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[Gorhun Morchiant]

---

Chanting and runic symbols…blood spilt…and gods evoked…much the same as most other rituals, and after this ritual is performed…all those in participation lay unconscious on the ground. Changes can be noticed taking place in their features. Gorhun, Alaundril, Olath, and Felyn grow younger as their guardians watch over them. Little Shri'hrae, on the other hand seems to be growing older rapidly…but what is happening? Why are they aging? Are they still even in this realm?

* * *

“The world of the abyss is such a peculiar place…in this particular realm time passes more rapidly than it does in the visible realm of Sosaria,” Gorhun says to his companions as they step into the abyssal plain.

The plain, wistful and almost unsettling, is a large open meadow with a pond, and in its heart is a large brick manor-style home. The sun is setting and as it sets hundreds of dandelion seeds trail about in the breeze, ducks make their way to the banks of the pond, and the companions begin making their way towards the large house.

“We will educate the little imp here in the ways of the Masked Lord…she will grow and be taught…she will unattached to her mother’s corruption, and only attached to ours,” the drow continues as he looks to Felyn who holds the infant.

“You are here simply for the tending to the little one, when she is not training…so your part in the beginning will be greater than it is when she grows older,” the drow lord says to Felyn as he approaches the large manor and knocks on its entrance. As the others pursue closely behind the drow lord they take a moment to gaze at the outside of the manor. It is large, five stories or more, and is made with grey stone and many windows. It is encircled by a well kept garden. On the eastern side of the house is a large hedge-maze.

“Lord Morchiant welcome! All the provisions have been made…your rooms are furnished and dinner will be served shortly,” an elderly man with goat-like eyes and horns says flamboyantly as he opens the door.

Gorhun nods appreciatively and beckons the others to follow him inside. “She should begin training when she is four years old…in the mean time…do whatever you like…there is quite an interesting array of things to keep yourselves occupied here,” Gorhun says smiling slightly as his mask changes colors from its usual charcoal to a bright purple.

The inside of the manor is just as impressive as the outside. Suits of armor line the walls and the dark wooden floors complement the winding stair cases that exit the foyer of the residence. Mysterious and dreamy, the house seems definitely real but at the same time having an eerie air of fantasy about it. Pictures hang on the wall of drow and creatures similar to the elderly man that greeted the companions at the door. As the group enters further into the house, they are overtaken by a pleasant aroma of some sort of savory food being prepared. Amid their puzzlement the denizen-like old man takes their belongings and begins showing them to their rooms.

"Alaundril…Olath…convene with me in my study…there is much to discuss. Felyn…I do hope you find your stay here pleasurable…and you little Shri'hrae…your tale is just beginning,” Gorhun says as he walks up the stairs seeming to know his way around quite well.

[Shri'hrae]

---

Icky tasting. Shri'hrae made a face as the liquid passed through her mouth and down her throat. Her tummy rumbled much as it had earlier in the evening only much more twisty and turny. Only the stark white hair failed to turn a sickly shade of green as she vomited all over Felyn. Tummy better? No... and blackness claimed her.

* * * * * * * *

Things were not the same. Shri'hrae noticed that as soon as she came around once more. The same faces she had seen the last few days surrounded her but once again, ceilings, floors, even the smell was different. Stretching out her hand she grabbed a hold of Felyn's dress and brought it to her mouth, chewing on it. The feel of it against her gums was nice. Shri'hrae listened to soft toned funny words coming out of their mouths. Words... saying them... things Shri'hrae had never considered began to start floating through her little mind at the same rate her hands were beginning to grow. Lots and lots of differences....
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*Kitrye Ilhar's Yathrin, Kitrye Ilharn's Mirshann, Jal degahr*

[Dealthagar]

---

Anak'Sanamuun gritted her teeth as the crop bit into the flesh of her back. Her vigil had been for days, without sleep or relief. It had slipped her mind to ask the herald for permission to rest, and now it had gone on for too long to bother. She snapped the crop over her other shoulder, and grunted at the pain. The Suffering would drive away the need for sleep, the human weakness that still set within her flesh. She was unworthy for full mortification yet, she had not yet proven herself worthy of the sacred sacrament of Holy undeath. She would need to drive the weakness from her flesh yet.

Solanaceae shifted in her sleep and groaned, capturing the Val'kir's attention. Buckling her harness back up, Anak stood, slipping the crop into its slot in her hip boots. She grabbed her spear and crossed the terrace to the small fae, who began to thrash, as if experiencing a nightmare. As she reached to wake the sleeping seer, Solanaceae sat up with a scream of mingled pain and anguish.

"Shri'hrae!"

There was a burst of dark light, coating the area in a black, sooty, glittery dust and Solanaceae, now glamored into a dark and savage version of her sprite sisters dove off the terrace and flew from her nursery high speed. Anak cursed loudly, and lept from the balcony, incanting the words of summoning as she fell.

Just before striking the ground, a shadowy ostard formed beneath her and she tore after the fae at full speed. Locked into the saddle with her hips and thighs, she dug into her hip pouch and retrieved an orthon. She muttered to it her situation and released it into the air. Hopefully, the herald would not fault her. He methods of discipline were...unpleasant, to say the least.
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The Three Truths of Singularity
Do something to the best of your abilty or don't do it at all
Feel to the fullest of your ability, cutting yourself off from your emotions leads to spiritual death
Control your being, your existance, your destiny.
www.adriandrake.com

[Alaundril Do'Rhett]

---

The old Drow had been extremely careful in his trips to the Double Dagger. He knew that the agents of Matron Kal'iksix would be watching that place...heavily. The irony in this, is that his own Son was most likely the one leading the expeditions into the desert. The Seed of Chaos has worked it's magic well. His son had changed greatly over the recent years. Going from a bumbling fool of a diplomat to the Patron of an influential and powerful Drow house here in Umbra. The young Drow had realized his true potential and stood beside the very daughter of the Spider Queen. Alaundril, in centuries past, had done everything he could to undermine the Dark Mother's influence. He usually suceeded, but this time, success was a sweet nectar. How livid she must be on her throne in the depths of her home plane of existence. How angry her and Kal'iksix must be to know that a band of rogue males took what was most prized to them....a female child. The thought made the old Drow laugh aloud as his feet carried him to the front door of his Inn. What brought even more pleasure to Alaundril, was the fact that his own son sired a direct descendant of the Dark Mother. He still pondered this in his mind as he made his way up the stairs, with a smile on his face. This was right.
If only Drayden understood what he and his brothers were doing. They were giving a life to this young child. They were giving her a choice.

There was a trio awaiting him in the upstairs lounge. His daughter Feyln, Gorhun and Olath. Felyn held his grand daughter in her arms, keeping her calm. After a brief discussion, they made their way to the decided location. Alaundril surveyed the area here in the wilderness, everything seemed in order. The ritual went off without a single problem. The chanting and dark magics crackled in the air. He could smell and feel the powerful magics, as the chanting reached a crescendo, they all were sickened by the poison that must be taken. Everything began to blur. Nausea overtook him and he stumbled and leaned against a nearby tree. He could see the others in a similar state and finally everything went black.

The mists of the Abyss entrapped them and they all floated through the void of space and time. They stood after an uncertain amount of time on a lonely gray plain. Everything was so surreal. The Boss led them inside of a comfortable house, one that he had seen in a long distant century ago. He and Olath followed The Boss up to his study. There was further discussion to be had about their time here.

[Felyn Calamyr]

---

Shortly after drinking the potion, Felyn realized in horror that she was still standing with the baby in her arms. She fought to keep her eyes open, looking to her niece for strength. She forced herself to stay conscious long enough to sit down, holding Shri'hrae tight.

* * * * *

Felyn blinked, looking around in wonder, taking a minute to understand that they had just crossed over into the Abyss. She cradled Shri'hrae in her arms, turning her attention to Gorhun as he spoke.

“We will educate the little imp here in the ways of the Masked Lord…she will grow and be taught…she will unattached to her mother’s corruption, and only attached to ours,” he began.

Gorhun then addressed Felyn directly. “You are here simply for the tending to the little one, when she is not training…so your part in the beginning will be greater than it is when she grows older.”

Felyn nodded, expressionless, before following him into the manor.

Gorhun eventually took Olath and Alaundril upstairs, leaving Felyn alone with her niece. Felyn sighed, knowing she would be the only unbiased teacher Shri'hrae would have. Everyone else wanted to use her to further their own agenda.

She looked down at her with an affectionate smile and began speaking quietly in Drow.

"Ori'gato uns'aa tesso dos natha statha bauth natha Rivvil ul'kas Sarker..."

Hidden: 

"Let me tell you a story about a Human called Sarker..."

[Solanaceae]

---

It began with chanting. A low, murmuring sound, that vibrated through her spirit, buzzing like she’d been filled with millions of angry bees. Solanaceae held the little priestess’s spirit to her, pulling her own essence around them like a shield.

The darkness still came.

Claws of hate tore at the barrior, drowish voices chanting to ancient gods of madness and chaos, invoking their blessing and offering the purest and most succulent of innocence as offerings for their pleasure. Solanaceae cursed the darkness, flinching as the magic protecting her mind fell away, crumbling like dust against the tide gripping her. The shield shattered, the claws tore at her body, at her mind, at her soul, demanding the price they’d be promised. Solanaceae knew she wasn’t strong enough to fight them off. There was only one thing left to do.

“I promised I would never leave you.” Solanaceae whispered to the child in her arms.

Eyes filled with trust gazed into her own, and Solanaceae opened herself to them. Dark flames spilled over them and the threads binding the spirits of the seer and the priestess began to melt. With her last grip on control Solanaceae touched the threads, let the heat burn her flesh, her fingers her palms, searing a web of tiny lines over her hands as the threads fused together.

It was then it happened.

Youth fell away to be feasted on by the darkness. Pain tore through Solanaceae, even as she tried to protect the baby from the effects of the violation. The Seer’s youth was eternal, an endless supply to engorge the chaos as it ripped it from her piece by delicious piece. For the priestess, the effect of the thievery was far more dramatic.

Solanaceae was helpless to stop it. Helpless to hold back the devourer as it pulled apart to childhood that should have been, pealing away the layers of innocence in a frenzy. All she could do was take on the pain, to fill herself with the suffering. She might not be able to protect the child from the thief, but she would not allow her to feel the torment. It was the only gift she had left to give.

“They are nothing to us. Why do you care?” A voice hissed in her mind. A first the voice was unfamiliar, but then it shifted, becoming Lilith herself. “They will use you as your people did, as everyone does, throwing you aside when you become troublesome or bore them. You know this is so.”

For the first time Solanaceae turned her back on that voice, unsure if it was her goddess or the chaos trying to trick her into giving up the child. “I promise I would never leave you, little sister.” She whispered.

“So be it.” The voice sneered, the voice of Lilith and of the chaos speaking as one. “You will fear her pain, her suffering, though she will feel nor care of your torment. When she is sad, her sorrow will tear at you, leaving you a miserable slave to it. She will not care. When she is angry, you will be filled with her rage. You will be no more than her plaything. One more toy to be used and discarded like all the others have. And in the end, when death comes to claim her, you will lose your immortality, becoming nothing more than food for the worms.”

At the last all hint of Lilith feel away and Solanaceae heard only the chaos spitting hate and rage at her. “Your only salvation is to let her go, give her up to us. You’ve suffered long enough, child of the fae. Let her go and you can be free.”

“I shall never give myself to something as meaningless as Death. My life belongs to my goddess, and my family. If my death will spare those I care for, so be it. One day I will be blessed, given into the arms of Oblivion itself. You and Death, you are nothing to me.”

“She belongs to us!”

Solanaceae shrieked as she felt the baby pulled from her grasp,. The darkness ran, its stolen prize before it, their spirits still tied together.

"Shri'hrae!"

Three small drops of entropic blood burned inside Solanaceae, and with a explosion of rage deep magics woke inside her, dark glamour that had been forgotten even among the most ancient of fae. Entropic fairy dust coated everything as the world grew in size and she became diminutive. Her wings beat the air in a rage that tore at the sky, sending the creatures of the air fleeing in fear from her presence.

[Gorhun Morchiant]

---

Only a few hours had passed and the five drow lay unconscious on the ground being watched over carful by guardians. The little priestess…not so little anymore…teenager it would seem...growing quite rapidly into a young woman. What is happening under the surface? What is left unseen as the older drow grow younger and this little one presses on in years?

* * *

“She is doing well in her studies…she is quite clever it would seem…she also seems to be enjoying herself…,” Gorhun says happily to Alaundril as he watches through the window of his study at Shri'hrae and Olath sparing in the garden.

“Strong as well…” Alaundril says agreeingly as he too observes the girl from an adjacent window.

“She is merely sixteen…there is still a good deal to be taught… and already she demonstrates the potential of being quite powerful,” the drow lord says calmly as he turns from the window and strides to his desk.

“We have done well at holding the ways of Lolth from her…those traditions should be spoken of last…,” Gorhun says as he rings a small bell on his desk.

In the instant the little bell is rang the denizen-like old man enters the room carrying a platter covered with pastries and tea.

“I’m going down stairs in a moment to inform Felyn to educate the little one about her mother. That way Shri'hrae does not to hold contempt for us for hiding such a thing from her,” Gorhun declares as he takes a cup of tea from the platter and nods for the old man to offer some to Alaundril.

“ I am growing quite fond of Shri’hrae…sort of a fatherly protectiveness that I am not proud of…it will be difficult to give her back to her undeserving kin,” Gorhun says as his mask transforms from grey to a yellow color.

“When Olath has finished sparing with her…get him to continue her levitation instructions, and after that…you begin training her in the darker talents…,” Gorhun says as he sips his tea.

“After lunch…I will continue her instruction in the ways of the Masked Lord…,” the drow lord proclaims as he walks towards the door

“After dinner, we will take tonight off…to all do something enjoyable…she has been working hard…,” Gorhun says as he walks out the door and down the stairs to find Felyn.

[Solanaceae]

---

Solanaceae skidded across the desert, hot sand stripping purple flesh from her hands and knees. Her weariness from the past few days added to the drain of the mad flight, overtaking her desperation and leaving her exhausted, her glamour spent. The sun beat down upon her like an oppressive master, and Solanaceae crawled toward the only shade that promised refuge, that cast by a long thin bolder. The generosity of the goddess revealed itself beneath the stone, when she discovered a hole dug into the sand large enough to fit her, but just barely. Solanaceae stumbled into, still feeling the connection between them, but unable to pull the child to her again.

Shri'hrae had changed.

Solanaceae could feel the unstableness of her body, her mind, but couldn’t reach her. It was maddening. To feel herself close but so far away. A tickle on the back of her hand drew the Seer’s attention, and she glanced down at a sand colored spider move across her flesh.

“She is waiting.” The spider whispered in her mind.

“I’m not strong enough. I’ve tried so hard, but I wasn’t a worthy guardian for the priestess.”

The spider laughed. It was a harsh sound, mocking and full of impatience. “Foolish girl. Have you forgotten all you have learned. You people cast you out, took their gifts, but they forgot the ancient magics. The heart of the void stirs within your people, within the child’s people, sisters by this ancient blood long before you opened yourself to the Matron’s essence. Remember.”

Solanaceae watched the spider climb out of the hole, and cross the sun ravaged land until it vanished in the pale glare is if it had never been. Like a dream.
A dream.

The goddess was right. She’d been a foolish girl. If they wished to hide their deed, to recreate the priestess to serve their ambitions, they’d never hide her here. Not with half the Order hunting for the child. There was one way left to reach her, and Solanaceae was dread to use it.
There was no other way. She must give herself to the bond completely. She must let the Dreaming be their hidden place, their sanctuary. She would be the last bridge between Shri'hrae and the family left behind. It was the only way.

“I will never leave you, little sister.” Were the last words that left the seer’s lips as she her mind retouched the healing numbness or the Herald’s consort, and Solanaceae gave herself to the dreaming completely.

[Shri'hrae]

---

5, 6, 7, the years went by for Shri'hrae. With each passing of the wheel, she grew in leaps and bounds. The pudgy little infant whose hand had wrapped itself tightly in Olath's and Felyn's fabrics to knaw on them started to reach out for books and weapons instead. At the age of ten she had been allowed to venture, with a guardian, outside the manor walls. A set of caverns just beyond the pond became her climbing tools.

Exploring, ducking and dodging through the shadows as she was being taught by Uncle Olath, Grandpa Alaundril, Aunt Felyn and Papa Gorhun who took care of her; she faded in and out of the darkness. Her spider silk dress curled and wrapped around her little ankles as she darted to and fro. Behind her, miscellaneous creatures who served as guards could be seen as Aunt Felyn called orders periodically to them.

Hearing something in the cave to the right of where she stood, Shri'hrae sidestepped and ducked. Stopping and moving she watched as the dirty little figure moved it's head only as if talking to itself. She must not have been as quiet as she thought for it was then that it turned round and came face to face with her.

It, as it so happened was a he. Her violet eyes with just a hint of red remained focused on him. Without waiting for him to say yes or no, she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him after her almost dragging him in her wake. Maybe she shouldn't have done that, maybe he was dangerous. Somehow Shri'hrae doubted both of those things and kept right on trudging toward Aunt Felyn. In a voice just loud enough for him to hear she spoke evenly, “You are mine now, poppet. I’m going to keep you.” A determined look weaved itself across her features.
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*Kitrye Ilhar's Yathrin, Kitrye Ilharn's Mirshann, Jal degahr*

[Shri'hrae]

---

It had been six years since Vryn, as he was now known, had entered their drow contingent. Six more years of muscle memory, of spells, of history lessons, of having Uncle Olath stare at her when she seemed exhausted until she met his icy glare with one of her own. Taut determination would etch itself into her practiced smile to get whatever it was he was teaching her down perfectly.

Shri'hrae had become nothing if not a perfectionist. At sixteen she was graceful, questioning and articulate. Patience had also followed finally, a hard lesson learned, after days and endless nights of drilling.

Every now and then on the field she would gaze up to catch Papa Gorhun and Grandpa Alaundril nodding and smiling at each other and then gazing back down on her progress. She wasn't sure if it was pride in her or pride in Uncle Olath's teachings that elicited those reactions, and she was content for the moment not to ask.

Aunt Felyn, her only female companion aside from the voice in her dreams, would tell her stories of another place, another people much like her and some not like her. Aunt Felyn believed in stories and would spend hours reciting of someone named Sarker. Vryn and Shri'hrae would sit side by side and listen as the intricate webs of words were weaved. Every so often they would nudge each other when they knew that Aunt Felyn was holding out on a detail, something she did often when she thought Shri'hrae's ears were too delicate and Vryn's too male to hear them.

That voice in her dreams, it had been there since the beginning. An intermittent echo in her head that grew stronger at night. It was tinged with sadness and pain that grew as time passed. But it was always there.
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*Kitrye Ilhar's Yathrin, Kitrye Ilharn's Mirshann, Jal degahr*

[Gorhun Morchiant]

---

For an elf of any subtype the years come easy. Aging isn’t all it is for humans or other races. Now that she has developed into a young woman, Shri’hrae no longer seems to be getting any older as her experience stretches into its second day. Her features, for the most part, seem to be locked in a perpetual prime of life. Quite attractive and looking no more than nineteen or twenty, the young drow priestess still lays unconscious among her keepers. Her keepers’ appearances seem to still progress slowly backwards in age. Deep under the surface, something else is amiss…what is really happening far from the visible realm of Sosaria?

* * *

“Now little one…I need you to focus…this is the tenth time you have tried…,” Gorhun says to Shri’hrae pointing at the large tarantula between them.

Shre’hrae, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth, stretches her hands over the tarantula and evokes various incantations and verses. The tarantula’s legs begin to contort and grow. Its midsection begins to divide and mutate as the spider gets larger and larger.

“Enough!” Gorhun shouts breaking the young priestess’s concentration.

As her concentration is broken the spider begins to shrink and rapidly return to its original state.

“Good…” Gorhun says smiling his mask changing from a deep black to a purple hue.

“No more classes tonight! Olath has informed me that you are progressing quite well, and your grandfather seems to think you are quite talented” Gorhun says abnormally jubilant.

“Tomorrow morning…bright and early…we will continue our conversation on Stone Gate, the Order of Ebon Skull, and Qu'ellar D' Alean'und…then tomorrow evening we will talk of Zog Cabal, the Sanctus, and Black Marsh…” Gorhun says as he walks slowly to his desk.

Shre’hrae begins walking towards the door, longing for a break from her studies. She begins pondering plans that she and Vryn had made the day prior.

Vryn, an unexpected asset to the great plan Gorhun and the others devised, had gained the favor of the drow lord. Though initially Gorhun had thought of him as a distraction, he soon realized that the young drow male may be just the component needed for Shre’hrae to fully embrace their teachings. Vryn, through his found favor with Gorhun, had also gained the benefit of receiving much the same training as the priestess.

“Until tomorrow…” Shri'hrae sighs as she walks out the door and races down the stairs, through the foyer, and into the dining room.

She did not plan on stopping in the dining room but something there was odd. The air smelled of something smoldering, and the usual illuminated candles were cold and dark.

“What is going on…?” Shri'hrae asks herself as she grasps a small blade at her side.

Whispers are heard all around her as she makes her way through the dining room.

“Shri'hrae…” Gorhun calls from behind her.

Turning around sharply the young drow is startled as the drow lord snaps his fingers and all the candles in the room magically light at once, and fireworks explode all about the large room.

“You didn’t believe we would forget your 50th birthday…” the drow lord says to her warmly as Felyn, Olath, Vryn, Alaundril raise her high in the air singing loudly Loff'ta Nos'tangi and Whol Il's natha Bronretla Bwael Ilythiiri.

Crossing his arms across his torso, Gorhun’s mask transforms from a charcoal grey to a dazzling orange as he smiles thinking to himself, “Ol kluthak nindel udos ph'nin a l'kitrye i'dol mon'tu...ka er'griff udos kat inbal ulu belbau ilta rath...”

[Shri'hrae]

---

Papa Gorhun watched as a now 50-plus-year-old Shri'hrae pulled back on the shaft of the arrow and let it fly. Finding it's mark in the center of the target with a thwick, she turned to beam at him. Pride resonated within them both at her accomplishment. It wouldn't be the last time she hit what she was aiming for with such accuracy, and as the days progressed her magics became more accurate and deadly as well.

Throughout it all, she and Vryn were inseperable. If Shri'hrae was learning so was her Poppet. Uncle Olath often took the day shift, doing his best to wear them out. And often times he succeeded. This was broken intermittently by Aunt Felyn who tried to make sure that while both ate and rested, Shri'hrae would learn what it meant to be a female Drow. Those conversations in-particular tended to send Vryn running in the other direction in search of one of his own, another male. Papa Gorhun and Grandpa got the night shift with lessons on Vhaeraun, The Order of the Ebon Skull, Stonegate, Blackmarsh, The Zog Cabal, The Blue Lotus, and finally her house.

Qu'ellar D' Alean'und was the house to which she belonged. That fact both infused and tore at her at the same time. She was of that world, and she was of this one. Two houses and one heart. She wondered if her father wore a mask that changed colors like Papa Gorhun's? She knew Drayden was an expert archer. Would he approve of the skill she had gained?

And The Matron Mother, Kal'iksix. Her Mother. At what age did she master the levitation? Would she be proud of her incantations and her ability to walk in shadow? Would she be proud of her looks? Many hours lately had been spent in front of the mirror coming her stark white hair that hung straight and true past her bottom. Always it was offset by the blue of her clothing, for Shri'hrae never did leave that out of her wardrobe. Her violet-red speckled eyes would gaze at her reflection in wonder. Shri'hrae had always been able to ask Papa Gorhun any question with tact. He would answer honestly. Grandpa Alaundril and Aunt Felyn were the same, although they tended to bide their time on their responses and watch the phrasing a bit more.
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*Kitrye Ilhar's Yathrin, Kitrye Ilharn's Mirshann, Jal degahr*

[Shri'hrae]

---

Shri'hrae fidgeted with the hem of her nightdress. Deep blue it was her favorite color and matched the leather armor she wore on a daily basis. Cinched at the waistline, as is proper for girls her age, or so she had heard, it belled out at the bottom and came to knee level. She sat on the edge of her bed going over the dream once more. A voice, familiar and smooth carried to her on a wind of green. She didn't know why it had a color to it, or what the color meant, just that it was slightly brighter than that of a new blade of grass. It had been there every night since she was a baby. Long ago it had warned her of those who took care of here. The voice was adamant that to those who held her prisoner, she was a piece to be used not an actual being to be cared for.

With every syllable it carried images of a land far away. Always similar pictures. There was a gigantic spider, a symbol of Lloth and a Drow couple. It had taken years for Shri'hrae to understand why that couple in her dreams looked so familiar. It was The Matron of Qu'ellar D'Alean'und and Drayden Calamyr, her Patron. In common terms they were her biological parents. The stories of of Lloth as told by the voice and the stories of Vhaeraun, as told by her family at the manor weren't so different really. They were just two sides of the same coin. One worked openly, Lloth; and one worked behind the scenes, Vhaeraun. Both vied for power and both were incredibly important to her people.

Her people. She was first daughter and Priestess in training. That title, that role, were becoming more and more evident as her days progressed. Earlier that night as sleep claimed her the voice of green had grown stronger in her mind's ear.

“What is it to be Of Lloth?” Shri'hrae pondered the question, rolling it around in her mind.

Calmly and as if expecting this question at some point the voice explained. “Lloth is the dark mother of the Drow people. She is the weaver of thier magics, the Spider Queen. She links your family, your tradition, your heritage together. The Drow are the chosen of Lloth, and that as one of her most precious daughters, you are honored among Lloth's priestesses. You must remember that those most beloved by the goddess, have the most expected from them, they must be stronger and more dedicated then others. YOU must be stronger and more dedicated.”

“I know very little of this Lloth.” Shri'hrae sighed heavily, confusion tinting her red speckled violet eyes. “ I know of Vhaeraun. Am I of Lloth or am I of Vhaerun?”

Passionate and full of vigor the voice responded. “Lloth is the dark mother, all drow come from her. It is Lloth's blood that infused the blood of your mother, and burns within you. No man can give life. Life is from the goddess. It is Lloth's blood that strengthens you, and it is the will of the Dark Mother that allows me to remain speaking to you in this place, our place of dreams.” As the last word reverberated between her pointed ears she had awoken from slumber.
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*Kitrye Ilhar's Yathrin, Kitrye Ilharn's Mirshann, Jal degahr*

[Vryn Vhae'Naliek]

---

Language returned to Vryn swiftly under the constant tutledge of so many interested parties. The sounds, and cadence of speech helping to reawaken a part of him he thought lost in the dark that had become his everyday.

In the small drow contingent, the boy found knowledge. He found guidelines, and the means to live rather than simply exist one caught meal to the next. Even so, Vryn could not shake the state of perpetual wariness born of so many years alone in unfriendly shadows. Instinct told him to be quiet, and attentive.

Here was a new series of caverns, with its own unique series of dangers and pitfalls. He delighted in the challenge, and looked ahead to his future.

[Felyn Calamyr]

---

Fifty years...

* * * * *

Though the first few years flew by quickly, every minute without Sarker seemed like an eternity to Felyn. She hid her melancholy behind a practiced smile whenever she was around the others, especially Shri'hrae. When she was feeling particularly depressed, Alaundril would sometimes allow his gaze to linger on her a few moments before quickly turning away. Felyn often wondered if her sadness somehow pained him or if her father was merely scheming, as usual.

* * * * *

Felyn was always educating and entertaining Shri'hrae with stories. She usually remained unbiased except, of course, when it came to Drayden and Sarker. She mostly spoke of Drayden as a young man, from their time on the island together to when they parted ways. Whenever Felyn spoke of Kal’iksix, Shri'hrae's mother, she chose her words carefully and kept most of her opinions to herself regarding her brother's keeper. She also made a point to emphasize that Drow males and Humans were not destined to be slaves, despite the fact that many treated them as such.

Felyn surprised herself by having grown fond of Shri'hrae's playmate, Vryn or "Poppet" as Shri'hrae called him, and invited him to join Shri'hrae's studies. She told both teenagers of the different races, cultures, and religions. She insisted they were both fluent in Common and Elven, as well as Drow, which they both already knew. She sometimes even peppered in some Orcish just to make them laugh.

* * * * *

“You didn't believe we would forget your 50th birthday…” Gorhun said as Felyn, Olath, Vryn, Alaundril raised Shri'hrae in the air, singing loudly.