Atlantic Roleplay Community Boards

[Thrax]

---

Posing as his twin brother, Thraxas sent word to Dharzhal to meet him at Whitehall. The drow alchemist complied, but was deliberately dilatory. When he did arrive he found his erstwhile landlord wandering about the garden on the top floor.

"Your haste in coming is noted," Thraxas greeted him, sarcastically.

"I was busy," the drow replied dispassionately.

"I'm sure you were." Thraxas plucked a full-bloomed rose and put it to his nose, as if to savor the aroma. "How much Distopia have you made?"

Dharzhal was taken aback, stunned---How did he know??! He stood there, momentarily speechless.

"Come now," Thraxas continued. "I have known what you have been up to for a long time. Don't worry, I am not upset about it; I see great potential in it."

The drow shifted uneasily. Was this a trap? It didn't make sense. Everything he had seen and heard from Thraxanduril indicated a complete change of heart, obviously calculated to offset the multitude of horrendous crimes and misdeeds of his past. Yet here he was, willing to risk his reputation, his station, perhaps his life, and certainly the loss of his family should they find out, to an insane venture. But then, his risk is no worse than my own! He wondered if Thrax was being blackmailed. He decided to hold off an immediate confession. "Who is the source of this misbegotten information?" he asked, folding his hands in front of him. The loose cowl of his deep purple elvish robe fluttered slightly in the mid-morning breeze.

Thraxas chuckled. "So you could kill him? If you must know, it was Lomar. He and I have been working together on this for some time."

Knowing further denial was pointless, Dharzhal voiced his unhappiness at being kept in the dark. "He never told me."

"You didn't need to know until now." Thraxas tossed aside the rose and turned to face his guest. "Now, the answer to my original question... how much do you have on hand?"

"Over a hundred stones' weight."

Thraxas nodded. "Good. Take what stocks you have to the Temple of Oggaroth. Use the laboratory there to continue your work making the stuff. The smell of it stinks up the whole place and sooner or later it will arouse suspicions."

"I thought my "reason" for the project was sufficient to nullify that objection?"

Thraxas didn't know the reason, but he could not let him know that. "It was, for awhile, but the stench is still revolting. I want it out of here."

Dharzhal didn't protest further; he hated the whole thing. But the idea of having to work at the cold wastelands of the north among followers of Oggaroth, whom he heartily detested, made him ill.

"Lomar and Grendel will help you move the stocks there and will see to your requirements. I want you to spend at least four hours a day on the project. I will reimburse you well for your time, naturally."

The drow nodded. "Assanque."

"Oh, one more thing: there will be a special guest arriving there shortly. You will be told who it is and why in time. Do not go poking around the temple. Stay in the laboratory. Is that clear?"

"Yes."

Thaxas waved him away.

Dharzhal bowed slightly and exited.

Three hundred years of life among despicable drow and inhumane humans did a lot to enhance his innate faculties to detect dangerous deceptions...

And they were screaming a warning.