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[Thrax]

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Dharzhal T'Ar, the apostate paladin, drow, and former priest of Concordia, sighed as he looked upward at the four-storied building, Thraxstadt Manor. There was little he hated more than entering the building when he knew its master, Lord Thrax, was home. The only thing he hated more was that he had to speak with the man-demon face to face.

As he walked slowly up the stone stairs, he thought to himself of how time can change things so radically. Before, when Dharzhal was the high priest of Oggaroth, Thrax had a different name, and obeyed his orders. Now roles were reversed, and though Thrax despised the drow, and the drow him, there was no mistunderstanding of who ruled the roost now.

Dharzhal, and his consort, Streea, lived in a small tower in Thraxstadt. They both served Lloth, the Spider Queen, the mortal enemy of Oggaroth, Thrax's patron deity. The only reason Thrax allowed them to live there was that he sometimes found their services useful, most often as his pawns and foils against his own enemies. Thrax had found and resurrected Streea in the Underdark, and she owed him a life debt. Dharzhal was tolerated only because he was her beloved, and if Thrax wanted her to help him, he had to make a few concessions of his own. One of them was to permit the drow to remain alive, and use him whenever he could.

Dharzhal used the teleporter tiles to arrive on the third floor's dining hall, the place where Thrax could be found most often. Thrax was not there, but the drow's keen ears heard breathing and faint noises coming from the study beyond a sliding door in the northwest corner of the hall. He made his way there and knocked lightly upon the door. The voice of Thrax spoke and bade him enter. He complied, wordlessly, pushing back the sliding door and seating himself in an intricately carved stone chair in front of a long stone table. The light of a candle, set atop a bleached human skull, lit the room. On the other side of the table sat his foe, stroking his thin red mustache between the index finger and thumb of his right hand. "Well, what have you to report?" he inquired, his tone betraying his contempt for the drow. "You do not look like the bearer of glad tidings."

Dharzhal shook his head. "The Duchess refused to sign the treaty. She said she had a possible alternative, and that she had resources of her own, at her disposal."

Thrax snorted. "A threat?"

"Not outright, but a veiled one, yes. Still, she was not unkind in her words and conducted herself like a noblewoman should. I was most impressed. She showed no sign of fear or emotional instability."

"Not unexpected. She is elvish. You would never know if she were afraid."

"I would."

Thrax smiled. "Yes... of course... *you* would. You are both more alike than you care to admit."

Dharzhal shrugged. "In some ways, yes, but you did not send me on the errand to report any similarities between elvish races. In fact, I had no idea what you sent me for until I got there. I did not even open the pouch you gave me."

"I did not care if you did," Thrax stated, flatly. "What was her reaction?"

"She read the book, and the treaty, and scanned the map briefly."

"What did she say about them?"

"The book she gave to another woman, whose name I did not get. She looked it over and intended to verify its authenticity. I told her not to bother, that it is a forgery. It is, isn't it?"

Thrax's eyes widened slightly. "How did you know?"

"I am a scholar myself. The book was filled with gross errors. That was the first clue. Then I went to the Lycaeum and the library in Britain after you had me make copies. The man, Malcolm Guile, does not exist. It is a fictitious name for the author of a book that is not even good fiction. Who really wrote it?"

"It is none of your concern. You think you are smart, don't you?"

Dharzhal ignored the jab. "The Duchess found the treaty amusing. She mentioned an alternative. Then they asked me questions and offered to pay me for my help."

"What questions?"

"About you, and if the Duke were alive, though I did not know his name before. I watched as you arrived with him. They asked me about your plans. I told them everything I knew," he bravely confessed.

Thrax glared at the drow, his eyes narrowing. "You had best watch yourself, drow! If I thought for a minute that you were plotting against me, you know what I would do, don't you?"

Dharzhal nodded. "I know you have a true scroll of Abraxus, the one containing the hidden spell of banishing. I lost it, you found it. I assume you are threatening to use it against Lloth?"

"I could, but I have another purpose for it. Just know if you ever cause me grief, I *might* forget that other purpose." He paused. "Now, get out of my sight," he ordered.

"What about the gold you promised me?"

"I will have Durthagg deliver it to you tomorrow."

"What do you plan to do about the Duke?"

"That is none of your business... but, if you must know, I am considering sacrificing him to Oggaroth." Thrax smiled wickedly.

Dharzhal knew he was lying, but knew also that further banter would accomplish nothing. "He is in your dungeon?"

"Yes, and is guarded well. I am waiting for the special toxin you have been working on. When will it be ready?"

"Soon. But do not rush the process. If anything goes wrong, he could die," Dharzhal warned.

"Pity... in a drow?"

Dharzhal shrugged and tilted his head. "Perhaps a residue of virtue left over. Still, he is worth more to you alive and unharmed," he countered.

"Only a little... now go!"

The drow mage rose from his seat, nodded respectfully and turned to leave.

"I will have further use for you. Do not go far. And get that toxin ready," Thrax ordered, harshly.

Dharzhal pretended not to hear him as he exited the study. Hate swelled within him, but subsided quickly as thought gave birth to an idea. "Maybe *you* will be the first to test it,m'lord," he muttered.