Lylnor's Library

Somewhere, December 7th 1655

Tridien

They continued to query the priestess Tridien. "Where are we?" asked Gorfang. "In the tower of the wizard Lylnor," said Tridien, inclining her head towards the outer room where the arcanist's crisped remains lay, "near the outskirts of Shan'Quarth - the city of House Wedrith." Gorfang grunted. "So, in the Underdark, then." "Yes."

Lynien tied up the priestesses and Everbleed, who appeared completely unconcerned. "Why isn't our healing magic working?" Lynien asked Tridien. She jerked her head at Everbleed. "One of Corelia's toys," she answered. "He radiates healing interdiction. Your wounds will heal... eventually." Everbleed spoke up. "Most people I affect tend not to live much longer, but the last one who did survive started to heal again in around a month by your surface reckoning."

Once more, Gorfang quizzed the dark elves on their dogged pursuit of the Veldrin Sk'aal. "Why didn't you just come and ask for it?" he asked. It was clear, though, that the Fae Mhor had observed Gorfang and his tendencies, starting with the party's very first encounter with their race, and had never seriously believed he would be prepared to negotiate.

Leaving the Fae Mhor survivors secured, the three set out to search the rest of the complex. As they headed towards the western door, Eloy lagged behind. Leaning close to the priestesses, he spoke in an intense whisper for their ears alone. "The price of the sword is the death of Setram!" before hurrying to catch up with his companions.

As they walked, their feet pulled through the ever-present webs that spread across floors and ceilings and hung from walls, with the occasional squish as they trod on one of the smaller spiders that constantly scuttled across the webs. A thick musk of arachnids permeated the air, bringing strange thoughts and feelings in its wake.

The western corridor appeared to lead to quarters for the Fae Mhor inhabitants of the complex, though none of them looked to be the home of the wizard-owner. At the end, the wall was figured and marked with a twisting, coiling design in glowing lines, incorporating both spiderish and arcane designs. There was a significant radiance of magic from it, but it looked to be no more than a decoration, and the three lost interest in it almost immediately.

To the south of the main chamber, a short hall led to a large, square room lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Where the other areas they'd seen had had randomly scattered webs on the walls, in here there was one consistent layer of webbiing a span thick on all the walls and the ceiling. Sound was deadened and flat inside; the webs provided good insulation against outside noise.

In the centre of the room, a more open web composed of much thicker strands was strung from floor to ceiling. Reclining in this was a peculiar creature indeed. Basically humanoid, its dark skin was knotted and ridged rather than smooth, and it had eight limbs. The head was a nightmare mix of humanlike features and a spider's mouthparts, with two huge compound domes where a human's eyes should be. Amid all this alienness, though, was a strangely reassuring note; a wide belt slung around its' hips, bearing pouches and pockets containing scraps of paper, leather, thread, needles, glue, ink, pens and other items of the librarian's trade. As they entered, the compound eyes flickered and became alight with understanding. Welcome, it said in a dry, dusty voice. I am Librarian; how may I help you?

The three glanced at the shelves for a moment. "Tell me about the sword Veldrin Sk'aal," said Gorfang experimentally. Librarian turned back to the shelves, swarming effortlessly up the walls and reaching across them with his overlong arms in three or four directions at once. Moments later, he was back with three books of various sizes. Stopping in front of Gorfang, he generated webbing from his body and wove it with two legs, producing a reading-desk in a matter of seconds onto which he placed the books. Gorfang nodded, and began to read.

This result encouraged the others, and Eloy asked for something to explain Everbleed's interdiction as well as anything on the god Sabath, while Lynien requested references to shadow magics. Soon each was seated at a new-created desk with a pile of books to refer to, and silence fell. Librarian retreated to his web, apparently quite content to wait on their pleasure.

Raldar Z'hin

Gorfang's books described the origins of the black sword, how it was created by Dariask Baneblade for Toryassu, the personal assassin of Raldar Z'hin. Z'hin was an oddity, a male Fae Mhor who had risen to significant power, a warlord of House Wedrith before their exile from Nindolen. He had been on the point of leading an invasion of Sildor when the matriachal establishment pulled him down. Toryassu herself probably escaped the ruin of Z'hin's ambition, but her fate was not revealed. Gorfang already knew most of this, but what was new to him was the discovery that the sword was specifially enchanted as an assassin's blade. Only in the hands of a female Fae Mhor assassin would its true potential be unlocked. He dropped the book with a curse. Should he trade the sword back to the dark elves? Most people probably would have; but the stubborn orc was disinclined to do so, not least because of the Fae Mhor's regular assaults on him.

Shadowguard

Eloy's references confirmed what Everbleed himself had told them; wounds inflicted within the range of his power were impossible to heal, either by magic or normal bodily recuperation, until the effect wore off. He gritted his teeth; despite some hastily-applied bandages, his chest was a mess, and he didn't think he'd survive another fight in this state. Turning to the next book, he paged through. It was written in a language he had never seen before (although the power of a ta'nara made him instantly fluent), and was a chronicle of the decline and fall of the Khabran empire written several hundred years after the desert realm had disappeared. As well as a history, it was a goldmine of information, not only about the cult of Sabath, but those of Hektis, Nebekheshut, Gennen and the Lost Gods Isetbashyat and Nepthis. The comparison between the new-minted religions of their deities and the ancient forms was fascinating, and for Gorfang, who had not yet formulated his patron's new church, its' value was inestimable.

Lynien had discovered several books packed with the techniques of the shadow dancer, some which discussed the abilities of the high elvish Shadowguard, though from an enemy's point of view of course.

Three of the books were clearly magical; one on strategy, one on the cult of Lolth, and a third entitled Combat Excercises.

"Right," said Gorfang, "we'll take these and we'll be off." Librarian looked regretful and shook his head. I'm sorry masters, mistress, but without a token of authorization from a priestess or Master Lylnor, I can't release any books to be taken away. The rules of the library, you understand? Gorfang eyed the spindly humanoid. "What happens if I kill you, then?" he asked brutally. The library will cease to function, replied Librarian simply. There was no fear, nor threat in the way he said it, which made it strangely compelling. I am sorry. You are welcome to read the books here.

Ashe was speaking, Lynien quietly slipped two of her books into her bag, turned invisible, and made for the door. As she reached it, the webs around it flowed swiftly across it and in a moment it resembled exactly the adjacent wall. Lynien rolled her eyes and prepared to step into the ethereal and past it that way. To her shock, nothing happened; her ability to shift off the material plane failed her. Mistress, commented Librarian unconcernedly, you appear to have forgotten to return a book? Lynien stumped back to her lectern, as Eloy pointed to the stack Gorfang held. "It's in there," he said persuasively. Librarian glanced back at the doorway, now unsealed, and made no comment. The orc sighed. "If I leave the books here," he said, "may I leave to fetch a priestess?" Librarian nodded, Of course, he said calmly.

Gorfang stomped off down the corridor, returning with Tridien's bound form dangling from his hand. "Tell him we can take the books out," he directed in a dangerous voice. "Mmnn-nnn-mmnm-nmnn!" she responded. Gorfang rolled his eyes and pulled her gag out. "Yes! Let them take the damned books!" she shrieked desperately. The orc restored her gag and looked at Librarian. Excellent, he husked, all is in order. The three stuffed their books into various packs; as they did so, Eloy pulled a book out and, on a whim, handed it to Librarian. "Here," he said, "this is for your library. It's the holy book of my religion." Librarian accepted it with a small nod. A contribution? Thank you, he said, making a contribution also entitles you to take out books. The sound of Gorfang's teeth grinding could be clearly heard as they returned down the hall.

Back in the main chamber, they looted what looked good from the body of Corelia and added it to the weapons disgorged by the corpse of Barkflay. "Are we done here?" asked Gorfang. No-one disagreed, so they returned to the trussed priestesses. "We're done here," said Lynien, "see you." Gorfang sneered. "Come to me when you're ready to talk on my terms," he said mockingly. He donned the Helm of Teleportation and directed it to take them home.

Nothing happened.

The companions blinked. They'd thought that Lynien's inability to shift planes was a function of Librarian's defences; but they were outside the library now. Something else was happening.

Gorfang went back to where he had dumped Tridien's helpless body and took her gag off again. "Why can't we teleport?" he asked dangerously. The priestess swallowed. "It's another of Corelia's magics," she said nervously. "She has a gemstone up in her quarters which radiates a Dimensional Anchor unless submerged in water." Gorfang cut her leg bonds and hauled her to her feet. "Show me where," he said. Tridien glanced at the staircase, where the Blade Barrier was still swirling and grinding against the stones. "You'll need to do something about that first," she commented.

To her surprise, the three companions settled down, unpacked rations and ate a meal. It had been a long time since dinner, and judging by the time since their evening ambush of Lylnor in Nasirolan, it was around suppertime. As they ate, the duration of the Blade Barrier finally wore off, opening the stairwell and allowing them to proceed. Dragging Tridien with them, they three ascended the stairs to the next level.

The stairs opened into a small landing, with a single passage leading to a rectangular hall. This contained a table, laid with place settings for serving meals, some of which were still on the table. The companions noted with surprise that not only did the Fae Mhor revere and imitate spiders - they also ate them. However, their attention was diverted from this by the shapes moving around the eating hall.

All were of small stature, some goblins, some kobolds and a few strange creatures like small dwarves. All shambled numbly from task to task, ignoring the interlopers. Some moaned softly as they passed, some wept or whimpered, a few laughed unhinged, disjointed laughs. All were mutilated or disfigured with twisted, brilliant cruelty. Some were blinded, others deprived of their hands, one had great swathes of skin flayed off to reveal pulsing, gangrenous flesh underneath, another was pierced through and through by fine, serrated slivers that tore and caught as she moved. Slavery to the Fae Mhor was clearly not a pleasant state to end up in.

Eloy checks for magical treasures - at arms' length

Tridien led them out through a corridor and down to a doorway. "This is Corelia's room," she said. "I've never been in it, so you're on your own from here." Gorfang wasn't having any of that and dragged her in as they entered the room. It was immediately obvious that the room wasn't a permanent residence, but rather a guest room occupied by Corelia when she was visiting Lylnor's 'tower'. A large bed was flanked by a small alcove holding a personal idol of Lolth and a large dressing table, scattered with pots, jars and bottles of makeup and poison indiscrimminately mixed. A pile of documents was heaped at one end, and a large jewelry box stood in the centre. Eloy drew Bereloth and checked for magic, revealing enchantments among the letters, on (or in) the jewelry box, and on the black idol.

Focussing on the jewelry box, Eloy eyed it carefully, as Bereloth fed him the information that there was a trap on it. Across the room, Lynien concentrated for a moment and then snapped her fingers; the box emitted a series of clicks and the lid lifted slightly. Eloy looked up with a smile. "There - done it!" he said brightly, and delved inside.

The box was well-filled with a selection of jewelry, beautifully wrought - at least ten thousand's worth, he thought to himself as he located and picked out what he sought - a single plain gemstone without a mounting, lit from inside by a faint radiance. He cast an Identify. "This is it," he declared. "it has to be submerged in water to turn it off." Gorfang leaned over as if to examine it - and spat on it. The crystal vanished under the fluid, and the faint glow died. Eloy gazed at his charming handful for a moment, and then cleaned the gem off before slipping it into a half-empty water-bottle from his pack.

They considered the idol for a moment or two, but concluded that the benefits weren't worth the risk - they'd had nasty shocks from trapped Lolth idols before. They riffled through the papers, however, coming up with some scrolls of clerical magic and a letter - bearing a name that they recognized.

Valaquania

It was from a Fae Mhor priestess named Valaquania - the very one they'd fought in Hightower when Gorfang first acquired the Veldrin. and addressed to Corelia as a blood sister. In the harsh and distrustful world of the Fae Mhor, relationships like this were not often regarded as very significant - unlike house or clan membership - so this was an unusual document. How unusual emerged as the letter went on.

Valaquania wrote to appeal to Corelia for information - whether the political tensions created by the debacle in Hightower had eased with the new matriach Velgress replacing the deposed Auralain, enough for her to return to Shan'quarth. What Corelia's answer would have been was unkowable; nothing had been noted on the letter, and the high priestess' brains were spattered all over the antechamber downstairs.

Lynien Overhears

All the while, Tridien's eyes darted here there and everywhere, squirrelling away details and nuggets of information, hungry for any scrap which could make easier her likely attempt to ascend into Corelia's vacant rank of High Priestess. Eloy leaned closer; "Scy me when Setram's dead," he said quietly. Not quite quietly enough, this time; Lynien overheard him. What is it with him? she wondered, why is he so desperate to see that dragon knocked off?

Nearly opposite Corelia's door was a much larger one, decorated with a heavy gold bas-relief of the demon queen of spiders. Above the lintel was the creed:

"We are all Lolth's meat," quoted Tridien. Her voice shook; she seemed more afraid of her own goddess than of death at Gorfang's hands. From all they had heard, the adventurers were not surprised. The Fae Mhor were, in many ways, the victims of one of the greatest tricks in history. Lured by the promise of more power and offspring, their ancestors had turned from the wise, benficient gods of the light elves to follow a new deity, believing her to have their best interests at heart. Only when it was too late to turn back did Lolth gradually reveal her true demonic nature and origin. Bound to her by unbreakable compacts and hideous rituals, outcast beyond redemption by their kin, the dark elves descended into a racial nightmare of constant fear, hate, betrayal and death. For every Fae Mhor, any other being at all was only one of three things; a superior to be grudgingly served, feared and ultimately pulled down and supplanted; an inferior or slave to be crushed into submission, prevented from rising and discarded when of no further use; or an enemy to be obliterated or enslaved. At the very pinnacle of this was Lolth herself, ever greedy for sacrifice, uncaringly setting her creatures to squabbling to weed out the weak, never to be appealed to, only endured.

Inside the temple was a heavy plinth of black stone, reached by two broad, flat steps. Atop this was a vast carved idol of Lolth in her spider-queen form, a giant spider body with an inhumanly beautiful Fae Mhor head. It was shaped of night-black stone, studded with gems and inlaid with gold. Lynien's eyes sparkled; a small fortune, although it would take an hour or more to prise out. A massive, heavy slab of an altar stood before it, stained with innumerable sacrifices.

In the corners to left and right stood standard lamps, casting an unhealthy pale violet glow across the scene. As the companions edged cautiously forward, pretty much convinced that the statue was going to animate and attack them, they realized that there was sound and movement in the near corners; behind them. Looking around, they saw that each corner was fenced in with intricately woven black metal mesh, enclosing an area just big enough for a humanoid form. Inside each was a figure, one pale, one dark, indistinct behind the mesh, but writhing with unspeakable pain. Gorfang the torturer nodded in admiration; a steady delivery of enough excruciation to sustain unbearable pain, yet not enough to tip the subject over into unconciousness nor little enough for them to become used to it. All done with no physical contact.

Eloy dipped into a pouch, and took out one of his dragon-tooth amulets. With impossible chutzpah he leaned over and laid it on the black, scarred altar, insouciantly intruding his God's influence right into the face of Lolth. A nearly-lost deity of a long-vanished race, with only a handful of worshipers, matching wills with a major demon served by countless thousands of fanatic, powerful dark elves; it seemed no contest. Yet the tooth lay there cheekily and was not harmed.

Gorfang and Veldrin Sk'aal

Gorfang looked across at Lynien. "I suppose you want to take the gems," he said, inclining his head towards the statue. "No," she replied innocently. "You what?" said Gorfang. "Oh! Well, yes, then," she confessed, "but it looks trapped to me and I can't shake the feeling it's going to jump me."

Then Gorfang drew the Veldrin, for the first time since being drawn into this netherworld. He had far more powerful swords, many of them, yet there was something unique about this slender flatchet of runecarved black metal, something of dark power that made the others seem shrunken. It seemed to thrill in his hand with an inner resonance to its' surroundings, and the very air seemed to thicken and intensify around those watching. Tridien's eyes bulged at the sight of it, though she controlled herself and said nothing. Lynien and Eloy looked at each other. "Did it just ... move?" asked Eloy in a strangled voice, indicating the statue. Gorfang said nothing. With the ocular enhancement of the Robe of Eyes, he'd seen it, and it had moved... yet it hadn't. The sense of menace returned, redoubled. Muttering an incantation to Sabath, Eloy cast Prayer, further marking his card should a vengeful Lolth ever catch up with them, and Lynien stepped quietly sideways, putting the orc's massive bulk between herself and the idol.

Gorfang reached out and gripped the wrist of the priestess Tridien. With a mighty heave, he hurled her at the statue, sending her crashing against its' sharp gems and unyielding angular contours with crushing force. The impact drove the crystals into her skin and flesh, releasing several flows of red blood to trickle down the idol. The ambitous priestess sank dying down the black shape of her vile goddess.

With a silent, palapable pulse, a wash of bone-aching cold flowed out from the statue, passed over the three adventurers, and was gone. They glanced at each other. Well past time to be gone, their expressions said, and with a tap of the Helm of Teleportation they were, shifted back to the safety of Southwold in the blink of an eye.

Or were they safe?