AMIA ARCHIVE • View topic - [IC] Disturbance at the Ravaged Stronghold

Looking gloomfully over its cavern, the ruins of the once mighty Stronghold are no stranger to battle. But the current cycle rings a change of pitch to the usual, the warning signs present for all to see.

The stronghold's iconic warning sign, the shield with the engraving "Dis Iz ours now" at the base of its foundations shares a new respective mark: covered loosely with a black cloth that is threaded (rather unprofessionally) with silver, yellow, red and purple silk (the colours of the four major Noble Houses) in the shape of a spider's web, the makeshift heraldry of the city of webs is the first sign that something is not so normal in the cavern of the ravaged stronghold as it seems.

As the curious patrolmen and women flock towards the disturbance, the next sign they discover is that of the dead bodies. Orcs litter the ground, amongst other creatures, their bodies hacked and mangled in what looks to be by the orc's own axes as well as an array of burns, claw marks, bite marks from large creatures and exotic blades. Some appear to have merely gone to sleep, yet they are unresponsive to any form of stimuli; dead without any physical scratch.

Then, at the top of the stronghold's ruins a simlar flag to one that covers the orc's warning sign at the stronghold's entrance hangs from a spear, torn and singed in several places at it sways in the cavern's winds atop a ruined wall. In its defence stands a myriad of shifting bodies and enthralled orcs, the master of change engaging in his deadly work; one moment leaping off the ruined ramparts as a mammalian beast crash tackling orcs to the ground, the next trading blows in the form of an ancient skeleton or turning the orcs upon themselves with elongated claws and fangs before crushing orcs under the fists as an Elemental of the Earth a few moments later.

Yet time takes its toll; the longer one watches, the more quickly they begin to notice that the scholar is losing ground. Fatigue, combined with Orcish reinforcements slowly draw him away from the heraldry, regardless of which form the master of change takes.

But finally, if one were to go back to the first warning sign and have a closer look at the heraldry's writing (before it is inevitably torn away by Orc reinforcements, which won't take long at all), the following words in the Undercommon text are woven into the poorly stitched web patterns:

"This fortress is claimed by the Empire of Edonil."

Secretly, the Scholar would hope word spreads back to Edonil itself... and that reinforcements will find their way quickly to assist him in his personal declaration.

A diminutive feminine figure glides into the area. A rather large hound like creature with armored plates instead of fur trotting alongside. Her pace is swift for clearly she has a destination in mind. Yet some cloth upon the ground catches her attention.

When several attempts at moving it with her boot fail to provide a hint of what was written, she sighs and picks it up with her gloved hands.

After a moment she turns it so that her companion can see the script. “Ah, someone finally understands.” The familiar voice of Nizzre'tyne says.

The tattered cloth is then put up upon the carved out side of the cavern, held in place with two daggers.

Not long after the roar and death throws of orc can be heard.

Word reaches Victyr in L'obsul of Edonil's annexing of the stronghold. He casts his hammer off to one side and removes his leather apron, calling a prayer to his Lord as he ceremoniously dons his armour, plate by precious plate.

"O Lord!

Grant me your blessings to heed the call of war.
With them, I shall neither give nor receive quarter,
but give myself to battle, till victory or death!"

This mantra reverberates through the caverns as he marches forth, scimitar in hand.

More orc bits and pieces go flying, care of a very large Corrupter of Fate, followed by a tiny, grim wizardess. In her spare time, Irae has taken to driving the orcs back with her spells, and with the Corrupter's help.

With reinforcements present to continue the push the Scholar, exhausted and filthy, pulls back from the ensuing carnage to rest. Whilst patching his wounds and eating dried rations atop the parapets of the sole remaining tower of the Stronghold, he draws a small leather-bound notebook from the inner pockets of his tattered trench coat and begins to write.

A cycle or two later, a weather-stained letter is carried into Edonil by a large, carnivorous rat where (assuming the rat is killed and fed to the spiders) it eventually finds itself on the Edonil Noticeboard:

Quote:

"Sons and Daughters of Edonil!

Too long the skeins of fate remained quiet within the darkness. Yet now a future has divined itself, a small strand in an infinite web of possibilities; an Empire stands resplendent upon the spines of untold riches and slaves, leading a new age of supremacy of the Underdark with the Drow at the forefront guiding its hands.

That Empire is Edonil my brothers.

The Stronghold, now despoiled by the children of Gruumsh, is the foothold to such glory my brothers. The Orcs are numerous as they are vicious so what stands ahead of us is no easy task. But exterminating their presence from what is rightfully ours will send a message to our powerful neighbours; that this is our Underdark! That they exist under our watch, that they will bend to our demands, that they will pay tribute to our supremacy or they will die when we deem them to die!

And if the Matron's council wants a gate, I say we take the resources from the Orcs by force!

Don your armour soldiers of the Magthere, prepare your spellbooks scions of the Sorcere, lash your slaves my dreaded priestesses, poison your knives our hidden eyes and light the forges of war my brothers and sisters of the streets! Where a single strand of silk will fail in the wind, a united web will weather the tempest of the gods themselves!

The Empire is ours for the taking, children of Edonil. Will you rise to your destiny?

Solaviir of Tinnerai,
War Sage of the Empire."

A group of orcs can be seen hammering a note (written in Abyssal) into the front door of the stronghold:

Quote:

Greetings dhearrow,

I have been recieving numerous reports from the survivors that escape your wrath and while impressed by your dedication to claiming their land I'm afraid I can't truly allow it. You see, you are pulling their forces from Brog into the underdark and that effects me and my plans in a most detrimental manner. Now, if I had to divert my attention to deal with this issue personally it would take time away from more pressing matters in Brogdenstein and, I believe, our mutual enemy the dwarves of Barak Runedar. Now, if you truly wish to claim the fecal, gut covered stronghold of these orcs by all means press on or you could join forces with me and lay your claim to the ancestral home of the stunty folk and their rich mines. If you make the wrong decision my hand will be forced and I will make my move against you and your city. I don't see why thats necessary, my employer and my lord are on good terms with your Queen so why can't we be?

-Ollomon, Orcale of the Depths.

The unfortunate group of orcs who happen to be standing nearby the notice several hours after it was hammered into place found themselves victims of an attack from a masked, feral humanoid in a tattered trench coat, turning its elongated claws upon its prey. Worse still, the weak willed find themselves turning against their brethren in support of their attacker, enthralled by the power of the vampiric stares.

The feral attacks serve only as a distraction however, giving time for the others to roughly translate the message (as not every Drow can read Abyssal) and send it back to Edonil. Once completed the War Sage gives the signal to pull back to the lone standing Tower at the Stronghold's base, the sole haven deep in orcish territory, where he remains until the bureaucracy of Edonil has time to make its decision.

"I wish to discover who, or what this Oracle is and why it thinks it can interfere with our affairs" he remarked to noone in particular as he surveyed the stronghold from the tower's parapet. "Perhaps the Orcs will talk..."

An armour clad drow would be seen moving through the caverns and to the stronghold, leaving a wake of dead orcs strewn around with limbs rended and flesh seared. The stench of a lumbering mummy following beside her with bits of the orcs covering it and blood staining the bandages.

Making her way to the stronghold proper, she would rather contently use the distraction to observe the recently posted note. It would then be torn down as best it could be (with little care for what, if any of it, remained.) It would then be stuffed into the mouth of one of the recently butchered shamans and a fresh note put up in its place, with a message in reply (In Abyssal as well!)

Quote:
None shall dare threaten the drow, none shall lay claim to what is ours and none shall deny us our place in the realm that is ours. You shall bend your knee or be crushed like the vermin you are.

In the name of the Valsharess, you shall submit or you shall die.

The spellcasters of the drow invasion force would notice a scrying sensor taking in the contents of the response. Espcially the disposal of the previous note. It would blink out of existence after a few lingering moments.

"And with the actions of but a single individual, the strands of fate ever twist into yet more unexpected possibilities," chuckled the War-Sage from his surveying position. "Edonil now has its enemy that will unite it. Perhaps we will need that gate afterall..."

A lone figure of armor and feminine curves, having been noting the conflict, declaration, and response, scowls from under her helm at the hastily-written response. Muttering something about fools and their lack of foresight, she turns and departs, still not taking part of the attack for whatever reason, going further into the tunnels before going off to do Lolth only knows what.

The lone figure of Ul'ath'tallar Nizzre'tyne in all her finery strides into the Ravaged Stronghold with a letter. As the orc are understandably upset at the recent activity coming from Edonil she has taken precautions. Then without so much as a how-do-you-do she simply stuns the first group to present itself, tucks the letter into the waistband of the spell caster and leaves.

Should the spell caster find the letter at some point it is written in Abyssal.

"Ollomon, Orcale of the Depths,

Name the place and time of our meeting.

First High Archpriestess of Lolth,
Nizzre'tyne"

Sword well bloodied and muscles fatigued, Victyr withdraws to the tower to wait for the next move to be made. The young warrior-priest seems keen on spending time with the Scholar, analysing his movements and persuing discussions with every free moment they had - this recent lapse in fighting being no exception.

Following Nizzre'tyne's message to the Oracle, Irae's Corrupter retreats to within the tower she and Solaviir have claimed. She doesn't leave, yet, but she ceases plundering, for now.

A notice is held to the Ravaged Stronghold sign with a dagger. It's facing towards the Stronghold instead of towards the entrance from the deeper underdark.

The first part is writtein in Abyssal, below it is translated into drow. The translation is in Nizzre'tynes lovely flowing script.

“I am glad you finally saw sense. Before I meet a show of trust will be in order, how you achieve this is up to you.”

Below that is more of Nizzre'tynes lovely drow script. Apparently an answer to the above.

“Oracle,

You can trust that the Empire of Edonil will continue to do what is necessary to keep our Queens lands secure. You can trust that because the orc at the Stronghold do not meet our standards of keeping wastelanders out we will. You can trust that if our patrols are challenged by the orcs we will gladly show them the power of our Queen.

You can trust that the patrols will begin again and continue until a meeting is held.

Lolth tlu Malla!”

A note would be placed by a grunt waving a white flag around, once more in abyssal.

Dear dhearrow,

Time isn't a luxury I have and while I appreciate your desire to protect the borders from "wastelanders" I can't allow you to continue to harass my allies. They will not attack you if you do not attack them, but you cannot claim their land as your own. If you continue to harass them you will face foes far beyond orcs, and far beyond your ken. I have the secrets of the Abyss at my disposal and I will happily unleash all manner of beast into your realm. If you would rather wage war with me and my allies then I pity you, but I will not grant mercy. If you would rather assist the orcs in safeguarding your land then they will happily take the assistance.

I would ask that you cease your patrols until I, or one of my leiutenants, has spoken with your leader. I will only ask once.

Ollomon, Orcale of the Depths.

Silent2001 wrote:

A note would be placed by a grunt waving a white flag around, once more in abyssal.

"Dear dhearrow,

Time isn't a luxury I have and while I appreciate your desire to protect the borders from "wastelanders" I can't allow you to continue to harass my allies. They will not attack you if you do not attack them, but you cannot claim their land as your own. If you continue to harass them you will face foes far beyond orcs, and far beyond your ken. I have the secrets of the Abyss at my disposal and I will happily unleash all manner of beast into your realm. If you would rather wage war with me and my allies then I pity you, but I will not grant mercy. If you would rather assist the orcs in safeguarding your land then they will happily take the assistance.

I would ask that you cease your patrols until I, or one of my leiutenants, has spoken with your leader. I will only ask once.

Ollomon, Orcale of the Depths.

And it would seem that the message would go unheeded.

Standing at the mouth of Stronghold's cavern entrance stood a large gathering; the combined might of Drow not seen since before the fall of Ultrinnan. Soldiers of the Magthere led by their Ul'Saruk stood alongside the Faerns of the Sorcere, supported by Selvetarm's faithful; the Sons of Edonil. Before them all however stood the entire Matron's Council: resplendent in their armour and unified in purpose with the Ul'athtallar at their head. Before them, the War Sage adjusted his mask as he addressed them all.

"This Oracle continues to weave his words, threatening with one hand yet promising our inner-most desires with the other. These are the trickery of daemons my brothers and superiors; we are nothing but its pawns, expendable assets within its eyes ready to be bought or intimidated into its service until it has no further use of us all the while preparing for our destruction behind our backs! Worst of all... it does this to us, within our own realm; within the darkness we inherently master!"

He waits a moment, letting the nature of his words sink in.

"No my brothers and sisters! We will not be intimidated within our own realm! With steel and flame, conviction and vengeance, poison and fury we will strike fear into this threat as its plans come crashing down upon its feet! We will remind this immortal being as well as its slaves that WE, not them, are the true masters of this Underdark! That they exist under our watch! That they will bend to our demands! That they will pay tribute to our supremacy and that they will die when we deem them to die!

With me Sons of Selvetarm! With me Daughters of the Valsharess!" Yelled the War Sage as he charged forth towards the Stronghold, blade waving high in the air.

"For the Empire!!"

//I'll leave this open for others to post in the escapades and deeds of their characters. Some screenies, curtsey of P Three:

http://imageshack.us/a/img72/9839/orcs3.jpg
http://imageshack.us/a/img842/3072/orcs2.jpg
http://imageshack.us/a/img5/7817/orcs1.jpg

...

Following the carnage, the body of the current (as things in the orc world so rapidly change) Orc High Mage lies impaled upon a spear in the forests of Brogdenstein, the Stronghold and Mines tarnished by the aftermath of battle.

Nailed into the High Mage's chest is a simple warning in the Drow script:

"Back your threats with action, Oracle. We are ready to see you try."

...

In the aftermath, discussions inevitably break out. The War Sage makes a few points to those willing to listen:

"We must remain on the offencive... and the surfacers must be notified to go on the offencive as well to maintain the initiative. L'Espondon Irae, I need thee to use your connections with the surface to warn the Dwarves of our involvement. Speak not as friends but as the enemy of their enemy.

A warrior caught on the rear foot is a warrior who can only react, not dictate the outcome of the fight particularly from two attackers in opposite directions. We must press this advantage while it is still ours.

I have preparations to make for Edonil's defence. Dormant powers must be awoken within the depths."

//I apologise silent for not grabbing you prior, it was an impromptu decision by 12 people in attendance and fit the theme of pre-emptive strike. Regardless, we're commited to see this through; consequences and all.

Edited a few times for typos and whatnot.

Victyr left the council meeting drenched in blood. He had tried to talk the Do'Virr out of going, but they had been intent upon their course of action and that left him with little choice but to accompany his mistress. Not that he had made much difference - Mal'dra's mangled corpse now adorned his shoulder whilst the Il'haress was behind him, carried by the Shaiith.

They deposited the remnants of Do'Virr in their apartment and Victyr questioned the Shaiith upon who struck the killing blow. With this knowledge in hand, he left the apartment and headed out to the stronghold, launching himself in to a fresh assault.

As bright orcish blood mixed with that of the drow upon his blade, his thoughts drifted back to the meeting fleetingly. He felt a flicker of regret for cutting Alakton down in the heat of his rage, knowing that the arch mage had only been trying to help him. Still, he had little room for regret in his heart whilst the desire for vengeance burnt so strongly. He re-focused his mind on the task at hand.

Soon, as the Scholar promised, the rest of Edonil's forces caught up with him and Victyr urged them onwards.

"They've been growing in numbers, we must cut them down before they strike."

In the wake of the Matron' Council meeting, a certain female of ambiguous standing gladly swept into the Stronghold with her bloodkin. Zrae'a'stra'fryn, her body and blade wrapped in the gifts bestowed upon her by the Valsharess, cackled with exhilaration as she put sword to orcish armor and flesh and bone. Her red eyes burned with pleasure as she watched the flood of drow slaughter every orc they can across.

Senses filled with the rush of combat, the relatively young yath lent her voice tot he cries of Lolth's name, driving forward into the midst of orc groups to send the shamans crashing to their knees before they could use their spells. The ground shook in the Dread Queen's name, send orcs to their backs. Acid rain and lightning battered their foes, stunning the hapless lessers. It all added to the cacophony of combat filling the orc forest and soon after their caves.

Nizzre'tyne moved through the underdark territory, Lolths territory, a huge shirrush at her heel.

"So, now the demon whom I suspected has been working to weaken us is known.” She said in a low voice to the shirrush. “Allowing wastelanders into the Underdark to harass us. Does it really believe that we will cower in Edonil while it's ineffective orc do nothing? It is not our problem it can not control his 'allies' so that they do not attack Drow patrols.”

As she moved through the area the warriors ahead left little for her to attend to and all that was left were lumps of bloody orc. Around the corner of the carcass that was once a building, an orc warrior rushed Nizzre'tyne. Her shirrush companion pounced immediately and made short work of it.

Nizzre'tyne now raised her voice to bring it to a power-filled volume. “The Oracle asked for a show of trust. And here it is, now it will know that our Queens faithful are trustworthy. We show that we can be trusted to defend what is Her's with words, with blades and maces and with blood. Lolth tlu Malla!”

The guards within the stronghold seemed relatively weak on the ground, as though only a token force of reinforcements were present to attempt to repell the drow's onslaught. The assault however, has no doubt, been noticed by the ring leader of this dastardly alliance.

Letters are dispatched individually in light of recent events.

The first is sent to L'Obsul in search of Mizz'ri Ussen'Dvhid.

Quote:

"Honoured Mizz'ri,

Recent escapades have me in need of your most honed skills in killing things my honoured Priestess. A White Dragon has taken upon itself an interest in ensuring our Underdark does not remain our property. I need the best to remind it of its place; as a trophy to adorn our throne rooms and I can think of none better for the job then you and your loyal followers.

I speak not on behalf of Edonil, but of myself. I do hope this letter reaches thee and my words pique your interest.

With honoured reverence,

Solaviir. Scholar and War Sage."

Copies of the next letter is dispatched individually to Tor'dek, Kroann and Oskar Bloodbeard:

Quote:

"Hail Bloodbeard,

The surfacers have begun their push into our domain and alone we the Drow have pushed them out. Our efforts have caught the attention of outside powers; namely that of a Daemon and a White Dragon of which we require assistance in eliminating.

As this is a threat to the Underdark, not just the Drow, I call upon thee should you be interested for your assistance in slaying this white dragon.

With regards,

Solaviir. War Sage."

The next letter is sent deep into the recesses of L'Obsul in search of "the Vanguard of Chaos."

Quote:

"Lord Ibseth Qos'Yutsu, Vanguard of Qos'Yutsu and Master of the Fangs...

A White Dragon has threatened the sanctity of Lolth's domain. The Faithful are being called to war and I call upon your blood oath of service to the Spiderqueen. Your expertise will prove invaluable in slaying this beast and I hope these words find thee with swift feet.

It will be educational to fight alongside you once more my old Mentor,

Solaviir, War Sage."

The next is delivered to the L'Obsul notices, addressed to the former Obsidian Vanguard members who may still be about as well as any L'Obsul residents whose attention is caught as they walk by:

Quote:

"Assistance required in slaying a White Dragon as well as other nasty large creatures.

Send your reply to the War Sage at the Trade House should you be interested."

Regardless of the apparent lack of numbers, the harassment of the orcs over the Stronghold and interlinked caverns above continue. Maintaining the offencive, it was the Sorcere's rotation to fight for the Empire with the War Sage at their head. With decades of study at their disposal the small collection of Faerns let loose their powers, trading spells with the orc shamans in fierce arcane duels; Searing beams of agonising sunlight penetrated torrential clouds of acidic rain as dazzling lightning bolts struck between crashing ice and expoding flame. Through the dazzling display of flashing lights summoned allies wrestled with the brutish warrior caste of the orcs, arrows accompanying the arcane blasts through the air as both sides, eager to carry on the ancient feud between elf and orc, fought for supremacy.

To distant observers at the cavern's mouth, the light display was quite spectacular.

Several hours after the display ceased and the cavern had resumed its dark hue once more, it seems the sorcere was successful as they walked through the gates of Edonil; the spoils of war in their hands. The War Sage pinned up a notice in the market place as he sold off his goods:

Quote:

"Soldiers of the Magthere and sons of Selvetarm,

I call upon your services for the next rotation against the orcs.

Will you answer the call?

The War Sage."

The orcs retake their stronghold and happily resume their previous activity of inactivity.

A pulse of waves knock into the shore of the temple cavern. A "friend," by the most Drow sense of the term, makes its presence known.

A letter is sent to the Temple, as well as the Matrons of the city:

Quote:

"Most Honoured Matrons and Priestesses,

The Orcs continue to squander upon our territory. The Sorcere has burned them out. The Magthere has beaten them out. But still they wrestle our territory from us through sheer numbers alone. I seek Edonil's most powerful force to join the fight against the Orcs, the sleeping power that slumbers within Edonil's walls.

That sleeping power is you my honoured priestesses. The Image of Lolth's perfection in flesh, the Vanguard of her might in power, the scions of her fury in battle.

With your blades, we will crush the Orcs. With your fury we will keep our territory.

Will you answer the call of battle for what is rightfully ours?

The War Sage."

The Keeper's announcement of itself has not gone unnoticed either. If one were to ask, the War Sage seems rather satisfied of its arrival. A stroke of good fortune almost.

Assuming the letter in the temple would end up where anyone with access to the altar room could see it, Zrae would paused by it. Crimson eyes would glance over it, reading, the mind hidden behind them working in the information. One hand rested upon her sword's hilt already; now a finger began to slowly stroke along the handle. With a sharp inhale she turned to the altar, completing her ritual of praises to the Dread Queen. Once finished, she exited and a letter was given to a courier with instructions to deliver it to the Scholar.

The enclosed message was simple: Zrae'a'stra'fryn, priestess of the mighty Valsharess, answers your call.

Ust'Ilharess Nizzre'tyne glides from the Temple nearer to the water. She pops a little red fruit into her mouth while she surveys the water. Then she daintly take the cherry pit out of her mouth and tosses it into the water.

"You know...if you are going to knock and then run off I may very well get annoyed. I was here once already." Her tone is her usual pleasant one.

She pops another little red fruit into her mouth and chews slowly savoring the flavor.

Between fighting the orcs over the Stronghold, the War Sage has lately been observed talking to many people including many influential males and females throughout Edonil. The question of what is known only by the War Sage and his audience, but the evidence is clear:

The man behind the mask is certainly planning something.

Victyr had not given up his assault of the stronghold. He could be found fighting there most cycles, if not by the forge in L'obsul. He seemed pleased with the Aboleth's arrival, and even occasionally wandered through the temple cavern, peering over in to the lake.

If one would go towards the lake, they might see Isendu't'tar at the fishing stool, and if they got close, they'd hear him muttering something about catching the fish and eating it.

Why isen would think he could catch an Abeolith with a fishing rod is anyone's guess.

Away from the stronghold, the Il'haress of Do'virr would be seen bringing the corpse of something from the caverns to feed the spiders with. A large stock of white coloured potions kept securely somewhere on her person as she continued on her way - speaking to those she could of the need for action against the stronghold.

*Isendu't'tar can be seen making his way through the battlefield towards whatever outpost Edonil claims, seemingly uninterested in any battles currently underway. If spoken to, he would say he seeks the Warsage, and will wait in the outpost until he is available*

Once again, the fighting continues. Alone this time, the War Sage conducts his dance with the orcs with a reckless abandon not before seen. While his work is conducted he shouts and hums the following words in common tongues, the average rhyming instilled with zealous frenzy.

"Within the realm of frost and mud,
The War Sage comes to seek your blood.
To enlighten such fools in the barren land,
And open their eyes to their oppressor's hand..

It calls you friend but thinks you weak,
Like mortal pawns disposed by week.
Open your eyes and see the shams,
Or keep them closed and die like lambs.

The ancient is foolish and should not be hailed,
For it seeks to do what the Darkflight failed.
Think it not as friend for it only lies,
Or you march only to your own demise.

Within the realm of frost and mud,
The War Sage comes to seek your blood.
To crush its dreams and foil its plan,
To send it back where it began."

Scrawled in blood upon the entrance of the stronghold a message would be written.

War Sage Come To Zanshibon To Discuss Future Of Edonil.

"Very well..." was all the War Sage said upon hearing of the news.

Quote:

The following is presented more as an oratory speech to the citizens, but elements of the lengthy speech also find themselves copied to fliers and scattered throughout the city.

"My fellow Drow of the streets. It is time you become aware of the larger picture.

Within the recent past, I divined a vision by accident. Although a minor possibility at the time this particular vision became more apparent as the strands of fate inter-weaved and connected together, forming a stronger possibility in the sea of fate. Being not a master of divination, I was pleased when I was not alone in seeing such an outcome: several of my brothers in the sorcere, including the head of divination explored this particular possibility and eventually came to a similar conclusion:

Edonil will burn at the hands of an ancient threat. Its citizens will be slaughtered, its Spiders massacred and its name forgotten by all but those of most ancient memory in the far reaches of the deep.

At first, I was afraid that this threat was to be the Aboleth that had plagued us in our recent history. The creature's assault did not leave us without scars: The two founding houses Houses Tinnerai and Ussen'dvhid fell from grace and never recovered during such a time. But... although it succeeded in sewing panic and unease within the city, it failed to be the bringer of destruction and the one of my vision. I was forced to continue looking.

Investigating blindly into such a threat with no real leads, one cycle I stumbled across our would-be conqueror and executioner from this doomsday vision by chance when I led the first attacks against the Orcs. That threat my bretheren is an Obyrith: an ancient Daemon pre-dating even the mighty Tanar'ii. With the Abyssal legions at its call, it has forced an alliance of cooperation between the fauna of Brogdenstein, leading an attack on the surface Dwarves. Yet with the eye drawn upon the dwarves, the real threat to us became apparent: like a cancerous growth, the mortal forces that the Obyrith commanded were secretly expanding into our realm through the portals of the ruined Stronghold.

I decided to strike first: to kill the weeds at its roots. Having revealed its plan, the Obyrith tried to distract us from such with honeyed words of "alliances" and "mutual cooperation." Knowing that a Daemon cannot be trusted, it was a collective decision by the Matron's Council as the masters of our realm to remind this daemon and its forces of their place: that you do not enter a Drow's home and tell them how to run it.

Our first major attack was successful, momentarily routing the orcs... but my citizens it was not enough. With a mighty Dragon at its call, the Barbaric humans, giants and orcs of the frozen Brogdenstein plains under the crack of it's whip and its own legion of Daemons ready to strike at a moment's notice, the odds were firmly against us. We had but one saving grace then and there against total annihilation: the Obyrith's attention was fixated upon the Fortress of Brogdenstein, giving us a time of reprieve.

In that reprieve, I have attempted to even those odds. It was I who has led constant harrassment attacks against our enemies forces, sewing discord and preventing them from forming a single body with the occasional assistance of the Academies. It was I who advised the Matron's Council to cast aside the academies and restructure all of our fighting forces into the Vanguard to give us the greatest fighting chance possible. It was I who sought allies in the dark with which the Aboleth awoke from the depths to come to our aid. And it was I who manipulated surface patrols to combat the Obyrith's forces near the entry to our realm, to lend their forces to our protection without them even knowing.

Without my actions, this city stood no chance.

But for all of my interventions, I am only one Drow... and they are still not enough.

Knowing fully well of this apocalyptic vision the Nobility of Edonil and the Temple have become insular, hiding behind their locked doors and hidden walls in a false sense of invulnerability. Some have even left Edonil altogether, leaving you alone to fend for your own fates! How long has it been dear citizens since members of House Qos'Yutsu or Ussen'dvhid walked amongst you? My Vanguardsmen and women, how long has it been since the Nobility has patrolled Edonil's streets with thee? Their inaction has left Edonil's primary defence, that of an even greater offence to falter and now regardless of my efforts the gates to our city are open to our enemy.

And when that enemy comes rampaging through our gates and the Nobility is forced to come forth, it will be too late for them to save you.

To make matters more dire, the Obyrith has called a parlay and invited myself to its domain to discuss your existence. I will answer the call to face our enemy head on as all soldiers should, but the odds are against me returning from such, and in all honesty I'm not sure I want to for the simplest of reasons:

I cannot lead a city to victory that will not defend itself.

Citizens, Noble and Commoner alike, if you wish to die like lambs on the altar while your city burns around you then continue to do as you have: absolutely nothing. You will only prove that you do not deserve to live, that Edonil as a Drow-led colony was too weak to survive. But if you wish for a chance not just to survive, but to win against our enemy, to prove that we are the true masters of our realm then heed my words!

As of now, Edonil is officially in a state of total war: Come forth from your locked dens with polished armour and poisoned blades sons and daughters of Lolth! Prepare your spells mighty mages and sharpen your blades my efficient Warriors! Rouse the spiders to the scent of orc blood and barricade the streets to defend yourselves! Stockpile supplies of wood, iron and rope at the base of the Temple to begin the construction of mighty war engines for our salvation and sound the horns of war!

Show me Edonil that you want to save yourselves as the enemy crashes upon our blades in forlorn desperation! Show me that you have the guts to call yourselves Drow and that you are fit to master your own realm as destined from your superior blood! Show me that you deserve to survive and I will return from the Abyss through fire and flame to lead you to victory against our foe!

The fate of Edonil, the fate of your very survival now rests with your next few actions citizens... will you answer the call to war?"

One yathrin in particular stops to read this message, and she does not do so kindly. Those beautiful, coolly detached features are marred with a scowl that slowly forms over her lips. Something is written, then, on a piece of very fine parchment. As it is written she does not look pleased. Not a solitary bit. While some might have it delivered, she affixes it alongside the message from the War Sage. After all, such befits the publicly posted proclamation that came before it.

You would be wise to take careful heed of your words, Scholar, and to remember your place. War Sage you might be, as well as commander of the Vanguard, but you will not speak of the Temple in such disdain again lest the punishment come from your flesh. There are fates much worse than death. Even worse than those any obyrith might bring.

Transgressions aside, there is truth in these words. I add my voice as a faithful chosen of our glorious Dread Queen and Yathrin of Edonil. You are not alone in this, War Sage. There will be no lax living until this threat is extinguished. If my whip must taste the flesh and blood of every one of the city's inhabitants then so be it. To not heed this call is to align yourself with this daemon. And against Lolth. I believe it is not necessary to describe how unfortunate that would be.

Each citizen is to think very carefully on their fates. We are drow. There is no race that can stand against us. No being from the wastelands or the depths of our own home can withstand our might. Not even this obyrith. With the strength of our blood and the mighty power of the Valsharess we will rend these forces asunder and make the very ground shake with the sound of our cries of battle! We will cast this daemon back to the realm from which it came, and we will remind those around us why they should fear us.

We are drow. We are Her children. Do not disappoint me.

Lolth tlu malla!
-Zrae'a'stra'fryn-

One decidedly inebriated drow in spiked battle armour happens to be present at the full recitation of the speech. Lacking the capacity to stand, or really to do more than drink more jhinrae and experience drunken epiphanies... it is the latter which occurs.

During one of the quieter hours of the city, she departs - a little less drunk than usual. In the empty caverns between settlements, the words to a spell of Sending are spoken... several times in succession. The exact contents of each are known only to individual recipients. At the conclusion, however, the tired warrior-priestess murmurs to herself...

"The few of us who yet survive. We will gather. Perhaps the decision will seal the fate of the City of Twilight."

Drow who once thought to let the Houses take the brunt are stirred to action. Be it through veiled threat of the whip or the imminent danger of being over run. Those that can bear arms report to the Magthere. Those that are craftsmen flock to either the main tunnel's entrance to help build up fortifications or to the docks to help with the barges. Children haul maimed rodents to webs in attempts to curry favor with the spiders.

*with a creek, the gates of Ussen d'Vhid open. Emerging into the city after his long absence. He turns, pushing the gates closed and latching them shut, then walks towards the temple*

*following his visit to the temple, Isen heads to the plaza at the foot of the magthere and sets up his altar, invoking Selvetarm and offering his blessings to any who would hold a weapon in the defense of Edonil.

In the final cycles, the War Sage primarily spends his time delving in the persona of the Illithid, regardless of the shuns or the discomfort in those around him for doing so. Between working or making preparations it is common to see the War Sage consistently distracted, almost as if brainstorming or having a conversation with himself.

To those whom listen more closely however, on the occasions that he does speak in these moments of distraction only one side, his side, of the conversation at the time can really be heard.

What exactly is going on in that mind of his?

The second barge of Edonil launches into the black waterways in the temple cavern. Only one remains to be finished and it has the designation of being the 'Spider Barge,' the boat upon which the temple will save as may spiders as possible if/when the time comes. Final work upon it is underway.

Notices are placed up in the general areas of the settlement:

Quote:

"Vanguard,

Let it be known that this will not be an easy affair: based off our intelligence gathered from the recent interior attack on the Dwarven Citadel, our enemy has some capabilities to bypass solid defences, chiefly their Abyssal Legionaries. We have no solid evidence to support the effects of the dwarven victory on our enemies most mobile attack forces, but it is a capability we cannot ignore.

Our defence must be fluid, yet concentrated as to not be out-maneuvered and surrounded. Hence I give the order that the Myafin cavern be abandoned and not defended. Those Vanguard stationed there will be reassigned to the Temple Cavern to bolster those defences to prevent the fall of our Barges.

I suggest all residents of the Myafin cavern abandon the cavern alongside the Vanguard. Those who remain behind will be left behind. To my mage bretheren, you have one cycle to scavenge any books you cherish from the Sorcere: with such a short timespan, we will not be taking them with us on the boats. Those you do not grab will be immolated to prevent that knowledge falling into our enemies hands.

Such is the sacrifice that we must make.

The War Sage."

A drow can be seen lurking about the library shortly after the last notice.

A human sized figure dressed in blue and off white bursts from House My'afin at a dead run. Fluttering in his hand are a few pages of parchment.

He stops by the tattoo artist and hair designer, bows and gives them a parchment each.

Then he's off again, stopping at the entrance to Edonils main cavern. There he posts parchment on either side of the entrance on the outside and on the inside, four total. He uses spikes and a small hammer to do so. They all say the same thing. They are in Drow, there are no translations into other languages.

By order of Yath’tallar Ust’Ilharess Jess d’l’Orbb Nizzre’tyne d’My’afin:

If you are in this cavern and you are not a member of House My'afin we will know. We will remember you. Then at a time of my choosing we will visit upon you the wrath of a Yath'tallar of Lolth.

If you touch any books from the Sorcere - We will know. We will remember you. Then at a time of my choosing we will treat you as was threatened to our books. We will burn you to ash.

House My’afin accepts the thinly veiled challenge from those who wish to give Edonil to demons and slime fish. I know whom you are. I will remember you. Then at a time of my choosing I shall find you, for there are many necromancers in need of subjects for their experiments.

Lolth tlu Malla!

*52 is quick with his work and sprints back into House My’afin. While the script is not Nizzre’tynes, one can only imagine who might have permission to pen the words of a Yath’tallar of Lolth.*

//PM sent to Dustspray

A certain priestess could be seen regarding one of these notices. One would be plucked down before she continues her patrol of the caverns, My'afin's included. It would seem she fears no threat in her duty to ensure the caverns of Lolth are secure. After all, she had little interest in the books of the Sorcere, and she never ventured into it or the noble house within. The parchment would not be down for long, however, for after the thorough yet brief patrol she quickly compares it with other writing she has. With her initial suspicion confirmed it is returned to the place it was taken before she disappears into the depths of the Underdark.

The Qu'el'faeruk of House d'My'afin is rarely seen now in the main caverns, but is seen around the House My'afin and the cavern, and is usually pre-empted with the casting of Divination magic.

Streeaka'ael makes quick work of examining his stored building materials and takes inventory of the large blocks inside the main cavern of Edonil outside the Mu'll Har'ol cavern. After he has all of the items orginized he begins sealing the enterance to Mu'll Har'ol.

the small slave girl Mushroom watches him as he works ocassionally bringing him fresh water when he waves in her direction.

Streaka' is careful to make sure that the masonary work is fit tightly to the cavern walls. He intends to make this fortification solid and ready for a long siege. Once Streaka' completes a thick and solid wall he carefully colapses the tunnel on the qu'ellar side of the wall to insure more difficulties with entering the cavern.

Should anyone ask why he is doing this he will respond simply that he is working on higher orders.

//pm sent to Dustspray.

[IC] Disturbance at the Ravaged Stronghold

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