horizon.

With the caravan a scant half-mile away, things changed. The sides of the wagons came down and soldiers poured out. There was no cargo other than their supplies. The caravan had been a ruse. Whether the ruse was intended just for them, or for any non-Zhent making their way down the Black Road was, as yet, unknown. All the Zhent wagons had been uncovered save one. The question plagueing J'kin was what was in the one remaining wagon? Now that the ambush had been revealed, what could they possibly gain from further concealment?

“Great,” muttered Pelham. “We are outnumbered ten to one.”

J'kin watched the two human's discuss the situation without him. What arrogant fools they were to presume they were the only ones who need be consulted. In the distance, the Bedine and the Zhents had formed up and began moving towards the fellowship. Given their distance, and their slow rate of approach, it would be a few minutes before anything happened. Plenty of time for the human's to commit the fellowship to some foolish plan.

J'kin glanced back at the wagon. In the front sat the svirfneblin Fionn and the wizard who called himself the White Warlock. The Warlock was an odd one, with his ram-horned skull cap, noxious pipe and gnarled, ironwood staff. Despite his oddity, he was probably the group's greatest hope in this situation. Arcanists had an unmatched ability to devastate groups of rank and file warriors. A fireball, a lightening bolt, a soldier magically transmuted into a rampaging troll; each of these could and would devastate a tight little phalanx like the ones forming in the distance.

In the back of the wagon sat the girl who simply called herself Lylah. On the outside, Lylah was a woman sure enough, but inside, J'kin thought she was really just a wounded little girl. She sat, somewhat apprehensively, watching their enemies gather. Like the Warlock, she was an arcanist, but her magic was the magic of charms and suggestions. She was, for lack of a better term, an enchantress. Such magic was a powerful tool for avoiding battles like the forthcoming one, but not of much use once arrows were knocked and swords drawn.

At Lylah's feet, under a blanket, lay the oddest member of the fellowship, the drowess M'kayla. The drow priestess was trussed up with enough rope to rig a caravel. Her wrists and ankles were bound and she was securely gagged. The party was taking no chances. Odd, J'kin thought. There but for the color of my skin go I.

Three months ago J'kin Gristillodar had been prowling the forests of Cormanthor, scouting for his band of the N'Vaelahr. The N'Vaelahr were a group of elf fanatics dedicated to pushing the invading human's out of the elves' traditional home. Humans were J'kin's sworn enemy. He had undertaken his latest campaign to wipe the lesser race defilers from the forests he called home. He had taken vows of vengeance and shaved his head to symbolize his dedication to the extermination of the humans. Indeed, he had been stalking some when he saw a flash of light brighter than anything he had ever seen before. It blinded him but he was disciplined and held back the scream that tried to claw its way out of his throat.

He had heard voices; strange voices; human voices, and they were close. As his vision began to return he dropped his bow and reached for his weapons. A human had spoken to him, telling him he was among friends. J'kin gradually came to realize that the four humans surrounding him had been brought to the same spot just moments before by the same blinding flash of light. One after another had appeared right where J'kin was standing. These humans were not the ones he had been stalking. They were not even Sembians or Dalelanders. They were from all across the realms, transported to this spot by the same force that plucked J'kin out of the woods.

A moment later and there was a small flash where J'kin had appeared. A woman's scream followed and J'kin realized someone else was about to appear and appear she did; a drow female, garbed in the unholy regalia of a Lolthian priestess. She clutched at her eyes and J'kin grinned. He knew that whatever discomfort the light had caused him would be ten-fold worse for the light-hating drow. The lithe drowess fell to her knees in agony. J'kin moved a hand to his sword's hilt but did nothing else. He was curious. The humans did not wait however.

“Drow!” One had yelled. In a moment they were on her. The priestess had a whip of living snakes on her belt and one of the armored male humans pulled it off, the heads biting in vain at his gauntleted hand. The man threw the whip down, pinning its writhing form to the ground. He drew his sword and one by one cut the heads from the whip.

The other humans restrained the screaming drow. The older human, the one dressed in dirty white robes with the skullcap, stuffed the female's mouth with a rag and tied it in place with a rope. Quickly she was bound head to toe. The humans set about stripping the helpless priestess of her arms and armor, of which there were plenty. J'kin watched as the humans tossed a rapier, a short sword, daggers, a hand crossbow, scrolls wands and a wicked looking whip with a dagger at the end into a pile. The human girl, Lylah, then pointed at the priestesses head. The warlock nodded. Carefully they held the priestess as the human girl drew the priestess's decorative pins from her hair. On the ends of those pins was a black tarry substance - poison.

J'kin could only watch in amazement. Here he was, J'kin Gristillodar, a leader of the N'Vaelahr and sworn enemy of human kind and they treated him as a friend because his skin was pale. The drow on the other hand probably never gave a second thought to humans and yet the humans were on top of her in a flash because her skin was black and her hair was white. Silly humans. They did not know who their real enemy was.

Now, in the desert, months after the fellowship had been formed, the humans still did not know who their real enemies were. The drow priestess, who termed herself a 'Valsharess', or Queen, was still bound and gagged daily. The party had removed her intricate armor and left her wearing naught but a silk gown. The party had originally set out to turn her over to whatever authority they could find to have her burned at the stake, but then they found the gnome, or more precisely, the gnome found them. The gnome had cautioned them against harming the drow even though he himself wanted to see her dead in vengeance of Blingdenstone. She was, however, one of the chosen, and thus vital to this quest. The humans agreed to let the drow live until they could speak to Alustriel. Once Alustriel had confirmed the substance of what the gnome had told them the party was faced with the unappetizing prospect of traveling half way across Faerun with what could only be described as a mortal fiend. In the weeks the party had been traveling to reach Silverymoon the black skinned bitch had made no secret of her faith in the Demon Queen of Spiders. She virtually dared the humans to kill her, and they might have had not Kalbar prevailed upon them to hear Alustriel out. She muttered oaths of vengeance upon the fellowship whenever they un-gagged her to eat. The human's regarded her as a necessary evil, one they would be only to happy to be rid of when this quest was done.

J'kin, on the other hand, was the fellowship's trusted 'wild elf' guide; a 'good' elf to balance the evil of the drow. What a farce. Not only was J'kin the human's sworn enemy, he was not even a wild elf. J'kin Gristillodar was a sun elf, and not just any sun elf - he was one of the few remaining descendants of the Aryvandaar, the infamous house upon whom Corellon had laid the blame for the crown wars. J'kin and his predecessors did not accept Corellon's judgment of course. The tattoos he had gotten from his wild elf friends, true enough, but the shaved head was part of his vow against humanity. A vow he had not forsaken.

J'kin had not seen away to rid himself of the humans yet, though he thought he might have an unlikely ally. As evil and as depraved as she was, the drowess was still an elf. If he could get her to see that her real enemy was not her fellow elf-kind, but the humans, they could possibly slay the fools or at least make good their escape. J'kin had pondered this plan for the last few ten-days, but the reality of the quest as well as the long distance between him and home kept him from acting on it. As much as he might have hated to admit it, he needed the humans right now.

M'kayla lay sullenly in the back of the wagon. She was tied quiet securely. After the first few days of travel like this along the Sword Coast the humans had realized the ropes were rubbing all the skin off of her wrists. They did not care much; indeed, they occasionally made jokes about the pyre that would eventually take all her skin. The gnome of all people pointed out that if those sores got infected they would have to heal her. Finally, the humans took precautions, wrapping her wrists in silk before tying them, so while she was bound, she was not entirely uncomfortable. Her ass hurt though. Riding in this ridiculous wagon for ten-day after ten-day had left her ass and back sore, bruised and thoroughly beaten. Fortunately, it had done pretty much the same to the humans.

M'kayla realized they had been stopped for awhile and assumed it was time for the humans to eat or drink or piss or do whatever it was they were going to do. Usually, they untied her during these stops as well, though she was always watched. She sat up only to have the human girl Lylah kick her back down.

“Stay still.” Lylah hissed.

The humiliation was just the latest in a long line. By now, M'kayla's hope of ever maintaining her dignity had long since passed. She could not even kill herself in the state she was in. Before that flash of blinding light she had been a queen, or at least a queen in the making. Now her only hope for salvation lay in the punishment of these humans and that cursed, bald darthiir traveling with them. And the gnome of course. How could she forget the stinking little gnome with his stupid story about being 'chosen' and his annoying songs? That one she wanted to take alive; that one she wanted to flay, carefully, opening him up bit by bit, ever so slowly. One bone after the other exposed as he screamed.

She forced the thought of torturing the gnome out of her head even though it was a pleasant thought. She was not about to lie still for this iblith girl. M'kayla tried to right herself again and this time Lylah seemed not to care. M'kayla could see why. In the distance dozens of human horsemen were streaming across the desert sands towards the fellowship. The riders were not yet moving at a trot and they had some distance to do, but their formation left no doubt as to their intention. Between the overly wide form of the human who called himself the White Warlock and the overly small form of the gnome who called himself Fionn, M'kayla could just make out the phalanxes of approaching Zhent fighters.

What a place to die thought she thought. At least it was not raining. She hated the rain. All across the coast and into the Silver Marches it had rained. Rain was enough of a reason in and of itself to never visit the surface, let alone that obscene globe of fire the humans called the “Sun.” The underdark was full of monsters the surface world would never see, that much was true, but at least in the underdark there was no such thing as 'weather' to fight. It was as if the very surface of the world was conspiring to make life miserable; rain, wind, sun, hail, snow, heat, cold. The underdark was at least consistent.

The two human knights, Kalbar and Pelham, were returning to the group at the wagon. The mounted elf joined them.

“We cannot outride the light horsemen,” Kalbar said, “and if they catch us moving in the open they are likely to pick us to pieces with their bows. We cannot compete and we cannot hope to outride them.” He paused. “On the other hand, if we set a defense, they will use the phalanxes to smash it and contain anyone who tries to escape with the light cavalry. It's a good ambush. Too good.”

J'kin spoke up. “Magic can destroy the phalanxes. Easily. The closer they are together, the faster they will die.”

The ram horned wizard nodded. “Yes, that is so, but I fear there is more to our enemy than we see. The Zhentarim are known for their sky mages. I would not be surprised if one or more now circles us to provide spell defense for their warriors. If my spells land amidst the Zhent fighters, then the elf is right - they will be devastated. If I am right, however, and the Zhents do have arcane cover, my spells will be countered, at least some of them.”

“We need to take them on in pieces, denying them any advantage.” Pelham suggested. “There was an abandoned Zhent outpost a few miles back. It is in ruin, I presume because of its proximity to the Shade's city. If we can make it there, the light cavalry's speed will not avail them and the phalanxes will have to break up to move through the ruins.”

M'kayla heard the human and saw the trap unfolding. Of course there was a convenient ruin nearby they could run to. Their attackers planned it this way. It would be a trap; at least it would be if drow had planned this ambush. She tried to speak up but with her gag it was pointless.

The humans, the elf and the gnome talked it over. The elf would ride ahead and scout the ruin while the rest of the party followed as fast as possible. With some luck, they would make the ruin before the light cavalry realized what they were running towards and moved to stop them.

M'kayla watched as the elf called J'kin galloped to the West. At least the first person claimed by the trap would be that cursed, traitorous darthiir. That she would outlive him was some small comfort. If only she could listen to him die. The knights rode together to the flank of the wagon as the warlock snapped his whip and set the horse team in motion. The wagon swung around and the warlock gave another snap of his whip and the horse team moved faster. The ride got bumpier as the horses picked up speed and M'kayla rolled under one of the bench seats, bracing herself with her legs and knees to keep from rolling around. She peered out between the sideboards at the two knights who were now galloping beside the wagon. In the distance, the light horsemen had turned and were now trotting parallel to the fellowship's course. The two knights saw this two and spurred their horses on faster. Another crack of the whip and the wagon sped up to match them.

Never in all her life had M'kayla seen people run so fast into their own doom.

[Mikayla]

Chapter 7: The Tower on the Edge of Darkness.

In character.....

The Fortress of An'valar had, before its destruction, been home to almost one hundred black armored warriors of the Zhentarim. From An'valar these warriors watched the black road, guarding the passing caravans from the predations of the indigenous Bedine as well as less human monstrosities. At An'valar the Zhent caravans could replenish their supplies, gain a respite from the desert and put a thick wall between themselves and the nomads who so often raided the merchants.

The fortress was laid out in a square. The outer wall was built from bricks formed from straw, local sand and clay, and the water of the oasis by which the fortress was placed. On the inside of the outer wall buildings were built, so that when finished, the fortress was essentially a very large square building with a stout, windowless outer wall and a large courtyard or bailey in the center. The buildings along the outer wall had flat roofs with a surrounding low wall so the Zhent warriors could fight from them. In the courtyard the Zhents erected a tower, also made from brick. The tower stood some 40' tall and had two internal floors as well as a roof. This was the redoubt should the outer wall and buildings ever fall.

For years An'valar stood as one of many Zhent way stations along the Black Road and for years its soldiers fought the elements and the natives, never giving in to either. Then came the shades. In one horrid night An'valar was destroyed. With the return of the shades, the doom of An'valar was sealed and its destruction should have been predicted by the Zhents. Perhaps that doom was predicted and never conveyed to the soldiers stationed there. Perhaps it was not. Regardless, in a single night of fire, shadow, blood and terror the fortress fell. A handful of Zhents had survived by fleeing into the desert. They were later found by reinforcements summoned by a now-dead Skymage's sending. The survivors told of a killing darkness and fire that they could not see but which burned nonetheless.

In the attack, the outer wall and the attached buildings were destroyed. In most places the brick walls now stood only three feet high or less, outlining the floor plan of the razed fortress-square. A few walls stood as high as five or six feet, but they were rare. The central tower was left standing, but its roof was gone and the walls had been breached on two sides. The eastern flank of the tower had a huge V-shaped gash running from where the roof had once been to where the one remaining internal floor still stood.

Now, as the fellowship rode for the cover of the ruins, dark shapes moved amongst its ruined walls and broken bricks. Inside the tower, the shapes appeared at the windows and at the V-shaped gap.

Of the fellowship, J'kin saw the dark shapes first. His sharp, elven eyes were able to discern at least half a dozen humanoids moving in the shutter-less windows and jagged cracks of the old tower towards which the bald elf now rode at a gallop. The shapes were armored and quickly J'kin realized they were Zhent warriors. J'kin drew an arrow from his quiver but did not notch it. Firing a longbow from horseback was a difficult proposition. The bow and its string were simply too long to fire in any direction but to his left. Even turning the bow sideways would result in less than a full draw, and given that the Zhents usually wore heavy armor, J'kin would need all the strength he could get behind his shots.

Arrow in one hand, bow in the other J'kin spurred his mount on and guided the beast with his knees. He kept a sharp eye on the Zhents who were now aiming their crossbows at the rapidly approaching elf. The Zhents held their fire for a moment and J'kin tensed his body waiting for them. All at once the Zhentarim warriors let loose their bolts in a volley. Instantly, J'kin dug a knee into the side of his horse and the galloping animal dug its hooves into the sand making a sharp right turn. Speeding bolts hissed through the air behind J'kin as his horse now ran in a circle around the tower and ruins. J'kin was up in a flash, putting arrow to string.

The Zhent warriors were well trained and experienced, but in this fight their experience worked against them. For years they had fought the Bedine. The nomads were tough, resourceful, determined opponents who rode fast and could use the land better than the Zhents could ever hope to, but they were not spectacular horse-archers. The Zhents knew a little solid cover, thick Zhentarim armor, and a little range meant near invulnerability from Bedine archery. The real danger was losing sight of their enemy who might either go to ground and wait for dark to fall or ride to the flanks. After years of dealing with such opponents, the Zhents had learned not to take cover after firing their crossbows. Instead, they would reload while keeping their enemy in their peripheral vision. This way the Zhents would not lose sight of their elusive enemy. The Zhents, however, had never dealt with an archer like J'kin.

The elf's first arrow struck one of the Zhent warriors through the arm. The arrow split the man's bicep and slipped into his armpit pinning his limb to his torso. The man grunted in pain and fell back from the window. He coughed pink frothy blood and the mad beside him stared wide-eyed at his fatally wounded comrade. J'kin's second arrow took another Zhent in the throat while the third took one straight through an eye. The Zhents fired their reloaded crossbows but the elf was galloping around them now, not towards them, and he was still at long range. Their bolts flew wildly and none connected. J'kin responded with more arrows and more Zhents fell back from the windows and cracks of the ruins with arrows in their necks and chests. J'kin guided his horse in a circle or decreasing radius around the ruin, slowly getting closer but keeping his left side to the Zhents allowing him to shoot freely. The elf's face appeared set in stone as he sent arrow after arrow into the black armored warriors. By the time J'kin was nearing a complete circle of the tower more than half a dozen Zhent fighters had tasted his arrows and the survivors were in a near panic. Combat is an efficient instructor, however, and everything the Zhents had learned about not taking cover was unlearned in a minute.

J'kin steered his horse closer to the ruin, looking for targets as his prey became more elusive. Suddenly, four Zhents appeared at a low ruined wall directly ahead. They were armed with crossbows and as they stood, they fired. J'kin let loose the shaft he had already notched and one of the Zhents fell backwards clutching at his chest where the elf's arrow had simply punched through the metal armor at close range. J'kin's arrow could not stop the four incoming bolts however, and they all found their mark; J'kin's horse. The beast screamed and fell forward. J'kin jumped clear of the tumbling animal and hit the sand running, bow up. He fired. Once, twice, three times, taking down the down the three remaining Zhents that were reloading at the wall. More bolts flew from the tower and J'kin ran for cover. The elf tumbled behind the ruined wall just as another Zhent volley sent bolts skittering off the bricks and hissing into the sand. J'kin tried to return fire, but the Zhents were trained and no longer arrogant about their position; they were taking turns firing, covering and reloading. Every time J'kin tried to bring his bow to bear Zhent crossbowman were waiting. The elf was pinned behind the wall.

J'kin lay on his side and looked towards the east where the wagon was speeding towards the tower with the knights flanking. At least help was on the way. J'kin heard a human yelling and rolled a little to get a better view of the ruin without exposing himself. Zhent infantry were pouring out of the tower and forming up into a phalanx just outside of the ruins. With the crossbowmen pinning J'kin down, the elf could not get into a firing position.

In the distance, J'kin could see the two knights riding closer to the wagon. The girl and the gnome were handing the galloping knights something; something long. Lances. The fellowship had been carting the enormous weapons around since Silverymoon and J'kin had thought them to be naught but a waste of space and testament to the vanity and impracticality of human kind.

Sir Kalbar and Sir Pelham shared a glance, then both kicked their horses up to a full gallop and lowered their 14' foot long lances. J'kin watched the two knights thunder towards the Zhent formation in wide-eyed awe. The heavy warhorses were huge animals, barded in the front, and on their back sat two huge humans in full plate armor. Only now, as J'kin watched from the ground in front of their charge, did he come to fully understand why the mounted knight and his lance was such a powerful weapon. J'kin could feel the beating hooves of the huge animals through the ground and his heart raced with anticipation. The two knights lowered their visors with their off hands and J'kin found himself thankful that the humans could not use such warriors in the dense forests of Cormanthor.

The Zhent phalanx leader was shouting to his men to prepare. In the ruins behind the phalanx, the Zhent crossbowmen turned their attention to the two knights charging across the desert. Here again, long years of experience in the desert betrayed the Zhents. The Bedine simply had nothing like the heavy plate worn by Kalbar, Pelham and the knights' mounts. The Zhents were used to dealing with a fast moving, unarmored or lightly armored enemy. As a result, the Zhents used light crossbows that fired quickly. Not one man among their band was armed with an arbalest or any weapon designed to punch through plate armor. Though the knights charged in a straight line and were easy to hit compared to the elusive elf, the bolts of the Zhents bounced harmlessly off the enchanted plate of Kalbar and Pelham.

M'kayla too, watched as the human knights charged the ruins. Fascinating. The human cavalry was every bit as powerful as the drow elite lizard riders. Even more so perhaps. The horse-mounted cavalry could not climb cavern walls and ceilings like drow cavalry, but here on the surface, there was not much to climb.

Things seemed to slow down as the two riders approached the phalanx. A Zhent leader gave a yell to his men and the soldiers of the phalanx hurled their javelins at the charging knights. Many of the Zhents, seeing an enemy the likes of which they had never encountered, were on the verge of panic and their aim was false. Even those that managed to score a hit with their javelins found their arms could not muster the strength to penetrate the steel plate. The Zhent soldiers gripped their shields tight and pulled their short-swords. All eyes were on the knights.

Then it happened.

Pelham and Kalbar hit the phalanx wall head on, lance to shield, charging horse to waiting man, knight to warrior. Splinters, shields, and men flew as the two horsemen shattered the phalanx. Men fell beneath the hooves of the warhorses or were thrown bodily aside. A soldier staggered back and fell screaming, a four-foot long section of broken lance through his torso. Pelham and Kalbar rode through the broken formation and circled their horses. Pelham dropped a broken lance, Kalbar dropped a bloody one. In the sand behind them half a dozen Zhents lay wounded or dead. The rest tried to form up but the knights gave them no respite. Pelham drew a long sword and charged again. Kalbar slung his shield and drew from a saddle sheath a great, two-handed sword. He too charged back into the fray. Some of the Zhents stood their ground but their bravery did not avail them. Pelham brought his enchanted blade down on one cutting through the man's helm and splitting his skull. Kalbar swept up with his two-handed long blade, cutting another from groin to chin.

J'kin just stared at the devastation the two humans had wrought. It was awesome. Awesome and frightening. In the future, he would have to ensure that no army or band of the N'Valahr ever met such humans on an open field.

As the elf watched, bolts hissed above from the tower and began to find the flanks of the knight's mounts. Because of the long travel, the knights had not traveled with their horses fully barded. The animals' flanks and hindquarters were exposed. J'kin suddenly realized he had been so intent on watching the charge he had forgotten to fight. The elf rolled up and saw the panic stricken crossbowmen were no longer keeping him pinned. All attention was on Kalbar and Pelham.

J'kin sprinted for the tower door and pulled two arrows at once from his quiver. At the threshold a Zhent appeared to stop the elf but J'kin put both shafts through the man's chest in one shot. J'kin drew two more arrows and leapt over the man's body as it fell. Once inside the tower he sidestepped around the inside firing up through holes in the ceiling above him at the Zhent crossbowmen. The elf gained the stairs, taking them two steps at a time. Another Zhent crossbowman appeared at the top and sent a bolt slicing through J'kin's left arm. The elf did not pause. He dropped the arrows in his right hand, drew a dagger and hurled the blade at the black clad human catching the unfortunate man in the clavicle. The man staggered back and J'kin was on him, sword in hand. The elf struck once low and then brought the blade back around high cutting into the man's neck. The other crossbowmen were too intent upon dropping the knights to notice that death had entered the tower behind them and in a flash, J'kin was pitching their dead bodies out of the windows of the tower.

Down below, Pelham pushed up his helmet's visor. Kalbar simply took his helmet off. Around the two lay the bodies of more than a dozen Zhents as well as their own mounts. Kalbar leaned on his great sword, catching his breath. “You were right Sir Pelham, this was something of a trap.”

Pelham, also breathing heavily in his plate, nodded. He looked up at the tower and saw a bloody J'kin casually pushing a dead Zhent out of the V-shaped crack. “I think we have overcome it though.” He pointed up at the elf with his sword. “The elf seems to have taken the tower.”

Kalbar nodded once then looked out at the desert. The Bedine light cavalry had come to a stop just North of the ruins while in the East the three phalanxes of Zhents had formed into a line followed by their one remaining covered wagon. The small train was making steady progress towards the fellowship.

“We still have our original problem however,” Kalbar said. “And now you and I are without mounts.”

Pelham gazed across the desert at the approaching phalanxes. “How long do you think?”

“A couple of hours at best.” Kalbar replied. “You wounded?”

Pelham nodded. “Yes, but not badly.” He looked at Kalbar. One of the paladin's greaves had been torn off leaving his leg a bloody mess. “You as well. And the elf.” Pelham sighed. “This does not bode well. I can heal some, so can you I have no doubt, but we have no proper healer.” Pelham paused. “Well, none but her.” He said grimly, nodding at M'kayla as she rode by in the wagon. The drow priestess was still bound and gagged but Pelham could swear she was smiling, even giggling, at the sight of the wounded knights.…..

[Mikayla]

Chapter 7 Interlude - The Good, The Bad, and the Rezzed.


Even as the Fellowship took the ruined tower of An'valar in the deserts of Anauroch, another conflict was playing itself out on the gang-infested mean streets of South Central aLfA…..

A '60s vintage Impala the size of a small ship cruised slowly down Silverymoon Boulevard. The driver was a man of average build, wearing a goatee, sunglasses and a bandanna pulled down so low over his forehead he had to tilt his head back to see out the windows. His name was Lafter and he was one of the OG's of Waterdeep having come up through the street running with crews like the Shadow Thieves and the Sons of Mask. On the street he was known as Mashan. He jokingly referred to himself not as a gangster but as a pirate; his lowered Impala was the size of a ship and an Oakland Raider's Jolly Roger flag in the back window and the many Raider's stickers lent support to the whole pirate theme. Truth was, however, Lafter could not even swim.

In the passenger seat sat Evro, one of Lafter's long time aquaintenances. “Over there,” Evro said quietly, pointing at an upcoming alley. Lafter nodded and turned the huge Impala down the narrow alley. The boat sized car drifted down the narrow back street until Evro pointed at a dumpster.

“There,” Evro said.

Lafter stopped the car and checked the rear view mirror. He looked around the alley but did not see any other people. “You sure?” Asked Lafter.

“Yeah, I'm sure.” Evro replied. Evro opened the Impala's door and stepped out. Lafter looked around once more. South Central aLfA was not Lafter's hometown. Evro had called Lafter up from Waterdeep after finding one of Lafter's old crew in a dumpster. Or so he had said.

Lafter got out of the Impala and looked around yet again, his right hand slipping beneath his oversized flannel to the 9 MM tucked in the waistband of his chinos. He walked over to the dumpster, gave a Evro a look, then opened the lid.

Inside, half covered in trash was a body. Lafter recognized it immediately. “Madre de dios,” he exclaimed.

“It your boy?” Asked Evro.

“Si, mon. Its Oso.” Lafter replied. 'El Oso del Cuidado,' the 'Care Bear,' was one of Lafter's long time acquaintances. He was never really apart of Lafter's crew, but Lafter and Oso had known each other for many years and maintained a healthy respect for one another.

“Somebody croaked him.” Lafter said. “We should get him out of here mon, he should get his props. He needs to be buried and I'm gonna' have to tell his madre.”

A few minutes later and Lafter and Evro were loading the lifeless body of El Oso del Cuidado into the trunk of the Impala. Evro saw there was another body in the trunk. “Who is that?” He asked.

“Some fool, don't ask.” Lafter said. “Happens.”

Evro nodded.

The two men got back in the Impala. Lafter started up the behemoth and eased her out of the alley back onto the boulevard. He had not gone a block when red and blue lights lit up the rear window.

Lafter pulled over and a man in a blue uniform wearing a badge walked up to the passenger side of the Impala, using a flashlight to light up the Chevy's interior.

“You two want to step out onto the curb?” Said the uniformed man. Though phrased as a question, there was no doubt that it was a command. Evro glanced at the uniformed man's name tag. “Andrew Freak” it said.

“Pinche bendejo jack-off,” muttered Lafter as he got out. “This a-hole never leaves me alone. He's been after me since my gang-bangin' days.”

An orc across the street saw Officer Andrew telling Lafter and Evro to exit the Impala. The orc walked up to Andrew. “Hello, I am a Paladin officer, may I be of assitance.”

Andrew looked at the orc paladin and nodded. “Cover me while I search these two.” Andrew then began to frisk Lafter. Immediately he found Lafter's 9 MM.

“Whats this then? An illegal weapon? You know these are against the guidelines don't you Laffy?” Andrew asked mockingly.

“I gots a permit for that.” Lafter responded. He pulled out his wallet and handed a folded up piece of paper to a skeptical Andrew.

As Andrew unfolded and read Lafter's permit, Evro glanced over at Andrew's car. “Waterdeep Police Department” was written on the door.

Andrew threw Lafter's permit on the ground in frustration. “Goddamn crooked DMs. Bet you're pretty proud of yourself, eh?” Andrew handed Lafter back the 9 MM. Angrily, Andrew walked around the Impala looking for anything illegal, not up to code or in violation of any rule, guideline or charter provision. Suddenly, Andrew noticed the Impala was sitting low; too low. He reached in the driver's side window and pulled the trunk release. Lifting the trunk lid he saw the croaked body of El Oso del Cuidado and just smiled.

“I got you this time you punk. You may have eluded our gang enforcement division for years, you may have a whole server-full of ADMs, HDMs and Admin in your pocket, but I'm one cop that ain't on the take - and now you're busted scumbag.”

Evro looked from Andrew to Andrew's car and back to Andrew. “You're out of your jurisdiction. You ain't a South Central aLfA cop - you're just a Waterdeep DM. You can't touch us here. You want us? Go talk to the 'proper authorities.'”

Lafter looked up from his bandanna. “Ah..no way holmes, mi amigo is right, you way out of your turf. Hit the road maricone, before we hit you.” Lafter picked up his permit and pulled back his flannel showing the 9 MM.

Andrew eyed the gangster coldly and let his hand settle on his holstered pistol. The two men began to sidestep around each other, each waiting for the other to make the first move as Hugo Montenegro began to play Ennio Morricone's theme from “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.” Evro eyed them both and sidestepped away, slowly reaching for his own concealed weapon.

Just as all hell was about to break loose, El Oso del Cuidado sat up in the trunk of the Impala.

“I'm not dead.” El Oso said.

Evro looked over at El Oso. “'Ere, he says he's not dead.” Evro said.

The orc paladin suddenly began to transform right in front of everyone's eyes. As they watched, the orc assumed a pathetic hybrid form of an animal; it seemed the orc paladin was actually a were-weasel.

“Yes he is.” Said the pathetic were-weasel.

“I'm not.” Said El Oso.

“He isn't.” Added Lafter.

“Well, he will be soon, he's very ill.” Replied the weasel.

“I'm getting better.” Claimed El Oso.

“No you're not, you'll be stone dead in a moment.” Answered the weasel, pulling out a large flamethrower. Without another word the weasel let loose a stream of flaming napalm engulfing El Oso as well as Lafter's Impala.

“Hijo de una puta!” Shouted Lafter pulling out his 9 MM. Andrew saw Lafter draw and he too went for his gun prompting Evro to go for his. Gunshots split the night as the gangsters, cop, weasel and carebear lit each other up. A burning El Oso lept from the trunk of the Impala screaming in pain and rage and grabbed the flame-throwing weasel. Lafter ducked for cover while Evro got off a single shot. Andrew blazed away with his six-shooter but could not put Lafter or Evro down. Not satisfied, Andrew dropped his first pistol and pulled two more fancy, pearl handled revolvers, one engraved “DM Forums” and the other engraved “General Forums,” and began blazing away. Lafter and Evro had reached cover and only occasionally poked their heads up to shoot off the odd round. El Oso and the weasel were locked in a titanic struggle to the flaming death and all up and down the street came the residents of South Central aLfA. Andrew shot in all directions while some of the residents shot back at him.

The flaming Impala, not having been properly parked, began rolling down the street. It hit a Hollywood gas station and exploded. Flames shot into the sky and the scene on the boulevard turned into a general riot. South Central aLfAns streamed into the streets throwing flaming molotovs and setting their own city afire. Andrew kept blazing away, only pausing to reload. El Oso and the Weasel fell to the ground choking each other, both oblivious to the fire that was consuming them both. Lafter and Evro looked at each other and just shook their heads. Time to make good an escape.

Suddenly, the fire department was on the scene. They unrolled their hoses and let loose a steady stream of spam trying to extinguish the fires.

Still the riot continued. Down the block, a couple of hard-RPing newcomers to the neighborhood watched in horror as the flames spread. The spam was slowing the blaze, but not fast enough. The couple packed up their PCs and moved out.

As they left Elorn drove by in his VolVo yelling “ALFA sucks! ALFA sucks!”

Finally, the Fire Department filled the streets with so much spam the rioters could no longer riot, the flames could no longer burn, the VolVo could no longer drive and the Andrew could no longer police.

The Big Cheese of the Fire Department just looked around and smiled. “I LOVE the smell of cooked-spam in the morning. Smells like…thread lock.”

***

Far away a sinister cloaked figure watched the riots on TV. “All is going according to plan. Soon, all of ALFA will have degenerated into such mindless, self-destructive violence, and then, I shall sweep in and all of ALFA shall fall under my rule!” The sinister cloaked figure began to laugh maniacally at his evil brilliance. Soon, every street in aLfA would either be engulfed in the flames of riots or choked with spam. ALfA's only hope lay in the Chosen Wielders of Forum-Fire, who had formed into the Fellowship of the Forum. At this moment however, the Fellowship were trapped in character far from the streets of South Central aLfA in the ruined tower of An'valar, and unable to stop the progress of the evil lord who even now sought to become….Lord of the ALFA.

[Mikayla]

Chapter 8, The Turning.

[Author's note: The “two part” in-character piece has grown and will likely take four parts in total (this being the third). I will intersperse OOC funny pieces of course, as I know that's what everyone wants - but I like writing the IC pieces sooooo]

A note about language. The following definitions may help those not familiar with the drow language: Ilythiir: Drow; Valsharess: Queen. Iblith: Execrement, offal, waste - the word most commonly used by the drow to refer to non-elven races; Darthiir: Surface Elf (insulting, just as 'Drow' is an insult to the Ilythiir).

In character

Pelham looked at J'kin's wounded left arm. All of Pelham's healing prayers were used but J'kin's arm was still bleeding, albeit slowly now. Pelham's wounds and those of Sir Kalbar had been fully healed thanks to prayer and the blessed touch of the Paladin, but now their prayers had been expended.

“There is naught more that I can do elf, I am sorry.” Pelham said to J'kin. The muscled elf nodded and looked at his arm. The elf flexed it. Pain coursed through him but he found he could use the limb now. The bleeding had slowed and would eventually stop. Still, he doubted the wounded arm was strong enough to brace his long bow for firing.

“I can heal the arm,” came the gravelly voice of the White Warlock. “I have some healing powers and I can finish what Pelham started. Still, we have a problem.” The Warlock pointed out the empty doorway of the tower. “The Zhents are coming. There are a lot of them and I do not think they will be giving us much respite to pray for more healing.”

Kalbar looked over at the Warlock. “We will have to do our best with your healing then.”

The Warlock nodded. “Aye. So my advice is don't get wounded.”

Pelham chuckled. “Sound advice old man. Who says wizards don't know anything about fighting?”

J'kin watched as the Warlock healed his arm. An idea came to him. “We have another healer.” J'kin said.

The Warlock looked up at him quizzically, then a look of recognition crossed his face. The old wizard frowned slightly. “You mean the drow?” The Warlock asked.

J'kin nodded. “Yes. If I am not mistaken, she is a priestess. Though given more to inflicting wounds than healing them I would bet she is capable of both.”

Kalbar spit. “I'll not take any succor from one such as she. Better to die with honor than accept aid from her demonic bitch-queen.”

Pelham nodded in agreement. “Aye, I would rather face Torm with a clear soul sooner than a tainted one later. I need nothing from the drow and I will take nothing from her, except her life if necessary.”

“I understand,” J'kin said, “and I too would rather face Corellon at the gates of Arvandor without any stain of the Spider Queen upon my life.” J'kin, of course, would actually have rather spit in Corellon's face, but the human's did not know this. “We are, all of us, for better or worse, the Chosen. That we come from different places, different races, different gods and goddesses tells me that we are not serving the Spider Queen in this quest. Though I surely do not want the taint of any drow upon me, I am also sure that drow does not want an elven bow defending her, or a human sword. Nevertheless, on this quest, I will protect her and I am guessing she will accept it. For the moment, we are following a higher power. Alustriel herself has set us upon this course. Shall we let ourselves be defeated by pride?”

Kalbar stood silent for a long moment. “Strong words elf, and they carry a wisdom. For myself, I will not accept any boon from the drow unless it means the difference between failing our quest and succeeding. My life is unimportant. My soul is important, but as you have pointed out, this quest seems larger than all of us. If it means only my life - I accept nothing from her. If it means the quest, than I will take the burden of accepting her aid on my soul and consider it part of my sacrifice for the greater good.” The paladin paused. “There will be an atonement, however, and it goes without saying that when this is done, she will have to pay for her evil.”

Pelham sighed. “I've no wish to take her healing, but those that do may.” Pelham looked up at Fionn and Lylah who were up on the second level of the tower looking down through a hole in the floor and listening in. “What say you? Shall we use the drow?”

Fionn the gnome spoke first. “We cannot trust her. I would take her healing if it meant the difference between life and death.” The gnome chuckled. “In fact, I would like to see a drow priestess forced to pray to her damned goddess to heal me. But the fact remains we cannot trust her. The drow are murderous betrayers with no regard for life, honor or anything we hold sacred. Whatever role she is to play in the course of this quest, I doubt she will play it willingly.”

J'kin was ready for the gnome's concern. “I will see that she does not betray us.” The elf said. “The drow are the ancient enemy of my people. For long millennia have they hounded elf-kind from their subterranean lairs. And for long millennia have we fought back. I know something of their kind. I have fought them.”

The Warlock looked at J'kin for a long moment, then glanced at M'kayla who lay on the floor of the ruined tower still gagged and bound hand and foot.

“You are quite the archer, and very brave, but do you really think you are up to managing a drow priestess?” Asked the Warlock.

J'kin took a deep breath. “I swear by Corellon that I will see she does not betray us. Or I will die trying.” J'kin made the oath sound solemn, but it meant nothing to him. Corellon had betrayed J'kin's house eons ago at the end of the Crown Wars and while J'kin could not deny that Corellon was the leader of the Seldarine, J'kin owed the Elf-Lord little if any loyalty. Indeed, by House Aryvandaar's reckoning, J'kin owed Corellon a little betrayal to even the score.

“I will help the elf watch her.” Said Fionn. “We cannot kill her, not yet anyway. So, lets use her.” A thought occurred to Fionn. What if she refused to help? Fionn decided to give some incentive to help. “If she will not be used,” Fionn continued, “then we know she will be of no help to us and we are free to dispose of her as we would anything not useful.”

“Aye.” Said Pelham.

The discussion continued and M'kayla tried her best to ignore it. If they set her free she would go through the motions of helping them so long as they watched her. M'kayla thought it highly unlikely any prayer to Lolth she uttered on behalf of one of these iblith would actually be answered. As for the Darthiir, well, M'kayla was fairly sure a prayer for healing to Lolth on his behalf would be answered but most likely not with healing. The only question was whom would Lolth kill? The darthiir? Or the high priestess foolish enough to try and heal him?

Pelham, the human who usually tied her up, walked over to M'kayla's prone form. He bent down and untied her bindings. Once her hands were free she removed the gag in her mouth on her own. She spit.

“If you betray us,” Pelham said, “we will kill you. If you try and escape, we..”

“You will kill me.” M'kayla said in common interrupting the knight. “Do not presume to lecture or command me male.”

“I will not presume anything.” Pelham said rising. “I will however, do as I said.”

“We are in what may be a very desperate position.” Said Fionn. “You can help us survive it and thus help yourself survive, or you can choose not to. Without your help, maybe we live, maybe we die. The one thing that is for certain is if you choose not to help us, you will die.”

M'kayla straightened up and stretched out her sore limbs. She said nothing in reply as she was using every ounce of her self-control to keep from descending into a whirlwind of violence. The gnome's tone was enough to send her into a killing rage. The humiliation of her predicament was simply incomprehensible. As she fumed she noticed the rest of the fellowship was staring at her. She bit her lip and threw her head back, brushing her long white hair with her hands. She gazed at the iblith and their pet darthiir. Was she now their pet ilythiir? Not if she could help it. She had to escape this fate, one way or another.

“My things.” She said tersely. “If I am to help, I will need my things.”

The humans exchanged looks. They had discussed this but Pelham was skeptical. The knight of Torm looked to Kalbar who simply frowned. The Warlock shrugged and they all looked to J'kin.

“I will watch her. This I have sworn.” Said the elf.

Pelham walked to his saddle which he had taken off his dead mount and dragged into the ruined tower. Kneeling, the knight of Torm pulled forth a roll of black felt tucked between the saddle and the saddle blanket. The knight spread the felt out into a circle on the sandy floor and then, bending low over the felt, whispered something the others could not hear. The circle of black felt became a hole in the floor of the tower. Pelham reached a gauntleted hand into the hole and pulled out a sheathed short-sword. He set the sword down and reached back into the hole. Piece by piece he pulled out all the gear the fellowship had taken off of M'kayla when she had appeared in front of them so many ten-days ago in Baldur's Gate. The only piece of her equipment Pelham did not have was her rapier. During their trip, they had drawn the rapier to examine it but had done so in the daylight. The black blade of the weapon immediately began to smolder. Small pits formed along its length as if it was being eaten away by acid. They had quickly sheathed it, but the exposure had apparently started an irreversible process of decay. Within a day, the blade looked like an ancient relic and with in two days, the blade was gone and the weapon destroyed.

When Pelham was done retrieving M'kayla's items he leaned over his hole, whispered the command word turning the hole back into felt, then folded up the dark cloth. He stepped away from the pile of gear.

M'kayla rubbed her wrists and looked at the fellowship. Slowly she crossed the tower to her things and began sorting through them. She stripped out of the long silk gown she had borrowed from the human girl, Lylah. Pelham and Kalbar immediately looked away, startled by the drowess's sudden nudity. M'kayla seemed not to care. For the drow, nudity was to be avoided not out of shame or modesty but simply out of practicality - those not wearing armor were easy to kill and clothes did a wonderful job of concealing weapons, wands and other devices essential to protecting one's life in the Underdark.

M'kayla stared out of the tower at the approaching Zhents as she pulled on her armor. She could see the black clad warriors a little better now that the sun was going down and the sky growing dim. There was no good way out of this. Even if she could manage an escape from the iblith watching her, what then? She could not cross a desert like this on her own. The Zhents were humans, or so they appeared; they were no help. She could help the iblith defeat the black clad Zhents but what then? Be their pet? Such indignation was too much. Death was better.

M'kayla slipped on her thigh-high armored leggings and fastened the garters suspending them. She sighed. What a time to get caught wearing ceremonial armor. Though ilythiir made and heavily enchanted her armor revealed as much skin as it protected. It was the kind of armor she would wear to official functions or even when leading troops - but not what she would wear for an anonymous trip into the Underdark. She pulled on her fingerless elbow length gloves and flexed her hands again. Her wrists were still sore. She pulled back several long strands of hair framing her face, twisted the strands into a knot and held the knot behind her head. With her other hand she deftly used her poisoned hair needles to secure the knotted strands.

She looked out on the desert itself now, beyond the Zhents. What a place to die. And that's what this was after all. It was where she would die. The black-armored iblith coming from the East would kill her if she did not escape or kill them. The iblith in the tower would kill her if she tried to flee. Even if she somehow managed an escape, the desert would kill her and would do so quite slowly. The only way to avoid death would be to help the iblith in the tower defeat the black armored iblith and that path led to the damnation of her soul as far as Lolth was concerned. The Spider Queen was not likely going to let M'kayla get away with aiding iblith, let alone a darthiir.

Before the blinding flash had dropped her into the arms of these wretched humans, M'kayla had been on her way to address her followers at a great ceremony in Lolth's name. M'kayla had declared herself the Valsharess of the Drow and was setting in motion her plans to make that claim a reality. She was, with no exaggeration, at the height of her power. In a single brilliant flash she had gone from queen to prisoner. Now her captors sought to transform her once again, this time from prisoner to slave.

She would rather die. All years of work to achieve what she had achieved in the Underdark were, by now, wasted. The power base that had taken her centuries to build, the Underdark and her fellow drow could easily wipe away in the three months she had been gone.

So this was it. She would die here, on the surface, in the night above, at the hands one group of stinking iblith or the other, her years of effort and struggle wasted. She should have known such would be her fate. Lolth was like that after all. The Spider Queen's favor was the most prized and powerful possession any drow could obtain, but it was also the most elusive and the hardest to hold onto. For years M'kayla had enjoyed the benefits of that favor. She was a pampered princess living at the top of the social order and she played it for all it was worth. She kept the Spider Queen's favor the best way she knew how - by staying faithful to the Lolth and carrying out the dark goddesses will as best she could. Somewhere along the line she lost the favor though.

M'kayla smiled wryly as she pulled on her necklaces and fastened her choker. She had probably lost Lolth's favor when she declared herself Valsharess. Lolth often found it amusing to cast down her highest followers. Had not the Spider Queen engineered the death of Menzoberranzan's Matron Yvonnel Baenre?

The dark skinned priestess looked down at her sheathed fighting knife. It was what a human might call a short-sword. M'kayla picked it up but did not sling the sheath. Instead she drew the blade.

Behind her, the fellowship had been watching the priestess dress carefully. They were willing to take a chance, but none trusted her. Pelham shifted his hand to the hilt of his sheathed sword while Kalbar stopped leaning on his great-sword and instead flipped the huge weapon up in his hands. The Warlock took a step back and his left hand slipped beneath the folds of his robes. On the second level above, Fionn watched carefully through a large hole in the floor with Lylah. The girl did nothing but Fionn palmed a throwing knife.

Across from the priestess on the ground level J'kin saw the fellowship tense. The elf held up a hand to them, imploring them to wait.

M'kayla turned to face the fellowship, the naked blade of her killing knife in one hand. She stared at it. She could plunge it into her own breast or throat and end this humiliation but would Lolth respect that? How would it feel? She seemed to want more from her death than just a release from this world. Anger welled up inside of M'kayla: Anger for having her life stolen from her at the moment of her greatness; anger for being left so weak; anger for her years of struggle; anger for her lost children; anger for those children that were not lost and would, even now, be undoing her back at home; anger at the iblith for being the disgusting creatures they were; anger at the darthiir for their treachery and genocide; anger at the Spider Queen for her fickle ways. And anger at herself; for letting her children die; for raising the ones that lived to turn on their mother at the first sign of weakness; for falling into the hands of these iblith and their darthiir; for failing to become the Valsharess as she planned; for trusting in Lolth's favor.

The drow priestess sighed. She was not used to moments of introspection - for most of her life she had been far too concerned with survival to spend any time or effort looking inward. There is no time to look into the dark recesses of one's soul for 'truth' when one must spend all her time looking into the dark recesses of her physical surroundings looking for assassins.

“Time to die.” She said softly. She flipped the fighting knife into her left hand and with her right foot kicked her coiled whip knife up into her right. She let the lash drop and began pulling back as Pelham drew his sword and the Warlock drew a wand.

“Stop!” Yelled J'kin. “This is not Lolth's will.”

The sound of the Spider Queen's name rolling off the tongue of an elf was enough to stop everyone, even M'kayla.

J'kin stepped forward. He was afraid something like this would happen. “Lolth does not want you dead.” J'kin said to M'kayla. “She does not want any of us dead. This quest we are on, this task before us, it is bigger than any single god or goddess.”

M'kayla eyed the approaching darthiir. She would take him first. A small offering to Lolth on her way to death and the Demonweb Pits. A shame she would likely not get the gnome as well. M'kayla so hated the gnomes.

J'kin looked around at the others. “Every person here follows a different god and yet we are all united with a common purpose. The Paladin of Tyr heals the Knight of Torm. The Warlock uses his druidic powers to heal a follower of the Seldarine. Beyond this fellowship, we are not allies, not necessarily. We each follow our own path - but we have been chosen. Not by his god, or your goddess, but by something larger. Alustriel may be your enemy, but she made our task clear. There is an evil which threatens this world - not just the surface and the world of men and elf, but the world of the dr…Ilythiir was well. Your world. That is why you are here. That is why the svirfneblin is a part of this as well.”

J'kin took another step towards the wary drow priestess. “All our gods and goddesses want us here,” the elf continued, “including yours.”

There was some sense to the elf's words but M'kayla resisted his logic. Lolth would not want her to aid this darthiir. Would she?

“Prove it.” M'kayla said, almost petulantly. The drow priestess raised the blade of her fighting knife to point at the elf as if to keep his very words at bay.

Time to gamble, J'kin thought. “Alright,” the elf said, taking another step towards the priestess. “Bless me.”

“What?” Asked M'kayla incredulously.

“Bless me.” The Elf repeated. He stepped forward slowly and put his chest gently against the point of her outthrust weapon. “Bless me,” he said again, “in the name of your goddess, bless me. If Lolth wants you dead, if she does not want you to help us, your prayer will conjure no blessing. If your prayer succeeds however, if Lolth herself grants her blessing to me, then we know she want you to help us.”

M'kayla hissed. “I'll not fall for your words or your tricks.” She shifted her weight forward and the enchanted blade of her sword slipped ever so easily into J'kin's skin drawing blood. The elf did not flinch.

“I have no trick and my words do not deceive. We of the fellowship can conjure much, but none of us can conjure the blessing of Lolth. Not even you can conjure the blessing of the Spider Queen if she does not wish it.” J'kin locked eyes with the drow priestess. She held his gaze but in her eyes he saw doubt and fear. “Pray priestess. Pray for Lolth's blessing upon your enemy. If you succeed, you know I am not Lolth's enemy. Not today anyway.” J'kin had no real idea if this would work but he thought it would. Lolth, for all her evil and insanity, was elven. Though cursed to the Demonweb by Corellon, Lolth had once been a goddess of elves, Araushnee. That she was seen as just the goddess of the drow was a modern fallacy. The drow were not even created in her image or cursed to their present existence until thousands of years after Araushnee had been banished from Arvandor. To short sighted races such as the humans who understood little of history, Lolth, and even the drow as a whole, could be seen as separate from the elven race. J'kin did not adopt the same view. For him, Lolth was a demented, insane and evil goddess, but she was elven and, like her drow followers and J'kin's own house of Aryvndaar, she was the victim of Corellon. This priestess before him might not see that she and J'kin were both elves and really cousins, not enemies, but J'kin was gambling that Lolth would not be so shortsighted.

“Bless me.” He said again, leaning forward into M'kayla's knife. His eyes challenged hers and she could no longer hold his glance. M'kayla found herself chanting a simple prayer, the litany of faith, and called for the blessing of Lolth upon J'kin.

Pelham and Kalbar exchanged looks. M'kayla's unholy words and prayer were offensive, but whatever offense they felt was forgotten in the shock of seeing an elf ask for those unholy words.

As the fellowship watched, M'kayla finished her prayer and a small flash of darklight erupted from her hands and engulfed J'kin. For a moment, the elf glowed with a dark radiance the color of the night sky. In the reddening twilight of the desert sunset J'kin looked as though he had stolen the coming darkness and wrapped himself in it. The darkness deepened. The inky blackness began to swirl and the cloak of gloom surrounding J'kin took on the texture of a spider web.

And then it was gone.

M'kayla simply stared at the elf in wonder. Never in all her years as a priestess had she seen such a visible sign of Lolth's blessing resulting from such a simple prayer. Such a tangible display of the Spider Queen's will was reserved for sacrificial ceremonies, and even then, it usually took the sacrifice of a darthiir to effect such a blessing.

J'kin reached up slowly and took hold of M'kayla's outstretched arm. Gently, he took the fighting knife out of the stunned drow's hand. He picked up the sheath M'kayla had dropped and slid the blade into it. He looked up at M'kayla who stood speechless.

“It is your Queen's will.” J'kin said. He held out the sheathed sword towards M'kayla.

M'kayla blinked and shook her head. “So it would seem.” She reached out and snatched the sword from J'kin's grasp. She turned to look out into the desert at the approaching Zhents. “Very well male. You will have my help….so long as you continue to enjoy Lolth's blessing.”

Behind her, J'kin nodded. “That's the best I can ask for.” One step closer to having an ally, J'kin thought.

The Warlock grunted and clapped J'kin on the shoulder. “Brave, lad, very brave. Also very reckless if not downright stupid, but brave nonetheless.”

Pelham walked over to Kalbar and spoke quietly. “Why do I feel less at ease now that she has agreed to help us than I ever did when she was our avowed enemy?”

“For the same reason I do.” Said Kalbar softly in reply. “Because something is wrong here.” Kalbar flipped his great-sword around again and tapped Pelham's shield with it. He spoke louder now. “But we have a battle to fight brother. Let us prepare.”

Above the rest of the fellowship, Fionn exchanged looks with Lylah.

“I don't trust him.” Lylah said.

“I don't trust her either,” Fionn replied, showing Lylah the throwing knife he had palmed.

“No, I said I don't trust him.” Lylah said, turning to look down at J'kin.

Fionn blinked. “Oh.” He paused and looked down also. “I see what you mean.” Suddenly Fionn felt a pang of fear and uncertainty twist up his stomach. Who was this wild elf J'kin anyway? Fionn had assumed the elf was a goodly sort but Lylah had him thinking. Perhaps this felloship was not quite as stable as he thought.

“Look north!” Yelled the Warlock from below. Fionn poked his head out of the eastern gap in the wall and looked north as the Warlock suggested. The 'Bedine' who had tracked the fellowship had shed their outer robes revealing black armor beneath. They had been Zhents all along. No real surprise Fionn thought, but now it was something of a problem. Half of the false Bedine were dismounting and preparing to fight on foot.

Kalbar called out. “Prepare yourselves. The enemy is upon us.”

Indeed, thought Fionn, and possibly among us..

[Mikayla]

Chapter 9 - The Stand

The ruined Tower of An'valar, Anauroch.

Magilus Zorbok, better known to most as the White Warlock, watched the drowess M'kayla rub the blade of her fighting knife with a damp cloth. The rag had been soaked in some dark, foul smelling, viscous oil. Magilus wondered why. Perhaps to protect it from the daylight? The light of the sun had destroyed the she-drow's rapier, and she had recently drawn her short sword during the day. The blade was not hissing and pitting like the rapier had, but then, the short sword had been drawn in the shadows of the ruined tower's interior. Did that make a difference? Magilus would not ordinarily be concerned, but both of the blades in question appeared to be forged from adamantine, and that was the one metal that would cut right through the protection of a stoneskin enchantment; a protective spell Magilus often relied upon.

Lylah stood with Magilus and M'kayla on the second level of the tower, watching the stationary Zhents in the distance. “What are they waiting for?” She asked no one in particular. Lylah found it bad enough she was facing certain death. Being made to wait for that death was almost more than she could take. “Why don't they just get it over with?”

“They will attack when the sun sets.” Answered Sir Pelham from below. Pelham was on the ground level of the tower and called up to Magilus through the holes in the stone floor Magilus was standing on. “The sun is setting behind us, so, for the moment, it's in their eyes, at least the ones to our east.” Though Pelham sounded confident of what he spoke, there was a subtle shift in his voice that Lylah had never heard before. Lylah was an expert at human emotion if nothing else and she recognized what the shift meant; Pelham was afraid.

The old wizard stepped to one of the holes in the floor, looked down at Pelham and nodded an acknowledgment. Magilus then ventured a look out of the gap in the tower wall. The Zhents had formed up in series of wedges about a thousand feet from the tower. Soon they would come. Unlike Lylah, or even Pelham, Magilus was not particularly worried. The Zhent soldiers outnumbered them dramatically, but the soldiers could be easily dispatched with magic. The trick was to find and neutralize the Zhent spell casters. Once that was done, the rank and file warriors would fall quickly.

On the other side of the gap M'kayla finished wiping down her fighting knife with darkoil. She was fairly sure the blade had not been subjected to direct sunlight, but she was not willing to take any chances. The darkoil would protect it, at least for a while. She too looked out of the V-shaped gap in the east wall of the tower. The sun had almost set and it was finally dark enough for M'kayla to actually see something in this wretched desert. In the distance, she could see the four phalanxes of Zhents followed by their covered wagon. The phalanxes marched in line, one after the other. Foolish, M'kayla thought, they will be easy to kill with magic.

M'kayla paused for a moment to take in the fellowship's position. On the ground floor, the two human knights, Sir Kalbar and Sir Pelham, guarded the only entrance; a door-less archway facing east. On the second floor of the tower, the human girl Lylah, the Warlock and M'kayla stood, preparing to cast their magic through the V-shaped gap that also faced east. There was also a small window to the north through which the Warlock kept an eye on the Zhents who had been masquerading as Bedine. Above M'kayla, on the uneven ledges that were all that remained of the roof, the darthiir J'kin and the gnome Fionn had taken positions behind broken battlements. J'kin held his bow while the gnome held a wand.

M'kayla returned her long, wickedly serrated fighting knife to its sheath on her hip. One by one she checked her other weapons as she had been taught at Melee-Magthere. Though she carried a plethora of weapons, the most dangerous thing at her disposal was the power of Lolth. With a simple touch she could kill by invoking that power. She had done so before, and now, it seemed, she would do so again.

“They're on the move!” Pelham called out.

M'kayla looked east. The Zhents were indeed on the move. As she watched, the black armored humans began steadily trotting towards the ruined tower of An'valar where the fellowship now made ready to receive them. At the rear of the approaching humans M'kayla could see something larger moving with them. It appeared to be about the size of a large ogre or small giant, but its features were obscured by a cloak or covering draped over its head and torso. Behind the cloaked giant followed the Zhent's one remaining wagon. The wagon bothered M'kayla. Wagons were rare in the Underdark and never as large as this one. She was not sure what the humans were doing with this lumbering, wooden, monstrosity, and not knowing scared her.

She was also bothered by the strange stone in the center of the ground floor of the ruined tower and she was not the only one. Both Fionn and Warlock had examined the stone in great detail as well. It was not magic, that much they were sure of, but they did not know what it was for. The stone was set into the floor, effectively immobile, and intricately carved with numerous designs, all seemingly meaningless. M'kayla instantly thought it was a trap, as had everyone else. Despite their best efforts, however, no trap, magical or mechanical, had been found.

Just thinking about the wagon and the stone was driving M'kayla into a furor. M'kayla truly hated not knowing what things were for. Of course, M'kayla truly hated most things, and so being driven into a furor was nothing new for her. Indeed, it was how she went through life for the most part.

“They come from the north as well.” Said the Warlock, standing at the small window. “It seems they intend to flank us.”

“They can't flank us.” Answered Sir Pelham. “There is only one entrance.”

“Be that as it may, they are still coming from the north as well as the east.” The Warlock called down. The middle-aged human reached into the folds of his dirty white robes and retrieved a pouch from which he began to sprinkle a glittering powder over himself. He chanted as he did this. M'kayla recognized the protection spell. It was a good one only if your opponent did not have weapons of adamantine, and in the underdark, both the drow and duergar made their weapons from that metal. The humans now approaching were more like orcs than drow or duergar, but their armor was black. M'kayla supposed it was possible the human's might be equipped with adamantine arms but it seemed unlikely.

She heard a hissing noise and turned to the east only to have a crossbow bolt rip across the skin of her exposed hip. She yelped in surprise and pain. More bolts followed. She spun behind the wall. The human girl cast a shielding spell on herself and then tried to get a quick look east. The Warlock stepped into the gap and pushed Lylah back behind cover. M'kayla muttered a short prayer to Lolth and healed the laceration on her hip but did not venture another look through the V-shaped gap.

“One phalanx has stopped advancing and started shooting. They are trying to keep our heads down with crossbow fire.” Pelham called up.

Thanks for the timely warning, M'kayla thought.

“Can you do anything about them?” Pelham asked.

“Sure. I can set them on fire.” Fionn called down. The gnome was playfully waving his small wand about. “This thing works wonders.” The gnome waited for the next volley of bolts to pass, then rose up from behind the broken battlements of the roof. He pointed the wand east, spoke the command word and a small ball of fire shot from the wand towards the Zhent crossbowman. Just as the small ball of fire was about to hit the line of black armored humans and become a much bigger ball of fire, it winked out of existence.

“Countered. The damn Zhents countered it.” Fionn yelled.

J'kin rose, took aim and fired an arrow at the distant crossbowman. The arrow struck one of the men, but not straight on. The man's armor deflected most of the impact. J'kin quickly fired again and was met with the same result.

“They must be four or five hundred feet out.” J'kin reported, dropping back behind cover. “I'll save my arrows.” He did a mental count; thirty-eight arrows left for this battle. Even if he could miraculously kill one Zhent with every arrow, he probably needed at least twice as many as he had.

Lylah climbed partway up the rubble and cast a spell of shielding on the gnome. The Warlock gave the girl an appreciative look. She has heart, Magilus thought, I hope its enough. She could be a decent apprentice someday.. The Warlock looked up at Fionn. “Alright, lets see if they can counter two at once. I will cast when you do.” Fionn nodded.

Fionn raised his wand and the Warlock began casting. As Fionn's second tiny ball of fire launched, the Warlock launched his own. The two tiny sparks flew east and, just before impact, both winked out completely. “This may be more difficult than we thought.” Magilus called out to the fellowship. A tiny knot of worry formed in the old wizard's stomach. All three castings had been countered but he could not tell by whom. Where were the Zhents' damn mages?

Lylah heard the old man's words and found them more disturbing than the failed spells. More difficult than we thought? She looked at the old man with furrowed brows. Was he insane? This was certain death from the start. How could it possibly be more difficult than certain death?

Lylah was a sorceress, and a powerful one, but her spells were mostly enchantments and charms. They were the sorts of spells that, under other circumstances, might have kept the fellowship from having to do battle at all. Once battle was joined, however, her powers were less useful. She did have some minor shielding spells, and a spell that inspired greater heroics to those who received it, so these she began to place on everyone in the fellowship; everyone except that drow bitch anyway.

The 'drow bitch' had her own spells, however, and she was casting them. As the Zhents trotted towards the tower, M'kayla raised her own protective spells. She called upon Lolth's protection, Lolth's endurance and Lolth's blessing. Each invocation made Sir Kalbar wince and the Paladin began saying his own prayer to Tyr to forgive him for letting the drow go one living. As M'kayla prayed to Lolth and Kalbar prayed to Tyr, the Warlock was running through his own suite of empowering spells.

Outside the tower the Zhents kept firing volley after volley. A large group of the northern Zhents stopped moving forward and joined in, sending crossbow bolts hurtling towards the broken battlements where J'kin and the gnome were hiding.

“Their lead group is at the edge of the outer ruins!” Called Sir Pelham from below.

“Alright,” said the Warlock to the fellowship, “I will throw a dispelling enchantment on the lead group. Gnome, you burn them down the moment I am done. Drow, can you do anything?”

M'kayla gritted her teeth at hearing the word 'drow.' Drow was a corruption of dhaerow, the elven word for traitor, and it was not what the ilythiir called themselves. Indeed, it was an insult. Still, this was no time for bantering with the iblith male. “Xas.” Was all she said.

Magilus new enough drow to know she had said 'yes.' “Good, follow my lead then.” The wizard waited for a break in the crossbow volley fire then stepped into the gap and cast a spell at the oncoming Zhents. Fionn immediately fired another tiny ball of fire at the humans and M'kayla cast her own spell, intoning dark words to summon the power of the Spider Queen.

Fionn's tiny fireball winked out, just as before, but as M'kayla raised her hands to complete her casting, a swarm of hand sized spiders erupted from the desert sands in front of the Zhents. She smiled a most wicked smile as her goddess granted M'kayla hundreds of her favorite, poisonous little servants to do her bidding. M'kayla dropped her hands and yelled a single word in the drow dialect: kill. The swarm surged forward at the humans.

Then it was gone.

Not one spider reached a Zhent warrior. The swarm had surged forward only to disappear entirely. M'kayla screamed at the humans in anger only to have her scream answered by a volley of crossbow bolts. Furious, she tried to use her innate powers to dispel whatever enchantment protected the black armored humans but it seemed in vain. The spiders were gone.

The Zhents began weaving through the ruined outer walls and buildings. Magilus was more than a little concerned now. The tiny knot of worry had grown into a pit of dread. He could probably escape this debacle if he had to, but he would not be able to save the fellowship. The battle was not lost yet, however, and he had more tricks left to try. With his left hand he pointed his wand, the Wand of Circe, at an on rushing human and triggered the wand's magic intending to polymorph the human into a wolf that would be friendly to Magilus. Nothing happened. By all rights, the human should have been transformed, but he was not.

“Now would be a good time for some of that magic.” Called Pelham from the ground level.

“We're trying!” Barked the Warlock in frustration.

M'kayla stood in the V-shaped gap cursing at the human wave washing over the ruins below her. The first phalanx was just through the outer buildings, the next on its heels, the next following them and then the wagon. All in a nice straight line, though the leading phalanxes were more spread out. Indeed, the first phalanx was six across and two deep, while the second was four across and three deep and the third phalanx was three across and four deep with the cloaked giant at its center. Why were they lined up so? And why was this so familiar? M'kayla had seen this kind of formation before but where? What did it mean?

Suddenly a spider appeared beneath the back wheels of the rolling wagon, then another and another. M'kayla's swarm reappeared as the wagon passed by where the swarm had been when the swarm disappeared. The vicious arachnids turned and pursued the wagon, but the wagon was moving too fast for them to catch. What could cause a summoned swarm to disappear only to reappear in the same place a moment later?

M'kayla's eyes went wide with recognition. The formation, the spell countering, the missing swarm. Anti-magic. A cone of anti-magic.

“Eye-tyrant!” M'kayla screamed. In the depths of the underdark eye-tyrants, also known as beholders, were one of the primary threats to ilythiir society. Along with illithids, cloakers, and aboleth, beholders were among the true horrors of the depths and ones the drow often fought with.

M'kayla thrust out her right hand towards the wagon as if to grip it, her long, pointed nails looking like some fiend's claws. Scowling, she spat words of power and hatred. A hole seemed to appear beneath the back of the Zhent wagon, instantly growing to a pit ten feet across. Unholy, abyssal green flames struck upwards from the pit in a column that reached higher into the sky than the ruined tower of An'valar. The unholy fire engulfed the wagon, blowing its rear wheels off and setting the wood alight. Fionn heard M'kayla and understood instantly. He quickly triggered his wand and sent another tiny ball of fire speeding east. This tiny ball of fire also winked out just before hitting the humans, but it was not aimed at the humans; it was aimed at the back of the wagon, and there it reappeared and exploded. Red and orange flames joined green and the burning wagon came apart.

From the flaming wreckage, a shape emerged, a round shape, wider across than a human man stood tall. The great orb was crowned with mass of eyestalks that waved like some horrible, fiendish mockery of hair. In the center of the orb was a single great eye and below that great eye was an even greater mouth; a black pit filled with long, serrated teeth. The beast screamed in agony as multi-colored flame swept across its back where its anti-magic eye did not shine.

The great eye closed and M'kayla spun back behind the wall. Above her, Fionn ducked, as he also knew what would follow. As the great eye closed, the smaller eyes of the stalks focused on the fellowship. Glittering rays of magic crossed the distance between the beast and the tower. One ray shot through the V-shaped gap where M'kayla had been standing while another sought Fionn in the battlements. The third ray, however, was not fired at the drow or the gnome; it was fired at the tower just above the archway guarded by Pelham and Kalbar. This third ray disintegrated the stones remaining between the V-shaped gap and the archway, causing the second floor to collapse. Stones rained down upon the two knights who had been standing guard over the archway, slamming into their helmets and shoulder plates, and knocking the two men down.

Above Pelham and Kalbar, Lylah screamed as the stones beneath her feet gave way. She reached out for something, anything, to hold onto but there was nothing to grab. Magilus fell with her, but he did not reach out for a handhold; Magilus was far more intent on maintaining his grip on his staff and wand. Lylah, who had been standing in the center of the second floor, fell upon the strangely carved stone planted in the center of the lower floor. The girl grunted as her body struck the unyielding rock, and then she went limp.

M'kayla felt the floor beneath her give and instinctively levitated. She fell only a foot or so before her innate power stopped her fall and left her hanging in the gap that had once been the eastern wall of the tower. The tower itself still stood, though there was no second floor any longer. The outer wall was all that remained, reduced to a crescent with its open arc facing east towards the approaching humans.

In the distance, the last phalanx, the one surrounding the cloaked giant, disappeared from sight. M'kayla did not have long to wonder where it went; an instant after disappearing the phalanx appeared inside the tower ruins, clustered around the strange, carved stone. M'kayla suddenly realized the purpose of the enigmatic stone: its carvings, though not magical, were absolutely unique and probably carved by whoever cast the spell bringing the phalanx in. The stone allowed for instant and, most importantly, accurate, teleportation.

Below M'kayla, the cloaked giant threw off his cowl to reveal a humanoid body at least ten feet tall. He was bald, with two small horns on his head. Massive muscles rippled beneath green-gray skin and in his meaty hand he bore a mace larger than any M'kayla had ever seen before. M'kayla, a drow high priestess who had, in her time, had relations of many sorts with demons and other fiends, instantly recognized the creature as a half-fiend. What M'kayla did not recognize was the creature's uncanny resemblance to depictions of the Great Tyrant, Bane. The half-fiend appeared standing astride the carved stone and at his feet lay the prone form of Lylah. M'kayla, looking down, saw that Lylah had regained consciousness, though bloody and bruised. The prostrate girl looked up at the levitating drowess in panic. M'kayla shook her head just slightly. Lylah, though panicked, was smart enough to get the message; Lylah laid still and played dead.

The Zhents accompanying the half-fiend set upon the prone form of Magilus who had managed to hold onto his precious staff and wand but paid for that devotion by taking a bad fall. Only the mage's stoneskin spell saved him from having his throat cut instantly by the murderous Zhents. On the east side of the tower at the north point of the open crescent, Kalbar struggled to his feet and found himself on the defensive against three of the black armored humans who fought side by side, their shields forming a wall from behind which they thrust and cleaved with their short, heavy killing swords. From the open crescent, the lead phalanx made its way through the ruins and poured in. Kalbar backed up against the remaining tower wall trying to avoid being completely surrounded. Outnumbered and flanked, the paladin gripped his great sword and engaged his attackers fearlessly.

Across from Kalbar at the south point of the open crescent, Pelham began struggling to stand. The knight of Torm blinked trying to see clearly but his left eye would not open. Pelham realized he must have blacked out. He tried to push himself up but found something heavy weighing on him. Raising his head he saw no wall where moments ago there had been tower. Where was he? With his vision already limited by his helm's visor, he found it difficult to determine where he was or what was happening. How did he end up on the ground? He tried to push his visor up with his left hand but the visor would not move. He kept pushing at it until he realized the visor had been bent and was now stuck in place.

Something pressed Pelham into the ground, keeping him down. He felt a sharp pain in his armpit and dull ache spreading through his neck and upper back. His head was pounding and he could not hear anything. He rolled slightly and pushed himself forward and up. A man was there, in black armor, thrusting a sword at Pelham. The knight of Torm deflected the thrust with the shield still strapped to his arm. Another bolt of pain shot through his armpit and Pelham realized attackers surrounded him. They were thrusting their heavy short swords into the gaps of his plate armor looking for weaknesses. Pelham swung to his left, leading with his shield, and bashed one of the men to his rear. Where was Sir Kalbar? Where was the tower? How did the Zhents surround him? What was wrong with his left eye and why had he been on the ground?

Pelham saw his long sword lying at his feet. He bent to pick it up and he felt the stubby blades of his attackers test his armor again. The armor held. Pelham retrieved his weapon and righted himself. He did not know what had become of his companions; he could see none of them. Indeed, he could see very little with only one eye and a bent visor. He did not know the situation and he did not know how many attackers he now faced. He knew only that he found himself in desperate battle. The time had come to fight or die.

The Zhents kept close to Pelham, however, denying him the opportunity to bring his sword to bear. Pelham chose one opponent and began to beat on the man with the pommel of his sword. The man raised his shield and tried to thrust his short sword at Pelham's exposed armpit but Pelham pressed the attack beating the man mercilessly. Finally, the beleaguered Zhent fell back a pace. This was the opening Pelham needed.

The bloody knight raised his long sword. “For TORM!” He bellowed, bringing the razor edged sword down in an arc at the man he had been beating. The blade bit through the black armor and cut the man's arm clean off. Blood spurted from the wound and the man screamed. The Zhent fell to his knees holding the stump but was quickly replaced by another. With the fall of the Zhent more space opened up and Pelham swung again and again.

Above the vicious, congested, melee, the gnome Fionn sang a song of enchantment trying to hold the hideous half-fiend in place. The beast resisted the gnome's magic. It yelled to the dozen humans who had appeared in the tower with it and to those who now rushed in from the ruins. “No prisoners!” The beast exuded a palpable evil that washed over the fellowship like a wave of gray sickness causing Fionn to start retching from his perch near the top of the ruined tower. J'kin was not overcome however, and drew two arrows at once from his quiver. The elf drew his bow and released, sinking both shafts deep into the thick hide of the great half-fiend. The beast hardly noticed, but J'kin continued to fire. M'kayla was astonished at how fast and accurately the darthiir could loose his shafts at short range. No such archery skill existed amongst the ilythiir that she knew of.

With a dozen long shafts protruding from its hide the half-fiend finally took notice. The half-fiend turned and seemed on the verge of letting loose some abyssal power but J'kin fired two arrows straight into the creature's face, ripping through its mouth and cheeks. The beast fell backwards in a spray of black blood and collapsed on the carved stone.

“Shields!” Yelled on of the Zhent humans in the tower. Several nearby humans stepped together and formed a shield wall over their fallen leader. J'kin fired two more shafts but these were deflected. Behind the shield wall, the half fiend was still alive, but on the verge of death. Lylah, who had been feigning death herself, saw her opportunity. She drew her enchanted dagger and rolled towards the stricken beast. With one hand she grabbed one of the half-fiends horns, and with the other she thrust her dagger through the creature's ear. Just as she was finishing her coup de grace, the Zhent who had called for the shield wall turned and began performing a healing prayer for the fallen beast. Immediately he saw Lylah and her bloody dagger and he knew what she had done.

“Whore!” He yelled. The man swung his mace down in a low arc. Lylah fell backwards away from the blow, but not fast enough. The mace just clipped her brow, opening up a long cut. Blood poured down her beautiful face as she rolled, trying to evade her attacker who swung after her again and again.

M'kayla wrapped herself in her piwafi and levitated out of the tower. An ilythiir, wrapped in a concealing piwafi, would be nigh invisible against the dark backdrop of the night sky. As she reached the top of the ruined battlements she reached out and kicked off of the broken stone sending her on a drift eastward.

Below the levitating drow, Fionn began singing another enchantment. He never finished the spell. Three beams glittered across the desert from the eyestalks of the smoking beholder. One disintegrated the wall covering the gnome's position. The second struck Fionn, but failed to hurt the spell resistant svirfneblin. The third beam, however, also found its mark. M'kayla watched the gnome's face contort in agony as he struggled to resist the beholder's deadly magic. Suddenly, Fionn's expression froze in place and M'kayla realized he had been turned to stone. No longer able to keep his balance or grip on the precarious perch, the stone gnome fell from the heights of the ruined tower to the floor below, crushing one of the Zhent warriors.

Across the tower floor from where Fionn's petrified form had fallen, the Warlock lay surrounded by Zhents who mercilessly stabbed at the mage with their blades. Each thrust was turned away by the magic of the stoneskin, but Magilus knew that protection would not last. He reached up with his left hand and uttered the command word for the Wand of Circe. One the Zhents stood upright in shock, and then began to scream as his body reshaped into that of a wolf. The scream faded into a guttural growl as the man disappeared and the wolf form was all that was left. The other Zhents stared wide-eyed at their companion, giving Magilus the chance to roll away from them and get to his knees.

“Attack!” Barked the Warlock. The wolf turned on the other Zhents, dragging one man down with its great teeth. The other men overcame their shock and slashed at the wolf only to have the Warlock polymorph another of their number. The wolves were no match for the armor and swords of the Zhents, but Magilus had broken their shield line. As fast as they could kill the wolves, Magilus made more and he was doing it out of their own ranks.

High above the melee in the tower, M'kayla levitated on her slow drift towards the beholder. The eye-tyrant had not seen her, not yet anyway. If that luck held out, M'kayla could kill the beast. She had a spell of destruction that would slay the creature outright but she had to get closer for the spell to work.

M'kayla was unfamiliar with the Zhentarim, however. She did not know the Zhents trained their own corps of specialized arcanists. The 'Skymages' as they were known were wizards who specialized in supporting the Zhent armies from aerial mounts. They provided spell cover as well as offensive power and specialized in neutralizing enemy spell casters who sought to use magic to defeat the close ranks of the Zhent formations.

As M'kayla drifted towards the beholder, one such sky mage flew above her. He was mounted on a great griffon, but M'kayla could not see the flying beast or its rider thanks to an invisibility sphere. Had M'kayla been able to see the flying human, she would have seen his eyes glowing with a blue light, betraying the sky mage's use of spells to see both magical auras and invisible creatures. This sky mage and his griffon had been assigned to provide cover for the beholder below him, one Xavlal by name. As the sky mage flew gentle circles around the slow moving beholder, he saw a magical aura drifting up and east. He banked in for a closer look.

The figure was drow woman. The sky mage had never actually seen a living drow woman before, but had he had heard much about them. For a time, he had served at the Zhent outpost near Daggerfalls and he was there when the drow had launched a great raid upon the town as well as its neighboring villages of Daggersprings and White Chalk. One thing all the witnesses agreed upon was that the drow were naturally resistant to spells and magic of all sorts. The sky mage had no reason to doubt the reports. He also had little reason to fear. While his magic might not work upon the drow, he was riding several hundred pounds of winged lion known as a griffon as no amount of magic resistance would stop the beasts claws from tearing apart this drow female's pretty skin. The sky mage pulled back on the reigns and the griffon banked hard but silently. The pair glided through a tight arc and came around behind the drifting drow. The sky mage put the griffon in a dive towards the drow female tapped the griffon on the head twice, signaling it was to attack the diminutive dark elf.

M'kayla felt her body slammed by something so strong and powerful all she could think of was that she was in a cave-in. Something raked her arms and legs and she cried out in pain. A huge beast was on her, clawing at her. M'kayla whirled in the air and found herself fighting a great flying beast whose claws and beak sought to rend her to pieces. Astride the beast was a human, clearly directing this attack. M'kayla did not know what a lion was but she recognized the bird head of the creature and knew this was probably a griffon or a hippogriff or some similar monstrosity. The beast's claws raked at M'kayla. Where they hit her armor, they could not harm her, but where they found skin they ripped into the high priestess mercilessly.

M'kayla reacted instinctively with the most devastating harm spell she had. Her eyes flared with anger and a hellish red light formed around her right hand. With a scream she thrust the glowing hand forward grabbing at the flying beast's chest. The hellish power of the spell flowed from M'kayla into the griffon and as she intoned Lolth's blessing the dark power of the Spider Queen burned the great animal. The beast let loose an ear-piercing shriek and beat its wings trying to fly away from the drow it had thought was an easy meal. It was too late. The power of the spell had been unleashed and that power washed over the doomed animal burning it with unholy fire. The beast died in mid shriek and began to tumble.

This was not the first time the sky mage had been astride a mount that was killed. Without panicking, the man released the quick release knot on his special flying saddle and rolled away from the tumbling carcass of his former mount. The flying magic he had cast previously held him aloft. He looked up at the bloody drow above him. Maybe she was resistant to magic, maybe not. Either way, he would find out. Though he had lost mounts before the sky mage did not take such loss lightly. He would kill that bitch, spell resistance or not. With a snarl he summoned his own magic power and blackness surrounded his hands. He willed himself up towards M'kayla and charged her in mid air.

Down below, the beholder Xavlal saw the aerial battle suddenly erupt. The beholder watched with increasing apprehension as the drow woman slew the griffon with a single touch. Xavlal, like many of its kind, knew much about the drow and the eye-tyrant recognized what was above him: a Lolthian high priestess. The same bitch that had set his wagon on fire and burned his back. Maybe the sky mage could handle this opponent, maybe not. Xavlal was not about to take any chances however. The drow, especially their accursed priestesses, were fierce, merciless opponents and no strangers to beholder-kind. The eye-tyrant rolled itself back to face skywards and opened its single great eye.

Almost a hundred feet above the desert floor the sky mage had almost reached the bloody drow priestess with his dark spell. Suddenly the black aura around his hands was gone and he was falling. He looked down and saw the beholder staring up at him with its one great eye. “NO!” He screamed as he fell to his death.

M'kayla also fell, her levitation power suppressed by the anti-magic cone of the beholder's central eye. More than just her levitation was suppressed, however. M'kayla felt herself growing, stretching out to her full height of six feet. Her armor, with its garter suspended leggings and elbow length fingerless gloves had been designed to accommodate this change should it occur. M'kayla's manicured nails lengthened into true claws, her eyeteeth lengthened into fangs and wings sprouted from her back. The dead creature on the floor of the ruined tower was not the only half-fiend in the desert this night.

M'kayla was the product of a drow matron and an incubus; a male demon of sexual temptation. While half-fiends, like the notorious Draegloths, were considered a blessing to Ilythiir families, they were also considered tools to be used. No half-fiend would seriously be considered for a position of importance. Though respected for their innate power, half-fiends were usually not viewed as true drow.

M'kayla's father, the incubus Eliazar, found a solution; a renegade red wizard of Thay who knew a great deal of tattoo magic. The red wizard worked with Eliazar to perfect a permanent, magical tattoo that would allow M'kayla to appear as a normal drow. The red wizard new little of the Ilythiir, but Eliazar was able to give the mage something no human wizard had ever had access to - the Faen Tlabbar love potion. The priestesses of House Faen Tlabbar brewed a colorless, odorless, tasteless potion that would induce love for the Faen Tlabbar women in any drow male who drank the brew. The potion had another effect entirely if imbibed by a non-drow: the potion would make the drinker take the form of an Ilythiir. The transformation was not perfect - a tall human with short hair drinking the potion would become an unusually tall drow with short hair. Still, the potion was amazingly powerful and carried in it the secret of transforming a person into an Ilythiir. With the potion to work with, the red wizard was able to devise a formula for the desired tattoo. There were only two problems: first, the tattoo would be huge, wrapping around all of the woman-child's limbs. Second, the tattoo needed to hold the enchantment permanently. The solution for both problems was the same - the ink would come from the blood of living moon elves. Their sacrificed lives, their sacrificed souls, would empower the tattoo. Eliazar provided the red wizard with an entire family of moon-elves, stolen from their home in the dark of night. The depraved red-wizard gleefully drained them one by one of their blood as he brewed his foul, enchanted ink. The blood-ink was dark, so dark it did not show against the black skin of the half-drow woman-child it would be used on. This permitted the tattoo artist to draw anywhere he wished without fear the tattoo would later be seen by prying eyes. The red-wizard set to work.

When it was done, the human mage instructed the young half-fiend girl on how to invoke the tattoo's concealing magic. M'kayla learned quickly. In her natural state, M'kayla stood six feet tall and looked like nothing less than a drow succubus, complete with wings, claw-like finger nails and black demonic eyes as dark as the abyssal pits themselves. With the tattoo activated, M'kayla stood five and half feet tall, and while still tall for a drow, she passed easily as a slender, attractive Ilythiir female.

She and Eliazar were so pleased with the work that they killed the red wizard as quickly as possible rather than torture him slowly as they had planned. The father and daughter pair had planned on casually draining the wizard of his blood using the same twisted device he had used on the moon elves, but given his fine work, they opted for a quick dagger in the heart. Who says fiends know nothing of mercy?

Only later did they discover a curious side effect. The dark ink, while normally invisible against M'kayla's black skin, glowed bluish white when she was in her natural form and exposed to the light of the moon. As M'kayla and Eliazar's plans for her ascension to power involved the ruling of Underdark realms, not surface realms, this seemed to be a minor problem at worst.

Now, forced into her natural succubus-like form by the anti-magic of the beholder, M'kayla's tattoo glowed under the light of the moon. All across her exposed indigo-black skin, fine blue-white lines in the pattern of intricate, interlaced webs appeared.

The she-fiend fell and tried to extend her wings, but she had forgotten about her piwafi. Though torn and shredded by the griffon's attacks, the damaged cloak was now caught up in M'kayla's wings preventing them from unfolding. Desperately she struggled free of her piwafi and spread her wings, slowing her fall. With greater dexterity than a cat, she hit the ground on all fours, unhurt by the sudden descent.

Unfortunately, she had dropped directly in front of the second phalanx. The Zhent leader looked at her with wide-eyed terror but quickly mastered his fear. Raising his short sword to point at her he yelled a simple command.

“Kill it!”

The Zhent captain's men responded hesitantly at first, surrounding the downed she-fiend rather than rushing her. They formed a u-shaped shield wall and began to close in on M'kayla as she stood to meet them. She could fly up out of the pocket but that would make her a perfect target for the beholder's rays. She was lucky the beholder had used its anti-magic cone rather than its rays, but then, the beholder could not have predicted M'kayla had wings as well as levitation.

As the Zhent soldiers closed in on her, M'kayla growled out a prayer to Lolth. She channeled the power she stored from a prayer for curing the serious wounds of many into an unholy invocation of Lolth's power to inflict serious wounds on many. As she chanted her prayer a deep reddish glow spread from her lithe, crouched body and washed over the approaching soldiers. The men screamed as the abyssal power burned through their bodies. One after another fell, clutching their chests and heads until eight lay dead in the sand. The rest survived, though not unscathed. The Zhent captain saw his men hesitate and charged M'kayla; he recognized the best way to survive this hellish drow-fiend was to kill her before she killed them. The survivors, emboldened by their captain's charge, rushed M'kayla as well.

The captain thrust and M'kayla spun away. The man slashed at her spinning form and the tip of his blade grazed her shoulder, cutting open her silken, tattooed skin. Sensing weakness, the man pressed his attack. M'kayla uttered another prayer, again invoking the power of Lolth. She reached out and grabbed the man's wrist as he attacked and she completed her prayer. The captain screamed as M'kayla's touch burned his arm, singing his flesh and wracking him with pain. The captain was a seasoned veteran however, and was not about to give into the death M'kayla offered quite as quickly as she would have like. He twisted his arm away from her and broke free from her grasp. M'kayla, even in her natural fiendish form, was no stronger than an average man, and the captain was no average man. He tore his wounded arm free and fell back, letting his men join the fight.

M'kayla saw the men swarm around her, and tried to fend them off with claw and wing. Though she loathed losing the spell, she decided to channel the power of her destruction prayer into another mass wounding. She began the chant and the captain, recognizing the words, screamed “Stop her!”

The men needed no more prodding. They threw themselves at M'kayla with abandon. M'kayla felt arms and hands trying to grapple with even as others tried to stab her. She did her best to dodge the humans' blades and evade their grip but she could not maintain her concentration on her spell and the prayer was lost.

Just outside of the melee, the Zhent captain quaffed a healing potion. Fortified, he rejoined the fight, determined to add a drow-fiend to his list of things killed in his lifetime. The high priest of Bane who accompanied the Zhents also joined in, using his own infernal prayers to inflict wounds upon M'kayla just as she had done to the captain. M'kayla, however, was still half-drow and naturally resistant to spells.

Though the Bane cleric's prayer did not harm her, M'kayla was still surrounded and outnumbered six to one by the Zhents. She tried desperately to cast another spell and they tried just as desperately to stop her. Again they succeeded and she failed and the melee continued.

Back at the tower, J'kin was firing the last of his arrows into the swirling combat below him. Magilus, Kalbar and Pelham fought hand to hand with more than a dozen Zhents, but they were separated. The Zhent shield walls pinned each of the men to separate section of the remaining wall tower forcing them to fight on their own unless they wanted to get stabbed in the back. Near the center of the ruined tower, Lylah tried vainly to scramble away from the man pursuing her. The man was a lesser bane cleric and with one hand he grabbed Lylah's ankle. With his other, he drew back his mace for a killing blow. Lylah desperately cast a spell of holding and the cleric froze in place.

J'kin saw the paralyzed man and realized the threat to Lylah. The elf fired two arrows into the man just as the cleric began to shake off the effects of Lylah's spell. One shaft lodged in the man's upraised arm but the other found his neck. The dying priest spun to face J'kin, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. The armored cleric fell and Lylah scrambled away.

Another glittering magical ray shot towards the tower, but this one came from the north, not the east. A second beholder, previously invisible, appeared where the beam originated. The glittering beam struck the tower near its base on the north side and a ten-foot section of the wall simply disappeared. The wall from which J'kin's ledge protruded collapsed as its supporting stones were disintegrated. J'kin pitched forward and fell from the upper rim of the ruins landing amidst the melee and loose stones below.

With practiced timing, the group of Zhents who had been masquerading as Bedine rushed the newly formed gap in the north wall of the ruined tower. J'kin stood to meet them as quickly as he could. A sharp pain shot through his left side and he realized he had broken at least one rib as well as his left arm. An overeager Zhent charged the wounded elf without waiting for his comrades. J'kin drew his own long sword as the Zhent came through the rubble. The black armored human thrust his short sword at J'kin's wounded side. J'kin turned the other man's blade out with his long sword and lunged in. The tip of J'kin's sword skipped off the edge of the Zhent's breastplate and slid into the man's neck. It was not the cleanest riposte J'kin had ever performed, but it was effective enough. The Zhent clutched at his bleeding neck as J'kin withdrew his sword and struck again.

Lylah saw the Zhents streaming into the tower, threatening to overwhelm the already outnumbered fellowship. Desperately, she used her innate arcane powers to cast a spell of holding, but this time, she tried to hold more than just one man. She called out the words of the spell and thrust her hands forward releasing the eldritch energy. Half a dozen incoming Zhents froze in place.

Behind Lylah, Magilus took note of the girl's casting as he fought beside his newly formed pack of wolves. A moment ago he had thought she would make a good apprentice, but he realized now such thoughts were foolish. This girl had power. That she needed a guide and a mentor was obvious, but this was more to temper her emotions and help her deal with her skills. Her spell casting ability was clearly developed already.

Suddenly, the frozen men moved again. Magilus frowned, then he realized the second beholder to the north must have opened its central eye, negating the effects of Lylah's spell. Magilus also realized that so long as that eye was open and facing this direction, he could cast no spell and that meant he would not be able to polymorph any more Zhents into friendly wolves. Magilus had to get out of the beholder's cone. With a shout, Magilus swung his great Ironwood staff in front of him and started making his way through the melee towards Pelham and the gap in the eastern wall. If he could get out of the beholder's anti-magic cone and free from these Zhent warriors, Magilus could call down the destruction of lightening itself and send that beholder straight to the hells.

Outside of the tower M'kayla was quickly finding herself on the verge of being overwhelmed. Her fiendish blood gave her some resistance to mundane weapons but the Zhents had her surrounded. Some of the men had grappled her wings while others tried to pin her arms. The ones that were not grappling were desperately trying to thrust their short swords into the writhing priestess. The Zhent captain, equipped with an enchanted blade, was having more success than the others but even he could not land a solid blow on the squirming woman. She was not particularly strong, but she was fast, agile, and well protected by magics.

M'kayla knew she was running out of time. She closed her eyes and summoned the most horrible power at her disposal; and abyssal power, one born not out of her devotion to Lolth but arising from the fiendish nature of her blood. She pulled the power of the abyss it self into her body and let it flow into the men grappling with her. The Zhents screamed as the abyssal power withered their flesh, warped their bones and burned their blood. M'kayla felt the men release their grip and she poured more of the power out of her dark soul. She opened her eyes, now undisguised by her concealing spell, revealing dark orbs that were nothing less than windows into the abyssal pits. The wilting spread from man to man and one by one they collapsed, screaming, withering, dying into the sand. M'kayla spread her wings and took to the air as she spread the power around her. The Zhent captain and the Banite high priest fell back, their flesh shriveling. The two men were quicker and hardier than their subordinates, however, and they managed to escape M'kayla's horrid power alive, if not unscathed.

M'kayla, now full of abyssal power and exuding an unholy aura, swept her power across the Zhents around her and back towards the tower. Three of the black armored warriors who had surrounded Sir Kalbar fell to the ground, their bodies literally wilting from abyssal energy. Kalbar stared, wide-eyed as the men fell screaming about him. The paladin looked up at the source of this evil and saw, for the first time, M'kayla in her natural state, hovering above the sand on demonic wings, her black skin criss-crossed with a glowing spider web tattoos. Fangs, claws and soulless eyes told Kalbar all he needed to know: this was not just a drow this was a fiend. While the Zhents might be evil, and they might stand in the path of the quest, they were not fiends. M'kayla, it seemed, was the greater evil by far. Kalbar gripped his great sword and stepped towards the flying priestess. He would not tolerate such an evil to exist.

The Zhents did not care about Kalbar's sudden revelation, however, and those not slain by M'kayla's powers rushed the paladin. Kalbar found himself once again outnumbered and surrounded. He swung his great sword with speed and skill, keeping all but the most foolhardy of the Zhents at bay. At the paladin's feet lay half a dozen dead or dying Zhents but the remaining warriors would not relent.

Kalbar was not the only one who wanted M'kayla dead. Xavlal, the beholder to the east of the tower whose back was singed from the priestess's flame strike, also wanted to see the drow-fiend destroyed. As M'kayla rose up from the Zhents surrounding her, striking them down with her horrid wilting, Xavlal fired her smaller eyestalks…and missed.

M'kayla saw the glittering beams of deadly magic shoot past her rising form. She spun to face the beholder who was rotating to bring other eyes to bear. Infused with unholy power and bloodlust, M'kayla called upon her spell of destruction. The beholder had foolishly allowed M'kayla close enough to unleash her most potent magic and unleash it she did. M'kayla thrust out a hand towards the beholder and beseeched Lolth to destroy the eye-tyrant. Xavlal tried desperately to bring her central eye to bear on the priestess to nullify the drow's magic but she was too late.

With the final word of the prayer completed, the beholder Xavlal exploded in a spray of gore. The Zhent captain and the high priest of Bane beneath M'kayla saw their mistress die and they panicked. Both ran as fast as their heavy plate armor and wounded bodies would allow.

M'kayla's victory was short-lived however. More glittering beams crossed the desert sky trying to bring her down. M'kayla looked northwest and finally saw the second beholder. Its central eye was suppressing all the magic in and around the tower, but M'kayla, floating a hundred feet or more east of the tower, was not in the cone of anti-magic, allowing the beholder to bring its eyestalks to bear.

One beam missed entirely but the other two found her. The first failed to affect the priestess; M'kayla's natural Ilythiirian resistance to magic saving her. The second beam overcame her resistance however, and burned a swath of gray ash across her skin where it hit. Where the beam touched armor, the armor was disintegrated entirely, but M'kayla was not so easily destroyed. She beat her wings, trying to get more elevation, and intoned a healing spell, the most powerful one she knew. By the time she was done, all her wounds, from the griffon's claws, the Zhent swords and the beholder's rays, had healed.

M'kayla's new found health was not to last. The northern beholder kept firing and though more beams missed, more were resisted, another burned her.

M'kayla started looking for cover when she was momentarily blinded by a flash of lightning. The stroke fell from the sky and struck the beholder eliciting and agonized cry from the monster. The White Warlock had found his way out of the tower melee and the anti-magic cone. He stood half way between M'kayla and the tower and called down lightening from the sky. Thunder rolled across the desert as the Warlock raised his staff.

The beholder turned its anti-magic cone on the Warlock and no more lightening followed. M'kayla took the opportunity to make herself invisible and began flying towards the beholder. She had no more spells like the destruction spell left, but she still had power. Below her, the Zhent captain and the high priest had joined with the Zhent crossbowman and were advancing on the tower ruins. The crossbow men had set aside their bows and marched with shield and sword in a tight phalanx. M'kayla pulled a pebble out of her décolletage and through it at the men while casting a spell. The pebble grew as it fell, and changed shape. By the time it hit the ground it had grown into a stone spider ten feet across. The enormous arachnid landed among the Zhents who scattered away from this new horror. Quickly, the Banite cleric rallied them yet again with threats of their god's wrath and the Zhents set upon the giant stone spider.

High above the stone spider and even above M'kayla, another Zhent sky mage swooped across the desert on a great predatory griffon. Like his counterpart, he was flying invisibly, providing cover for one of the beholders. The Warlock had managed to wound the sky mage's charge, so now the sky mage sought the Warlock's life. The invisible sky mage flew his griffon past the Warlock and then banked sharply back towards his prey. As the Warlock struggled to find away out of the beholder's anti-magic cone the sky mage dropped down on him. At the last instant, the sky mage entered the anti-magic cone himself and became visible. M'kayla saw him and tried to shout a warning to the warlock but she was too late.

The griffon slammed into Magilus, knocking him to the ground and pinning him there. As it slammed Magilus into the desert sands, the beast ripped at the Warlock with its talons. The Warlock's stoneskin spell would have stopped the claws, but in the field of anti-magic, the stoneskin was suppressed. The griffon's lion-like claws tore through the wizard's robes and skin with equal ease. Magilus yelled in pain and anger. The sky mage and the griffon pressed their advantage. The griffon's great beak snapped at the mage who squirmed this way and that trying to avoid being beheaded.

M'kayla saw the mage's peril and put herself into a dive towards the sky mage. The Zhent wizard looked up to see a screaming demonic drow descending upon him, eyes black as night and clawed hands reaching out as if to tear at his very soul. He pulled back on the griffon's reigns and spurred the beast to fly, but the griffon was lost in its own single-minded bloodlust for the Warlock's head. The sky mage yelled and raised his own sword in a feeble act of defiance. M'kayla twisted to avoid the upraised blade and ripped at the sky mage with her fiendish claws. Her nails ripped across the man's face and body as she slammed into him and sank her fangs into his neck. The impact of the drow-fiend tore sky mage from his aerial saddle. M'kayla carried the man just long enough to complete her dive and bite through his neck. As she began to pull up she let the sky mage fall to the desert floor, dead.

The sky mage's griffon saw its master fall and this was enough to break its frenzy for the Warlock. The creature turned its head to see who had the temerity to kill its rider and to exact revenge on that person. The griffon screeched and beat its wings to pursue M'kayla who had pulled out of her dive and now sought to gain altitude again. The Warlock, no longer dodging beak or talon, instinctively retrieved the Wand of Circe he had dropped and uttered the command word. The griffon became an ordinary lion, and one friendly to the Warlock. Magilus sent the beast into the fray at the tower where J'kin, Pelham, Kalbar and Lylah still tangled with two-dozen Zhent warriors.

The warlock stood and realized the successful polymorphing of the griffon meant the beholder had moved its anti-magic cone away from him. He picked up his staff and started to call forth more lightening when a magical ray from the distant beholder struck him in the chest. The Warlock felt a sharp pain shoot through him and he fell to his knees. The pain increased and the old magus yelled out. He tried to dispel the magic but it was too late. The old mage's heart stopped and he fell gently into the desert sand.

The beholder next turned its death ray, as well as its disintegration and metrification rays on the flying form of M'kayla. The priestess climbed higher and as she did she cast more spells. One warded her from death effects and the other imbued her with the added strength of Lolth. With her spells complete she rolled into a dive headed for the remaining eye-tyrant. She drew her short sword and dagger and began casting another wounding spell.

The northern beholder, Manxam, regarded the incoming drow-fiend with growing rage. He had just seen the whore slay Xavlal, and while beholder bore no real love for one another, Manxam took the slaying as an affront to his entire species. Love might be an emotion beyond the capacity of an eye-tyrant, but pride and the desire for self-preservation were two things the beholders had in abundance.

Manxam turned his full attention to the descending drow. He began rolling as fast as he could, bringing each eyestalk to bear in succession, sending a rapid-fire wave of magical rays across the night sky. M'kayla saw the incoming fire and began twisting and rolling to avoid the deadly beams. Manxam fired ray after ray at the lithe girl who fell upon him sword in hand.

Back at the tower the fighting grew desperate. Three full Zhent phalanxes of twelve sand their leaders had now charged or teleported into the tower. Almost half were dead but the remaining Zhents were on the verge of overwhelming the fatigued and wounded fellowship.

For the moment, Kalbar was keeping an entire shield wall of Zhents at bay with his huge, deadly sword. Time and again they formed up and rushed him and each time the paladin's blade would a find a way past their shields, cleaving through their armor and leaving one or more of their own dead or dying. Each time however, it seemed as if one Zhent blade found an opening in Kalbar's defenses and armor. Bit by bit, the valiant paladin was succumbing.

Pelham faired even less well. Wounded a score of times he fought in close combat with half a dozen attackers. Like Kalbar, many dead lay at his feet but the Zhents kept coming. The Zhent morale was simply unbelievable. What Pelham did not know was that the Zhent morale was boosted by the charming rays of the beholders. The eye-tyrants frequently used their rays on their own troops to ensure maximum loyalty. If one of their soldiers should break and run, it was easy for the beholders to train one of those magical eyestalks on the routed warrior and get the man back into the fight.

Unable to cast spells because of the beholder, Lylah found herself fighting side by side with J'kin. The wounded elf was virtually defenseless on his one side; his fall from the tower wall had broken his left arm and several ribs. Lylah tried her best to keep him from getting flanked, but her dagger was no match for the shields and swords of the Zhent soldiers. She needed to be able to cast her spells.

Suddenly, Lylah's dagger began to glow. In the distance, Manxam had begun his desperate spin trying to bring down the drow-fiend who was descending upon him. In the beholder's desperate attempt to kill M'kayla, it closed its central eye so it could fire more rays.

Without hesitating, Lylah summoned the energy to cast another mass holding spell. This time, nearly a dozen Zhents froze in place. Their fellows, though not ensorcelled, paused in fear as their comrades were struck motionless. Pelham, J'kin and Kalbar all seized the moment and went on the attack, their enchanted blades cutting through the dumbfounded Zhents like scythes through grain.

To the north, the vicious duel between drow and beholder neared its end. M'kayla weaved her way through the barrage of deadly rays, her natural resistance to magic and death ward saving her were agility could not. She fell upon the great monster, driving her sword and dagger deep into its thick, armored hide. The creature roared and tried to bring its mouth around to sink its long fangs into the skin of its attacker. M'kayla left her blades implanted in the beast and grabbed an eyestalks with her left hand. She reached back right hand, and summoned the evil power of her goddess into it. Desperately, Manxam rolled, trying to throw the priestess off of his back and bring other eyestalks to bear. One fired and ripped a burning hole through the drow-fiend's wing but M'kayla ignored the wound. With a shout of malice and hatred born of the abyss and the millennia of drow history she thrust her glowing right hand down through the skin of the great beholder, punching through its natural armor and depositing her spell. Manxam screamed as arcane fire filled its mouth. The great central swelled and then burst, releasing a spray of blood and red abyssal fire. M'kayla released the eyestalk and pulled her gory fist out of the beast. She beat her wounded wings and lifted off the dying monster as the beholder fell to the desert floor, consumed by the unholy fire she had summoned. Manxam, like Xavlal, was dead.

Zhents streamed from the tower. They did not run because Manxam was dead, slain by the drow-fiend. They had fiends of their own to run from. Once on the offensive, Pelham, Kalbar and J'kin were unstoppable. Though wounded, tired and outnumbered, with Lylah intermittently paralyzing groups of Zhents, the black clad warriors stood no chance. The few still able to run did so, fleeing the merciless blades of the fellowship.

***

M'kayla landed in the desert beside the smoldering hulk of Manxam. She smiled a bloody, fanged smile. She had killed two beholders in one battle. There was reason she had been able to declare herself Valsharess - she had the power to do it. She looked up at the tower to see if any of the others yet lived but something else caught her attention. To the east, something white moved. It appeared to be a horse. The white beast and its rider moved along what appeared to be another line of Zhents.

M'kayla returned to the tower on foot, having resumed her wingless drow form. As she walked she cast healing spells upon her wounds.

Kalbar saw her coming and walked out to meet her, sword in hand.

“Prepare yourself fiend.” The paladin said.

M'kayla stopped in her tracks.

“What are you doing?” J'kin asked Kalbar.

“She is a fiend and a greater evil than even the many-eyed monstrosities we faced tonight.” Kalbar replied.

The elf frowned. “She helped us live through this battle you fool, what are you going to do? Kill her? For aiding you?”

“No, I will kill her for being a thing of evil, a fiend from the hells.”

Lylah spoke next. “Are you mad? We need her. Listen, I do not like her…it…whatever it is, anymore than you do, maybe even less, but we need her. We need everyone on our side we can get. Did you not notice we almost died a few minutes ago?”

The fellowship fell to arguing and M'kayla watched. Silently she held up a hand pointing east. One by one, the quarrelling members of the party looked towards where she pointed and saw the white horse and the second line of Zhents. Behind the line, a third beholder hovered, covering the armored formation with its great central eye.

Kalbar was the last to look but the most affected. The moment he saw the white horse and its rider he forgot about bringing justice to M'kayla.

“What is it?” Sir Pelham asked. “Who is it?”

“I am not sure yet.” Kalbar said softly, staring into the distance. “Maybe…” His voice trailed off. “Never mind. We need to rally, prepare a second defense. Where is the Warlock?”

M'kayla pointed to where Magilus had fallen.

“Is he dead?” Kalbar asked.

“I have no idea.” M'kayla answered. “But he is certainly not moving.”

Pelham walked to the fallen mage and examined him. “He is dead alright.” Pelham wiped his face. Two members of the party lost.

“What do we do?” Lylah asked, fear creeping into her voice.

Kalbar sighed. “We still have no way to escape, so we will have to make a stand.”

“The last stand cost us two of our own.” Lylah hissed. “What makes you think we can survive another attack like the last one?”

Kalbar looked out towards the white horse and its rider. “Because the next attack will not be like the last one.” He paused, spitting sand and blood through a split lip. He looked Lylah in the eye. “It will be worse. We will not survive.”

For some reason Kalbar's words did not scare Lylah. Instead, she drew strength from them. Until now, she thought she was the only one who felt their position was hopeless. Because the others seemed to have hope, or at least less fear, Lylah had felt weak, cowardly. Now, to hear Kalbar pronounce them as good as dead steeled her heart and set her mind to work.

“Why are they waiting?” Lylah asked.

“Probably for our spells to dissipate.” M'kayl

[Mikayla]

Lord of the ALFA, The Fellowship of the Forum

Chapter 10, The Seed of Evil.

In character.

Smoke poured from the ruined tower of An’valar and rose into the dark night sky. The billowing clouds obscured the constellations and made the moon appear bloody red. Beneath the expanding smoke, orange flames could be seen through the outer wall ruins, flickering at the gaps in the east and north sections.

For several long minutes, three apprentice Zhentarim mages had cast fireball after fireball into the ruins and the tower. The apprentices used wands to launch their barrage, allowing them to cast far more fireballs than their meager skills would ordinarily allow. As they began the barrage, each apprentice carried two wands; one for casting fireballs, and one for dispelling magic. All three had fully expended their fireball wands. The first few salvoes had been countered by the dispelling magic of the chosen, but then the fireballs began to explode. Within moments, fireballs were erupting all around the tower. The intense, repeated heat of the arcane flames eventually ignited the bodies left from the first wave of Zhents. Though the barrage was over, the bodies still burned, sending a foul smelling smoke rising into the night sky.

The apprentices were mixed in with the three phalanxes of Zhent warriors that had advanced on the tower with Scyllua. The junior mages wore the same breastplates and helmets as the soldiers around them, and carried the same shields, thus making it difficult if not impossible for their enemies to pick the spell casters out of the formation. Though the armor would normally impede arcane casting, it did little to stop the apprentices from using the devices they carried. With their fireball wands expended, the three apprentices now readied their dispelling wands to cover their respective units.

Scyllua Darkhope surveyed her troops. She had three formations, one to her left, one to her right, and one to the rear. The lead two formations were blocks of troops, four across and four deep. The rear formation, however, was formed up in a double line to better run through the ruins. Behind the three formations was Scyllua’s remaining beholder ally and its guardian mage.

Fzoul had ordered to Scyllua to kill a small group of adventurers he called “the chosen.” A simple order, yet so far, a difficult one to carry out despite the resources Scyllua had at her disposal that included a Bane-Goblin from Zhentil Keep, Xulla, the beholder caravan mistress of the Zhents, Xulla’s entire Shadowdale Company, and two of Xulla’s beholder allies Manxam and Xavlal.

Manxam and Xavlal were now dead, destroyed by the chosen’s fiendish drow priestess. Some three-dozen or more Zhent warriors were also dead, slain by the spells, swords and arrows of the chosen. Two accomplished skymages and their griffon mounts were likewise destroyed, as was the Bane-Goblin. There were some survivors of the first wave, however, including the company’s Captain, Luther, and the company’s Banite high priest. These two now marched with Scyllua on her left and right, each leading a section of the second wave.

As the fireball barrage ended Captain Luther set about making a final check of his men for the upcoming battle. He ensured each had their healing potion flask on their right hip, each had their javelin and short sword coated in magic oil, and each had stripped down to their breastplate and helmet. After the first wave, the Zhent scouts keeping an eye on the ruined tower spotted the ‘chosen’ piling up rubble and bodies in the gaps of the tower. The small walls thus formed would be hard to scramble over quickly making the climbers easy targets. Luther ordered his men to strip their armor down to the minimum to increase their mobility and chances of getting over the improvised barricade alive. Besides, the blades, arrows and spells of the chosen seemed to have no problem killing the soldiers of the first wave even though the soldiers had been fully armored. Maybe a little mobility would help where steel plate failed.

Scyllua waited for Captain Luther to finish his inspection before giving the order to advance. She was not quite ready to charge the tower yet; she needed some of the smoke to clear out of the ruins to launch an effective assault. On the other hand, she wanted to use the smoke to cover the troop formations’ approach, so timing the advance was matter of finesse.

Luther went up and down the ranks of his formation. His men were fit, well armed and armored, equipped with the best the Zhentarim could provide and veterans of years of skirmishes with the Bedine. They would fight well.

The Zhent captain knew that might not be enough however. He glanced at his left arm. Beneath his bracers his skin was cracked and wrinkled as if once horribly burned. His left shoulder, chest and neck also bore similar scars. They were the result of the drow-fiend’s wilting. Luther had survived and the wound had been magically healed, but the scarring remained. He thought about the stone spider and the priestess’s other horrible spells. She could deal out death better than the Banite high priest. Still, Luther knew he had survived the worst she could throw at him once, which meant he could survive it again.

Satisfied his troops were ready, Luther walked in front of Scyllua’s white nightmare and saluted with his short sword.

“Shadowdale Company ready, M’Lady.” He reported tersely.

Scyllua regarded the young, blond captain before her. The captain was of average height and good build, with muscular arms and legs beneath his armor. He had an almost pretty face, though he had now been scarred by the abyssal magic of the drow-fiend. Scyllua had never heard of Luther before this mission. Not too surprising given the ego on Xulla; the beholder was unlikely to attribute any successes to a lowly subordinate human. Scyllua could see now, however, that Luther was, in all likelihood, a major part of the Shadowdale Company’s prolonged success in guarding the caravans of the Black Road. The young captain had gone head to head with one of the chosen. M’kayla was perhaps the most viscerally terrifying of their enemies, and Luther had stood his ground against her. Two beholders, a griffon and a brace of skymages had not survived where he had. Scyllua decided he had real potential. If he survived the forthcoming battle, she would see him promoted. If he survived of course.

Scyllua raised her own sword, returning Luther’s salute. “For god, keep and master.” She said, using the time honored slogan of the Zhentarim. The keep referred to Zhentil Keep, and ‘master’ referred to whoever was its leader, be it Fzoul, or Manshoon. Similarly, ‘god’ could refer to Bane or Cyric. For the rank and file troops of the Zhentarim, the political and religious debates of their organization meant little when it came time to fight. What was important when swords were drawn was the man to your left and right in the phalanx – not who was master of Zhentil Keep or who that person prayed to.

“God, keep and master.” Luther replied, dropping his salute. The captain put on his helmet and stepped into the front line of the phalanx to Scyllua’s right.

Scyllua raised her sword, paused, and then lowered it to point at the smoldering tower in the distance. The formations began to move.

****

Sir Pelham saw the formations moving and called out to the rest of the Fellowship to let them know. Pelham stood atop a smoldering heap of bodies and rubble the Fellowship had piled into the eastern gap of the ruined tower forming a barricade against their attackers. Part of the heap was still burning, and the stench was almost enough to overcome even those of stout heart and jaded experience. The Knight of Torm stepped down off of the pile to rejoin his comrades in the center of the tower. They had spent the last few minutes hiding in the ruins as the distant Zhents bombed the tower with arcane fire. Lylah and M’kayla had managed to dispel the first few fireballs, giving everyone time to flee the barrage. None had been seriously hurt by the flaming salvoes, but their tower was now filled with smoke from burning bodies and leather.

Pelham reported what he saw. He rubbed his head as the others discussed the plan Lylah had outlined. During the interlude following the first wave, Pelham had managed to get all the blood out of his left eye allowing him to see again. The others had explained that the second floor collapsed when one of the beholders disintegrated part of the tower. In the collapse a stone struck Pelham’s helmet, bending his visor, knocking him momentarily unconscious and leaving him at the mercy of the Zhents. Now, Sir Pelham was without helmet, but at least he was alive.

The others finished their discussion. Kalbar, looked around at each one.

“That’s it then.” The paladin said. “You each know what to do. Lets do it. May Tyr, Torm, or whomever you pray to watch over you.” The party dispersed to their assigned positions in the tower and ruins.

M’kayla watched the black clad Zhents and their leader approach under the cover of yet another beholder. Like the two others before, this multi-eyed monster was now covering the human troops with its anti-magic eye.

M’kayla prayed silently. Did you hear the iblith Lolth? Do you see my enemy and me? Will you answer my prayers or leave me to die here in this accursed place? Are you watching?

***

Just outside the outer wall Xulla closed her central eye and turned her disintegration ray on the ruins. The outer wall and buildings were in disarray already, and not much of a barrier, but the uneven low walls would impede the orderly progress of side by side phalanxes. Quickly she disintegrated what was left of the outer ruin, trusting in the dispelling and countering power of the apprentices and her own skymage to prevent the chosen from unleashing any arcane or divine magic upon them. In mere moments, the obstruction was gone and no magic at all issued from the tower that was still some 200 feet distant.

Xulla opened her central eye again, and Scyllua gave the signal to resume the advance. The two forward formations marched on either side of Scyllua and her nightmare, while the third formation broke from the rear at a trot headed around to the north and the gap in the tower wall there.

The foul stink of burning bodies hit Luther’s nose. Luther had smelled the odor many times before and still it bothered him. He would, of course, ignore it. After all, he fully intended to add half a dozen more bodies to the pyre. Luther could not see his enemy yet, and that bothered him. No knights appeared in the eastern gap, no drow priestess hovered above the sand. Where were they?

Smoke billowed from the tower unnaturally and Luther’s eyes went wide searching for a target. He did not have to wait long. Rising from the smoke and flames like the fiends she was born of, M’kayla, the drow priestess, flew into sight.

“Javelins ready!” Cried Luther. The drow-fiend had a bow in her hand; a long bow like elves carried. As Luther tossed his javelin into an overhand throwing grip the she-fiend released an arrow. Luther instinctively ducked. The arrow shot by several feet over his head; it had not been aimed at him, his troops or even Scyllua. What was she shooting at? A scream followed the arrow closely; a female scream, but not a human one. Luther spared a glance behind him but he already knew what he would see. The drow-fiend’s shaft was buried up to its feathered end in Xulla’s central eye.

Luther turned and acted as fast he as he could but the drow fiend had already loosed another arrow. The second shaft also found Xulla’s central eye and the orb quickly deflated, oozing blood and fluid from its wounds. Luther threw his javelin at the hovering fiend who arched away from the incoming missile. Luther was strong, however, and his javelin fast. The short spear tore threw one of the drow fiend’s wings before sailing into the smoky tower interior. The other javelins of his formation also flew but none struck the flying priestess.

Beside Luther, Scyllua also acted, spurring Tagarene, the white nightmare into action. Scyllua and her mount leapt forward into the air, charging up at M’kayla on Tagarene’s fiendish hooves. Like the drow-fiend, Tagarene could fly whether or not in an anti-magic field.

Seeing that Scyllua would handle the drow-fiend, Luther turned his attention to the tower. He drew his short sword and pointed at the gap. “Now! For god, keep and master, CHARGE!” Luther’s formation returned his order with a cry of “Zhentarim!” Short swords in hand, they began to charge.

As the great central eye of Xulla lost its fluids through the wounds inflicted by M’kayla’s arrows, its ability to suppress magic faded then disappeared. Inside the ruined tower, a symbol traced on the carved stone began to glow. As Xulla’s anti-magic cone disappeared altogether, the symbol unleashed a wave of malignant power. The spell swept through the tower but did not affect the Fellowship for Lylah had attuned the symbol to them. Luther and his charging warriors were not so fortunate. The wave of magic struck them with an unbelievable pain, stopping their charge in its place, as their joints seemed to explode in agony. The men screamed, some falling to their knees, others dropping their weapons. The same happened to the men who had flanked the tower and now sought to enter the northern gap. The Zhent skymage to the rear recognized what was happening.

“Dispel it! Dispel at the tower you fools!” He yelled to his apprentices. All three men responded as quickly as they could with their tormented hands and arms. Between them and the skymage’s own dispelling, the symbol was overcome and faded from the rock.

For the warriors, the pain did not relent. The beauty of Lylah’s spell was that the pain would go on for at least an hour even after a man was removed from the arcane symbol’s presence. Each man would have to have his pain dispelled to recover any sooner, and the Zhents did not have that kind of time.

Luther steeled himself against the arcane torture. “Fight men, now. The only way to stop the pain is to kill the mage.” Luther did not know if that was true, but he did not care. He needed his men to fight, not run. “Charge, now, for your lives!” Luther led the way and sprinted towards the smoldering heap of bodies and stone barricading the eastern gap. His men, though wracked with pain, followed, and all of them began scaling the pile. As they crested the top they could see a beautiful woman standing on a carved stone in the center of the tower.

The beautiful woman spoke to the Zhent warriors in a soothing, seductive voice and she made the simplest, most reasonable of suggestions: “Run away, run away from the tower and the pain will stop.” Though Luther was good leader and brave soldier who led by example, his commands and charisma could not compete with Lylah’s combination of beauty, pain and suggestion. Men began to run. As Luther slid down a pile of burnt bodies into the tower interior, of his original phalanx of sixteen, only three now remained. The rest followed the advice of the stunningly beautiful woman and fled away from the tower and into the desert.

***

High above Luther, Lylah, and the tower floor, M’kayla regarded the wounded beholder with pride. She had only fired an elven bow once before in her life and still she had managed to put both arrows right into the monster’s main orb. Granted, the darthiir had given her quite a bit of instruction, but it was still her accomplishment. She now ‘owed’ J’kin for his instruction, which, as he was darthiir and male, meant she would have to kill him to erase the stain of indignity caused her having to learn something he taught. Now was not the time of course.

Below her, M’kayla could see the woman on the white horse flying up in a charge. With sudden horror M’kayla realized the white horse was no horse at all, it was a nightmare. At the last second M’kayla raised her buckler to fend off the flaming hooves of the beast. The drow priestess arched away trying to open up the distance between her and the hellish equine. The nightmare’s rider was good however, and the human woman kept the nightmare on top of M’kayla. M’kayla’s agility, armor and shield proved more than a match for Tagarene’s hooves and teeth but not for Scyllua’s blade. The Zhentil Keep commandant slashed at her flying enemy where she was most exposed: her wings. Scyllua’s sword cut through the silken skin of M’kayla’s membranes and the drow-fiend screamed in pain. Already damaged by Luther’s javelin, the drow-fiend’s delicate wings could no longer keep her aloft and she began to lose altitude. She rolled and turned her fall into a controlled dive headed for the tower interior. Scyllua urged Tagarene to pursue the distressed priestess and Tagarene eagerly obeyed.

Below the aerial fight, Lylah completed her mass suggestion and watched as Kalbar, J’kin and Pelham engaged the few Zhents with strong enough wills to overcome her combination of enchantments. Lylah heard M’kayla scream and looked up to see the drow priestess descending with Scyllua behind her. Instinctively, Lylah cast a spell of holding on the nightmare and the beast froze in mid-flight. Unable to move, Tagarene fell and so did Scyllua. Tagarene hit the southern wall of the tower and fell to the outside while Scyllua tumbled off to the inside. The Zhentil Keep commander collided with a protruding ledge and then crashed into the sand covered floor.

The moment after Lylah cast her spell she came to the attention of an enraged Xulla. The beholder could no longer see M’kayla who had dove for the cover, but Xulla could see Lylah through the gap in the eastern wall. Three glittering, multi-colored rays of magic fired across the desert sands and all three found Lylah’s slender form. The girl was blown off the carved rock she stood upon as the beams burned her body, trying to kill her, disintegrate her and petrify her all at once. She flew backwards into the tower wall and then fell limply in a heap, unmoving, somewhere behind the carved stone.

Sir Kalbar, saw Scyllua fall and fell back from the approaching Zhents leaving Pelham and J’kin to hold the gaps in the tower wall. The paladin stepped towards Scyllua as she struggled to recover. The Zhent leader threw off her helmet and Kalbar could see she was bleeding from a laceration on her forehead. He knew if he set upon her now he could kill her before she managed to stand and retrieve her weapon but Kalbar did not attack. Instead, he simply took his helmet off and approached.

Behind Kalbar, Pelham engaged the Zhent leader, a blond young man with horrid scars on his left arm. Though most of the Zhents in the first phalanx had run, those from the flanking group as well as the second phalanx led by the Banite high priest now surged forward to climb over the barricades and enter the tower. Luther jumped from the smoking pile of bodies to the floor of the tower and fended off Pelham’s initial attack with his shield. Luther slashed back at Pelham and the two men traded blows. Other Zhents scrambled over the mound into the tower. Pelham called for Kalbar to close the gap but the paladin stayed focused on Scyllua.

***

M’kayla rolled on torn, bleeding wings and descended into the smoke filled tower. Her wings were too wounded for her to fly but still able to slow her fall and allow her to control her glide. Below her, J’kin drew two of his arrows from his quiver and held out his left hand towards the descending priestess. M’kayla tossed him his long bow as she dropped. The elf caught the bow, quickly turned, drew the two arrows and fired. The shafts caught the first Zhent coming over the north gap barricade in the throat and face. The man fell, rolling down the mound, his now dead body joining those of his already fallen comrades.

M’kayla landed and watched as J’kin drew another brace of arrows and fired. More and more Zhents surmounted the obstacle and J’kin killed them as fast as he could. Unfortunately, J’kin had precious few arrows, having had to salvage what he could from the bodies of Zhents J’kin had shot in the first wave. The elf fired the last of his shafts, dropped his bow and drew his long sword and dagger. The Zhents kept coming even though they were wracked with pain from Lylah’s spell. J’kin met them, his two blades parrying and slashing expertly at the incoming warriors. The Zhents stabbed back with their short swords and desperately tried to form a shield wall to fend off the murderous elf.

A few yards south of M’kayla, Pelham and Luther continued to duel. Pelham had forced Luther back up against the barricade and had opened up a long gash on Luther’s thigh. Another cut had sundered Luther’s shield and relieved the Zhent captain of two fingers on his left hand. More of Luther’s men came over the barricade, however and jumped to aid their leader. Though heavily outnumbered and flanked, Pelham found the pain wracked Zhents were having trouble controlling their swings and thrusts. Pelham bashed some with his shield, and slew others with his sword. With his opponent distracted by the arrival of reinforcements, Luther rolled away from the Knight of Torm and quaffed the healing potion in his hip flask. The magic elixir stopped the bleeding from his wounds but did not regenerate his lost digits. With his short sword in his good hand Luther circled Pelham looking for an opening.

M’kayla drew her fighting and killing knives. Using the magic of her tattoo, she concealed her wings but let her body retain its natural demonic form. She cast a quick spell to summon the favor of Lolth and moved in behind the fighters assaulting Pelham. The first two fell quickly to her knives but the others took note of the deadly fiend that had joined the fray. A trio of Zhent fighters linked their shields and pushed M’kayla back towards the north gap where J’kin was fighting a withdrawal from other Zhents. Dark elf and sun elf met, back to back, fighting a common enemy that came at them from all sides. Both elves fought with two weapons. M’kayla was faster and more practiced at the art of wielding two blades but J’kin was stronger and was, overall, the better swordsman. The warriors surrounding them pressed the attack and the two elves found themselves awash in blood and steel. Zhents fell only to be replaced by others. Heavy Moonsea short steel tested Cormanthor leather and Menzoberranzan mithril. Sun elf, drow and human blood mixed on the floor of the tower.

***

Kalbar regarded Scyllua as the woman stood and retrieved her sword. She was short, a couple inches over five foot, and no more. Kalbar was not deceived by her physical appearance; he knew she was every bit as deadly as any opponent he had ever faced.

Scyllua turned towards the melee at the wall gaps and saw Kalbar looking at her.

“Sir Kalbar, if I am not mistaken, yes?” She said wearily. Scyllua turned her blade down, resting on hits hilt.

“Yes, m’lady. And you would be Scyllua of Zhentil Keep, called Darkhope, I presume.”

Scyllua just nodded.

“You were once a Knight of Tyr,” Kalbar said, “so, I feel honor bound to see you redeemed, if such redemption is possible.” Kalbar doubted Scyllua’s redemption was possible, but he wanted, desperately, to see it happen. If she could be redeemed, anyone could be.

“I have committed crimes, Knight of Tyr, crimes you would not pardon. Indeed, crimes you cannot pardon.” Scyllua answered. Around them, J’kin, M’kayla and Pelham fought against the raging horde of Zhents.

“Perhaps, but Tyr may pardon you yet. Seek redemption and Tyr will see justice done.”

“How?” Asked Scyllua.

“Atone. Swear your allegiance to Tyr on your blade, here, now.” Kalbar urged.

“Tyr will not listen, but I will pray.” Scyllua kneeled, lowered her head and gripped her sword tightly.

“Father of Law,” she began, “please hear my crimes for I seek your justice.” She was reciting the prayer of Tyrran atonement. She never finished.

Instead of starting the next stanza of the prayer, Scyllua jumped to her feet and flipped her blade up slashing into Kalbar’s arm. The blow crushed Kalbar’s bracer and nearly broke the bones beneath. Scyllua brought her blade around and over in a diagonal swing. Kalbar raised his blade and parried. He slashed back at her and she withdrew a step. The two opponents glared at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Their eyes met and Scyllua saw what she might have become; Kalbar saw what he could become.

“So be it, traitor. If you will not seek Tyr’s justice for your evils, I shall deliver it myself with the sword. Your soul be damned.” Kalbar rushed forward swinging his great sword. Scyllua parried and backpedaled, stepping up onto the ruined tower steps that had once led to the upper floors.

“My soul is not the one in danger fool.” Scyllua hissed. Kalbar advanced and she back stepped further up the stone stairs. “You speak of justice? You speak of evil? Look at your comrades-in-arms Knight of Tyr. Who are they? A murderous elf who has sworn to kill all humans who enter his forest; a witch who uses sex, magic, and pain to manipulate others; an ancient wizard who is not even of this world and let us not forget the drow, or should I say, the fiend. You battle side by side with the spawn of the abyss.”

Kalbar yelled in reply, swinging at Scyllua furiously. She parried but he swung again. The paladin’s great sword struck Scyllua’s shoulder plate, denting it deeply. Blood trickled from beneath the plate and ran down Scyllua’s armor.

“You have taken the fiend’s aid, Knight of Tyr. She has slain your enemies, healed your wounds and those of your other comrades. That you even tolerate her to live is testament to the danger your soul is in. How long now, Knight of Tyr, have you traveled with this abyssal spawn? A month? Two? Nay, you have traveled with her for three months since she joined with you in Baldur’s Gate.”

“Enough.” Kalbar growled. “I do what I do for the greater good. We are on a quest, one blessed by Alustriel herself. This quest is my duty and I am honor bound to see it through. That I must suffer such evil as the drow to live for the time being is a sacrifice that honor and duty call me to make. When this quest is over, there shall be a reckoning, an atonement, and all those who do evil shall see justice done.”

“Honor? Duty? Sacrifice? What drivel. Just a façade for the old argument that the end justifies the means. Of course,” Scyllua smiled, “the end does justify the means.” Scyllua stepped down and swung viciously at Kalbar’s head. Kalbar feigned a parry and then ducked the blow at the last moment. As Scyllua’s blade passed over head Kalbar whipped his own sword around in a wide arc bringing the blade crashing into Scyllua’s armored hip. The woman screamed and fell to one knee as blood ran out from beneath her armor. Kalbar brought his great sword up and swung for the kill.

Scyllua raised her weapon and redirected Kalbar’s blow. As Kalbar raised his weapon again, she scrambled up to the top of the stairs where the second floor once was.

Below the two duelers the rest of the fellowship fought desperately against the overwhelming tide of Zhent soldiers. M’kayla cast the very last of her magic sending another wave abyssal energy through her enemies. Those not killed outright she and J’kin finished with blades. Other warriors quickly replaced the dead and the two elves continued to fight back to back. Amidst the chaos, Luther found his way to Pelham and the two men once again traded blows.

“You have no where to go.” Kalbar yelled to Scyulla. “Repent, now, while you still can.”

Scyllua regarded Kalbar and whistled loudly. Kalbar took another step towards her on the stairs, cautiously keeping his sword leveled at the blackguard he faced.

Below Scyllua, a ghostly white shape came through the tower wall as if the stone was not solid. The shape took form beneath the stairs where Scyllua stood and the shape it took was equine; Tagarene had recovered from Lylah’s holding spell and had come through the wall ethereally.

Scyllua smiled and leapt down upon her mount. Kalbar lunged but his attack came too late. He stared down at the wounded woman below him.

“We will meet again Sir Kalbar, Knight of the Tyrant.” Tagarene and Scyllua faded into the ethereal and passed back through the wall of the tower.

Kalbar swore a silent oath that if ever he crossed blades with the fallen paladin Scyllua Darkhope again, he would not let her escape a second time.

Looking out over the tower from the top of the stair, Kalbar could see his beleaguered comrades fighting for their lives. On the north side of the tower floor M’kayla and J’kin held against the tide of incoming Zhents like a rocky break jutting up from crashing surf. Warriors ebbed and flowed around them, blood flying just above the surface of the fight like sea spray. Kalbar focused on the drow fiend. He saw M’kayla rear her head back, her long white hair flying wildly, blood dripping from her fangs as she tore them out of the ruined neck of a Zhent. She parried another warrior’s blow with one of her knives and slashed her off-hand claws across his face, screaming curses upon the men in the name of Lolth.

Was this fiend really his comrade? Was this who he was fighting for? How did this come to pass? How did he, a Knight of Tyr come to fight beside this beast, this unholy thing?

M’kayla’s knives flashed with inhuman speed parrying another warrior’s thrusts. As fast as she was, Kalbar could see the fiend’s black skin cris-crossed not only with luminescent tattooing, but with a score of open wounds. Soon she and J’kin would be overcome.

He could let the bitch-fiend get overwhelmed. All he had to do was do nothing. In fact, all he had to do was wait. In a minute, maybe two, M’kayla and J’kin would be subsumed by the rising tide of Zhent warriors.

Kalbar took a deep breath. The quest. Remember the quest. The quest is good even if some of those on the quest are not. If he followed the path of the quest, he would not stray from the path of goodliness. And he could not complete the quest alone. The paladin took a deep breath.

“For the Lady!” Kalbar yelled. He leapt from the stairs into the melee below, great sword swinging high. The first blow from his blade split the helmet and head of a Zhent in half, killing the man instantly.

Luther looked up and saw Kalbar enter the fight. Beneath Luther’s knee was the body of the Knight of Torm, Pelham. Luther and his men had just managed to pulled Pelham down and Luther was about to give the coup de grace with his stiletto. Kalbar’s charge left no time for it. Luther flipped his dagger into his bloody off hand and drew his short sword, barely getting the weapon up in time to parry Kalbar’s incoming blow. Luther backpedaled, pushing another warrior in the Tyrran knight’s path to slow down the enraged paladin. Luther looked around the tower; Scyllua was no where to seen; to Luther’s north, the inhuman drow-fiend was tearing the flesh from Luther’s men with fang, claw and knife like a demon from the pits; south of Luther the Tyrran knight was tearing through the Zhent ranks with his glowing great sword like some sort of bloody, gleaming god. Luther wanted no part of this – standing between the heavens and hells when they went to war was no place for the merely mortal. Luther turned and scrambled over the smoldering, makeshift barricade and fled into the desert looking for Xulla. Those of his men able to follow, did so.

In the space of a few heartbeats, the swirling tide of black armored Zhents receded, leaving behind dozens of broken bodies and desert sand as wet as any beach, but drenched in blood not sea water. Only three figures remained standing amidst the carnage; Kalbar, J’kin and M’kayla. The drow-fiend, blood dripping from her pouty lips, her long white hair stained with gore, turned her black, soulless eyes to Kalbar.

As the paladin stepped towards the elves, J’kin tried to decide what to do. If the knight attacked M’kayla, should he defend her with words or sword? Or should he just let the knight kill her and then take the knight afterwards?

M’kayla let one her bloody blades fall to the sand beside her and placed a hand on her last weapon, her enchanted whip-knife, which still hung from her hip. In the close combat with the Zhents, a whip would have been less than useful, but in a one on one duel with the paladin, it would serve her well.

Kalbar stopped in front of the elven duo. J’kin looked from knight to fiend and back.

“Can you aid the fallen?” Kalbar asked M’kayla. J’kin blinked.

M’kayla cocked her head. “Lolth willing, yes.”

“Then see if your goddess is willing.” Kalbar replied. The knight turned and crossed over the barricade in the east wall. M’kayla and J’kin watched him go.

***

Fzoul Chembryl, Chosen of Bane, Tyrant of Zhentil Keep and High Lord of the Zhentarim was not happy as he crossed the threshold into a dark room where a cloaked figure stood staring into a divining pool.

Fzoul addressed the cloaked figure. “Manxam, Xavlal and the Bane-Goblin are dead. The Shadowdale Company is shattered. Xulla is lost, floating somewhere over the desert, and Scyllua was badly wounded and forced to retreat east. All that, and only one member of the chosen was killed. The plan has failed.”

The cloaked figure did not turn to face Fzoul. A voice, smooth, confident, and unhurried issued from under the cloaked figure’s hood. “You mean you failed.”

“I was not there; I was not leading the company or the beholders; Scyllua was.” Fzoul replied indignantly.

“I did not give my orders to Scyllua, I gave my orders to you.” Replied the cloaked figure calmly.

Fzoul took a step forward. “I rule here in Zhentil Keep, not you or anyone else.”

The cloaked figure finally turned towards Fzoul, but nothing of the man’s face could be seen. Beneath the cloak’s hood the enigmatic creature wore a mask. “Then rule, ‘Chosen of Bane’, or I will find someone who can. Someone who will see to it that his orders are actually carried out.”

Fzoul took a step back. “Scyllua is on the eastern edge of the Anauroch with the Tethymar Company. I will join her. We shall see to it the ‘Chosen’ do not pass east of the desert. I will see to it personally.”

“Hmmm.” Was the masked creatures only reply. The cloaked figure turned back to the scrying pool wherein images of the Chosen and the ruins of An’valar were just starting to fade.

Fzoul turned and walked towards the chamber portal. At the threshold, he looked over his shoulder.

“When this is over,” Fzoul said, “when the Chosen are dead, you and I are going to have a reckoning.” The cloaked figure nodded once but did not turn or say anything. Seeing he would get no further answer, Fzoul stepped through the portal and set out to make his arrangements. The Chosen would never be allowed to pass east out of the Anauroch. Not even if it took every soldier the Zhentarim had to stop them.

***

M’kayla soared high above the desert on her fiendish wings, healed the night before after hours of praying to Lolth. Below her, she could finally see the tower ruins. She banked and circled in low on the ruins but did not land inside them. Instead, she landed out in the sands, took on her drow form, and walked back to the fellowship.

In the tower she was met by J’kin, Kalbar, Pelham, Lylah and the White Warlock.

“There is an army east of here,” M’kayla told them, “more Zhents. Several hundred by my estimation. The beholder has finally found them, and the woman-rider as well.” M’kayla was referring to Scyllua. “I captured one of their pickets. He told me they are not led by the woman any longer, they are led by one called the Chosen of Bane.”

“The Chosen of Bane? Fzoul Chembryl?” Kalbar asked. “Unlikely. How do you know this captured soldier did not lie?”

M’kayla smiled, her fangs just barely showing. “The dead do not lie when they choose to speak.” M’kayla pulled back her repaired piwafi and revealed the decapitated Zhent’s head. “Thus why I decided not to leave this dead one’s head behind. If you really do not believe me, ask him yourself.” M’kayla tossed the bloody head at Kalbar’s feet. Kalbar remained emotionless, refusing to rise to the priestess's bait.

The Warlock spoke. “Going east is out then. We cannot face such a force. We barely survived the last one.” The old man chuckled, rubbing his chest. “Indeed, some of us did not survive. We have to find another way.”

“What other way?” Asked Pelham. “We have to go east. That is the direction the quest sends us. We have no time to double back, leave the desert and then head south. There are Zhents in that direction too. Lorkh, and then further south, Darkhold. What makes you think we can get further down that route than this one?”

The Warlock and Pelham fell to bickering about the efficacy of the various routes. The Warlock accused Pelham of being bullheaded and stupid. Pelham, in return, accused the Warlock of having sold his soul to Lolth for life. After all, it had been M’kayla who had raised the old wizard from the dead. Magilus recoiled at the suggestion and the bickering turned to whether it was really Lolth that granted M’kayla’s prayer to summon the Warlock’s soul back from the fugue or some other power.

“I have a way.” M’kayla said flatly, interrupting the argument. “I know a road no Zhent ever treads. We will have to double back, but when we again turn east, we will need not fear any of these black armored rivvin The Zhentarim is all but unknown in the underdark.”

***

The lady Alustriel watched the army of Fzoul Chembryl gathering the in waters of her scrying pool. She turned to face the armored woman beside her.

“The fellowship will need your help soon.” Alustriel looked the woman in the eye.

“My help?” The paladin, Lady Wynna, also known simply as the White Lady, furrowed her brow. She had seen what was in Alustriel’s scrying pool. “I am not one of the Chosen. My blade will not help them against a Zhentarim army.”

Alustriel smiled warmly and nodded. “The Zhentarim is not the enemy the Fellowship needs your help to fight. They have another enemy, one much closer to them.”

Wynna nodded. “The drow?”

Alustriel shook her head. “No. The Valsharess, should she survive, will indeed be an evil we must eventually deal with, and I can think of no one better suited than you for that task. Well, unless we can get one the drow-fiend’s own kind to do it of course. No, the fellowship has another enemy close at hand, one perhaps only you can save them from. And it is not your blade that will make the difference. The seed of evil has been planted amongst the fellowship, and it is growing.”

[Mikayla]

Lord of the ALFA, The Fellowship of the Forum

Chapter 11, The Aftermath

[Author’s note: This chapter, the last in The Fellowship of the Forum, has both an IC portion and an OOC portion. The IC portion comes first and is followed by the OOC.]

In character.

M’kayla sat in the Fellowship’s wagon with her shapely black legs dangling over the back. The wagon bounced westward over the Black Road with the Warlock and Sir Pelham driving. Far ahead, J’kin scouted the trail while Sir Kalbar rode the flanks, always wary for signs of ambush. Behind M’kayla, Lylah was trying her best to comb out the drow priestess’s long, snowy locks. M’kayla’s hair had been streaked and tangled with gore and cleaning it had turned into a monumental task. Lylah undertook the job in part to pay back M’kayla for the healing prayers that had saved Lylah’s life. Lylah’s real interest in cleaning M’kayla’s hair, however, was the extended, close contact it would give her with the drow priestess. For Lylah, the men of the Fellowship, even the ancient Warlock, were no mystery. They were men and they could be manipulated and used like all men. On the other hand, Lylah knew from her own past that in many ways she was just as vulnerable to them as they were to her. It was a symbiotic relationship of love and hate, pleasure and pain. Though Lylah was as much a pawn as a player at times, it was a predictable relationship and one she was getting comfortable with.

M’kayla was not a part of that relationship, at least not yet, and that made Lylah nervous. After the success of Lylah’s plan at An’valar, the sorceress had realized that confronting what she feared, such as certain death at the hands of the Zhents, was better than cowering from it. So, Lylah created an opportunity to talk to M’kayla. The more she knew about the drow, the less Lylah would fear her, or so it seemed.

“That form you took, the one with the wings and the glowing webs, is that a spell? Sir Kalbar thinks you are an actual fiend.” Lylah asked.

M’kayla breathed in slowly and rubbed her eyes. The bright sun of the Anauroch day precipitated an ever flowing stream of tears from M’kayla. For the drow priestess, the surface was nothing less than hell. M’kayla thought with some seriousness she might prefer the Demonweb. Almost everything on the surface seemed purposefully designed to make M’kayla more and more miserable: If not the sun, then the heat; if not the heat, then the cold; if not the cold, then the rain or both. Everything beneath that obscene globe of fire in the sky was simply bad. Well, almost everything.

The first good thing M’kayla had found beneath the sun was Lylah. Lylah had been working on M’kayla’s hair for hours now as they bounced down the desert road. M’kayla was particularly vain about her hair and the battle at An’valar had left her silken, snowy locks a bloody, tangled mess. As M’kayla set about the arduous task of cleaning, Lylah volunteered to help. M’kayla, used to having servants perform such tasks, simply let the girl start work. Only after Lylah started washing M’kayla’s hair did the drow priestess remember this girl was not one of her servants or slaves. Lylah was an enchantress, and from M’kayla had seen at An’valar, a powerful one. Why would she volunteer to wash hair? M’kayla decided not to worry, at least for now. The drow wanted her hair clean more than she wanted to understand some iblith girl’s motivations. If Lylah wanted to do M’kayla harm, all she had to do was ask the other iblith or even the darthiir.

The whole time Lylah worked she also talked. For the most part, she chatted about her life, her troubles and her loves. Intermittently she would throw out a question about M’kayla’s life. For the most part, M’kayla ignored Lylah’s questions and meditated on the Fellowship’s current predicament. Lylah’s question regarding M’kayla’s ancestory caught the priestess’ attention however.

“It was no spell, waela rivvin.” M’kayla answered, her words dripping with exasperated contempt. “If it had been a spell, how could I have maintained it in the face of the eye-tyrant’s great orb?” The question was rhetorical. M’kayla simply like speaking from a position of power and authority. “Nor am I a fiend. I am Ilythiir, Mori-tel-Quessir. My father was an incubus, but one’s father does not matter. It is one’s mother that truly matters, and my mother is Ghenni’tiroth Tlabbar.” M’kayla paused, and then corrected herself. “Well, my mother was Ghenni’tiroth Tlabbar.”

“Was?” Lylah asked.

“Matron Ghenni’tiroth is dead.” M’kayla said flatly. “Assassinated.”

“I am sorry. That must be difficult for you.” Lylah said, still stroking a comb through M’kayla’s hair.

“Difficult? Why? If someone else did not do it, I would have had to eventually.”

“You would have had to kill your own mother?” Lylah asked. She had heard the drow fought amongst themselves, but daughters having to kill their mothers was beyond what she had imagined.

“Xas. Yes.” M’kayla replied. “It is the way of things. A priestess’ duty is clear. Serve Lolth faithfully all your life, provide Lolth with daughters who grow up to be priestesses themselves, then die when your usefulness to Lolth is outlived and its time for your daughters to take over.”

“That is horrible.” Lylah said. “Why would you live like that?”

“Why? What choice do I have? I am what I am, and so I do what I do. I cannot be or do anything else.” M’kayla wondered where the iblith got their ridiculous notions and questions. Why? What kind of question is ‘Why?’ The answer to ‘Why?’ was simple – because Lolth wanted it that way. The Way of Lolth ensured only the strong and faithful survived.

“You could choose not to be evil, you could choose not to be a part of this cycle. Then you would not have to kill your mother or be killed by your own daughters.”

M’kayla turned to face Lylah. The drow priestess suddenly felt strange about this entire conversation. Why was she speaking to this iblith girl at all? Why did it feel so comfortable to do so? Was the enchantress enchanting the priestess? M’kayla did not think so; the priestess sensed no magic in play nor did she think the sorceress, as powerful as she was, could so easily overcome M’kayla’s natural resistance to spells. M’kayla simply felt comfortable talking with Lylah.

“Everyone dies, child.” M’kayla said. “Who would you rather be killed by? Some nameless enemy who will drag your corpse through her city’s streets or maybe feed your body to the crawlers? Or your own daughter, who, will treat your body with respect and burn it, as she should. Though my daughter, should I have one, may someday slay me, at least she will go on to lead my House and continue my work all in the name of our goddess. If I fell to some other enemy, what then would be the fate of my body, my people, my work and my house?”

“It just seems so…evil. Daughters killing mothers.”

M’kayla sighed and turned away from Lylah. “And mothers killing daughters.” The priestess murmured.

“Do you have any daughters?” Lylah asked.

“No.” M’kayla’s answer was a lie by omission. The real answer was that she had no living daughters. “I have a son though.”

“Where is he?”

“He is just a weanling, a baby. He is being raised in Qu’ellar Faen Tlabbar by my half-sister.”

“Why don’t you raise him?” Lylah’s question was simple but the answer was not.

“Mothers rarely raise their own weanlings. Besides, my half-sister took him away. I believe he will be raised as one of hers because she has no children of her own.” M’kayla’s found herself talking much more than she would like but she could not seem to stop. Talking felt…nice.

“Took him away? How can she do that? You are a queen right? That’s what the Warlock said ‘Valsharess’ means, Queen. If you are a Queen, how can someone take your son away?”

“Because I am not really a queen.” M’kayla’s blunt, honest answer shocked both women. M’kayla was puzzled by her own behavior. What was she doing? Why was she speaking of these things to an iblith woman-child? On the other hand, what harm could it do? This iblith girl was no one. What did it matter if M’kayla told her the truth? Would the iblith some how think less of M’kayla? Would Lylah treat her differently? Not likely. The Fellowship did not seem particularly impressed with M’kayla’s status as the Valsharess; what did it matter if she now told Lylah the real story?

“No?” Lylah prodded.

“Nau. No. Not yet anyway. I claimed the title but I had yet to claim my nation. I had my followers to be sure, but I did not have a city yet. Soon, perhaps, had all gone as I had planned, the Ilythiir would have called me queen. I was on my way to address my followers and put my plans into action when a flash of light brought me to the surface and into your hands. Such is the way of Lolth.” M’kayla paused to examine a long braid of hair. “Now it does not matter. I have been taken from my temple. My followers will assume me dead and someone else will rise to take power or they will all kill themselves struggling to be the one who does. Either way, my time is passed.”

Lylah found herself feeling pity for M’kayla and then realized what she was hearing should be joyous news – a high priestess of Lolth and would-be Queen who had plans for uniting the drow city-states had been snatched from her seat of power. Had M’kayla succeeded, the threat to the surface races would be unlike anything seen for millennia. Now, thanks to whatever force had formed the fellowship, M’kayla’s plans for domination had disappeared like shadows under the noonday sun.

Lylah wondered if M’kayla would try and resurrect her plans. “Will you return when we are done with this quest?”

M’kayla actually laughed at Lylah’s question and her laugh was both beautiful and horrifying. The priestess’s voice, like all elven voices, was exquisite, as if the words were made of light and music. The bitterness, self-pity and irony of M’kayla’s laugh turned that elven beauty dark, however, like the indigo-black of a drow-elf’s skin.

“Return? When we are done?” M’kayla turned to face Lylah once again, smiling and looking the young human girl in the eye. “Child, I will never be allowed to return to my temple. When we are done with this quest, if I should somehow survive, you and your fellow iblith are going to put me to death.”

Lylah was taken aback by M’kayla’s laughing yet acerbic accusation. “Then why go on the quest at all?”

M’kayla smiled softly and Lylah thought she saw just a touch of warmth enter the drow’s eyes. It was bittersweet, but for just a moment, Lylah saw an elven face, not a drow face. “There are worse evils than death.” M’kayla said. The drow held Lylah’s gaze for a moment, and then turned back to the desert. Lylah returned to cleaning M’kayla’s hair, but asked no more questions and the two women rode on in silence.

***

Now OOC….sort of…..

***

(Fade in from commercial.)

David Letterman(DL): Alright, welcome back. I am David Letterman and I AM the most powerful man on Television, isn’t that right Paul. (Laughs and looks to PS)

Paul Shaffer (PS): Yes Dave, I would even add you are the most powerful man on Television AND on Cable.

DL: That makes no sense Paul, Cable and television are like the same thing now.

PS: I meant like, HBO and Showtime and the other Cable only networks.

DL: You’re kind of a butt kisser aren’t you Paul?

PS: Just for you Dave.

DL: (Wry laugh.) Oh lucky me. First that woman, now you. If I find you in my closet Paul, you’re fired. (Laughs) Anyway, we have a really good show for you tonight. Our next guess is the first person kicked off of Survivor – Faerun. From Team Fellowship, the funny and lovable deep gnome, Fionn!

Fionn (F): (Walks on stage, waves to crowd.)

DL: (Motions F over to sit on guest couch.) So, you were the first person kicked off Survivor, Faerun. (Pause) You must really suck. (Laughs)

Audience: Laughter

F: Actually, I think the problem was that I did NOT suck.

(More laughter)

DL: (Looks at Camera with mock seriousness) Are we on five-second delay? Can we get on five-second delay? (Wry laugh, looks back at Fionn) So, why did you get killed first?

F: Well, you know, I never really had a chance. I was the last person introduced and by the time I got in there, they had already formed an alliance.

DL: Yeah, they uh, called themselves the Chosen, right? Seem like YOU were the one chosen though.

F: (Nods head, smiling.) Yeah. As soon as we started the challenge at the tower I knew it was either me or M’kayla, and it was all going to come down to who could get immunity. Spell immunity of course.

DL: So, are you really dead? You don’t look dead, you look pretty good, but I heard ALFA has Permadeath.

F: Well, I am not really dead. No one ever really dies until the ratings do. Besides, I was petrified, not killed.

DL: Does that mean you will be coming back?

F: I cannot say. (Smiles and laughs)

DL: Well, what about the villains? Who should we be watching this season? M’kayla seems like the real, um, witch (laughs) on the Team.

F: Yeah, well, M’kayla is really obvious though. She is like Gerry on the earlier Survivor series, or Omorosa on the Apprentice. She is just a bitch from day one. It’s a tactic. If you are never nice to people, they don’t ever feel betrayed by you. Also, there is the whole intimidation thing. Its like Boston Rob said on Survivor All-Stars, fear keeps people in line. She is not the real threat though. It’s the stealth villains that get you, people like Richard Hatch, who are telling you they are your friend and then stab you in the back.

DL: Who do you think is Survivor-Faerun’s ‘stealth villain’? J’kin? That bald elf creeps me out. Elves aren’t supposed to be bald, I know I saw Lord of the Rings – Orlando Bloom? Not bald. Liv Tyler? Not bald.

PS. Hugo Weaving, the guy who played Elrond is nearly bald. He just wore a wig for the mov…

DL: (Looks to PS and cuts him off) Gee, thanks for that Paul. (Looks back to Fionn) I think they must be in the Hair Club for Men together. Anyway, who is the stealth villain this time?

F: Well, not J’kin. He’s bald and has all those tattoos, but he is like our Lex. He is alright. I dunno, I am thinking maybe Kalbar or Pelham. Tough to say.

DL: Now your team has a drow, a wizard from another world, and even had a deep gnome on it – do you find that an unusual combination for a Survivor team? Do you think, with all the different races, your team is being set up to fail?

F: No, not really. Despite what Omarosa may have said on the apprentice, I don’t think racism plays a part in reality shows – its all about roles. Every Survivor team has, like, the same cast; you have to have your bitch, that’s M’kayla; you have to have your eye candy, that’s Lylah; you have to have your old guy, that’s Warlock; you have to have your rebel, that’s J’kin; you have to have your conservative, that’s Kalbar; you have to have your enigma, that’s Gromnir, and he doubles as the grouch; you have to have your ex-military guy, that’s Pelham.

DL: What role did you play?

F: The comic relief I think.

DL: Yeah, I heard you sing in the first episode. (Laughs) Ahh…just kidding. No need for your wand. So, what do you think is going to happen? Who is going to win this thing?

F: Well, first thing, the alliance they formed, the so-called Chosen, is all over. No more Fellowship. They will have to break up now because with me gone, they will have to get rid of one of their own next time. I think it will probably be Gromnir, because he has not done ANY of the work. He simply does not pull his own weight.

DL: Pull his own weight? Isn’t he incorporeal? (Laughs)

F: Figure of speech Dave.

DL: (Laughs, laugh trails off) Alright, well, we have a Top Ten List tonight.

Audience: Cheering

DL: (Nods, motions for quiet.) And I think Fionn here is going to read it for us. Its about you anyway right?

F: (Nods smiles) Yep, “Top Ten Reasons Why I Got Killed On Survivor Faerun First.”

(Cut to Top Ten List Graphic, voice of F reads:)

Top Ten Reasons Why I Got Killed On Survivor Faerun First

#10: Sign that reads “You must be *this* tall to survive Faerun.”

#9: Powergaming, half-drow, half-demon, clerics. ‘Nuff said.

#8: “…and there was much rejoicing.”

#7: Average lifespan of anyone on TV who is short, hairy and overweight is 3.3 seconds.

#6: What can I say, I got stoned. (Just say “no” kids)

#5: Its all in the Eye of the Beholder.

#4: Everyone knows Smurfs are satanic and anti-Christian.

#3: The girls were jealous of my hair.

#2: The men were jealous of my enormous……ECL.

and the number one reason I got kicked off Survivor – Faerun,

#1: Eventually, everyone gets tired of Spam.


DL: (Laughs) Alright, that’s all the time we have tonight folks. We have a really good show for you tomorrow night, and keep watching Survivor – Faerun. The Fellowship may be over, but the Survivors are headed to the Underdark for their next challenges and we have a lot more to come before we know who will be the ultimate survivor and win the coveted title, ‘Lord of the ALFA.’ Goodnight!

(Roll credits)

DL: You know Paul, that Fionn guy kind of reminds me of you.

PS: It’s the hair, isn’t Dave?

DL: You know, no one likes you Paul……….

(Fade to commercial trailer for “Lord of the ALFA, The Two Servers.”)