A-N: So glad to finally get some feedback on this! I was honestly wondering if I should just take it down, but lo, it seems that there IS some interest in my fantasy works, after all! Since this is set in a larger world, there are some thing that might be helpful to keep in mind. This tale is based in my own D&D game world, which in turn is based on elements of several of my own favorite game settings, notable Forgotten Realms, Greyhawk, and Eberron, with bits of Ravenloft, Maztica, Al-Quadim, and Karatur thrown in. There's even some Dragonlance stuff here and there, so the world itself contains elements familiar to fans of all past D&D settings. The most obvious similarity is my version of the drow race, which is primarily baced on Forgotten Realms lore (with my own twists and some fun new stuff added), as well as some of the most iconic creatures from that world and Greyhawk. Essentially, Anterris (or Asharra, as the planet is called- Anterris is the main continent) is my own "baby", created as a campaign setting for my own game groups in the past. It's a labor of love, and has taken YEARS to develop. Anyway, enjoy!

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Chapter 3: Moonlight Lady

A week had passed since the incident with Jezdin and the ritual in the temple, and still he woke each night in a cold sweat, wide-eyed and breathless from terror. He could not escape the image of the former qu'el' m'elzar (House Mage) being transformed into a hideous arachnid monstrosity. He understood that what the perverted old sorcerer had done was wrong, but he wasn't certain if the crime he had committed warranted the harsh punishment that had been inflicted on him. In truth, he didn't know which was worse, the mage's offence, or his sentence.

He was determined to go back to Shelatchka's lair, if only to prove that he could face her again. Somehow, after all that had happened in those last few days, he was less afraid of her than he was of his own kind, for at least he knew where he stood with her- more or less. But after the past few days, he no longer trusted anyone around him but Ravyn. She was the only thing in his life that made sense, and the only person who understood him. He had meant what he told her; he wanted to see the sky and the trees of the world above just as she did, and he hated the dark confines of his home, where nothing seemed to matter but power.

Even knowing that her kindness had been motivated by her desire for freedom, he could not truly fault her, nor could he remain angry at her for it. He understood that she was afraid. Trust was a fragile thing, easily broken, and almost impossible to mend- he knew that now. Once gained, it had to be held carefully, lest it shatter. It was the same with hope. Of all those around him, only the elf woman had ever shown him respect, or listened to his own hopes and dreams. It didn't matter that she had wanted him to free her- she still cared for him as if they were family, and that was all he needed.

After nine days- a full week- spent in relentless training and study, he had decided it was time to try again. Even the House Mage's permanent absence was no excuse for neglecting his duties, it seemed, so he continued his more formal studies with Shiallin and Nalvir, still determined to face Shelatchka. The aranea awaited him out in the hidden tunnels, and he was eager to go back and show her what he was made of. Assuming she didn't have him for dinner, of course.

So after his lessons were over for the day, he ran to his room, where he had hidden the items he had taken from Jezdin's quarters and lab. He pulled out the small onyx tentacle wand, the invisibility ring, and a long sword that the sorcerer had intended to enchant, but still sat on his work table. Then he read through Jezdin's spell books until he was certain he knew by heart the words of the spells he had learned. When he had done all he could to prepare, he set out for the fissure in the far wall, running all the way in his eagerness to get away to his own private domain. He had already begun to think of those hidden tunnels as his, for no one else even knew they existed, so far as he could tell.

The way was easier the second trip through, for he now knew the path, at least as far as her lair. When he heard the dripping of water that signaled he was near, he pulled out the ring and put it on, activating it, then drew the sword. He had left his flute behind, afraid that it might get damaged in a fight. Instead, he had the wand, and he kept that ready, as well. He stepped silently into the small cavern, his gaze moving instantly to the web high above. As he had expected, she was there, sitting patiently in her spider form. He noticed with slight nervousness that there was a new cocoon in the web, the remains of her most recent victim.

He tread cautiously out into the cave, hoping he might slip by unseen. But no such luck was to be his, for he'd hardly gone three steps before he heard her voice. He looked up, and saw that she had taken her hybrid shape.

"Going somewhere, little man? I never expected to see you again. Are you that eager to die?"

He froze, realizing she could still see him, in spite of the supposed protection of his invisibility. She must have been using darkvision of her own, he decided, and wondered why none of the books had mentioned it. He turned to face her as she descended on a thin strand of web.

"I don't want to fight you," he said, holding the sword out in front of him. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Really? How amusing. I still owe you for the last visit, you know. You're going to pay for what you did." She advanced, and he moved slowly toward the other end of the chamber. He had only a few spells, and he hoped they would be enough to keep her from killing him- even though none was especially useful as a defense. They were more for distraction than anything else.

"What I did?! You tried to eat me!" He exclaimed indignantly. She simply laughed.

"And what did you expect, little morsel, hmm? And now you come back, and think that I will not finish what I began last time? More fool, you."

At that, she lunged toward him, but he had his first spell ready, and cast it swiftly as he dodged her attack. He heard a satisfying shriek as his small light spell blossomed right in front of her. He had cleverly placed it directly on her nose, so that it would not only blind her briefly, but move with her, preventing her from seeing anything at all until she could dispel it. He ducked behind a stone pillar as she snarled out the words of a dispelling, knowing that her dark vision would now be useless against him. Then the cavern was plunged into darkness again, but he had already decided on his next spell. It was a risky gambit, to be sure, but he was confident that it would work.

"I am going to enjoy sucking the marrow from your bones, little elf!" She yelled out, looking around for him. Then he heard her call out a spell of her own, and he was suddenly pelted by several large, hard snowballs. He cried out in surprise, backing away from the area within the rain of frozen missiles. The snowballs hurt, but were more annoying than anything. He ducked around another tall stalagmite closer to the other tunnel, and chanted out his own spell before stepping back out from behind it, one hand held out in front of him. She spotted him almost instantly, but paused when she saw what was in his hand. A small sphere of bright golden flames glowed in his hand, and he held it out as if to throw it.

"Shelatchka! Don't make me use this- I'll throw it and burn down your web, or even at you, if I have to! I told you I don't want to fight you, I just want to see what's down that passage. Let me go in peace, and I won't have to hurt you!"

She looked from the young drow to the fireball in his hand, and suddenly became agitated. "You wouldn't dare," she said uncertainly.

"Try me." He cocked his hand back, ready to toss the flaming orb toward her. She paused a moment longer, then as if she had decided to call his bluff, she shot out a web toward him. He was ready for it, though, and tossed the ball straight at her nest, before ducking behind the spire again. She let out a shriek of fury as she saw the sphere hit her web with a small hiss; then the web seemed to blaze brightly as it apparently went up in flames. She did not realize the fireball had been illusory, and that in truth, he had simply caused the illusion to appear to burn the web, which was completely unharmed beneath the imaginary flames.

He saw the mass of web she had shot at him hit the ground, and used the distraction of the supposedly burning web-nest to levitate up to the ceiling, now that the cavern was lit again. He found a small crevice in the rocks between two stalactites, and squeezed into it. Then he cast a globe of darkness down at an area of the floor near where he had been, directly over a rather sharp spire rising up from the floor, reactivating his invisibility ring a moment later. He hoped she would think he was within, so he could come down on her with his sword.

The aranea looked around, fury in her dark eyes, and spied the globe. She grinned wickedly. "Think you can hide in there, little man? That will not work. I'm going to kill you slowly for what you just did." She stalked closer to the dark area, then suddenly seemed to hesitate. She looked around, and instead scrambled up the wall, climbing up to skitter across the ceiling. He gulped. Had she discovered his hiding place?

He was surprised when she moved directly above the globe, and suddenly dropped down into it. He was even more surprised to hear her suddenly scream from within. He cautiously slipped out of the crack he had been hiding in, wondering what had happened. The aranea continued to wail, and even began cursing angrily as well, though he could tell she was in some sort of distress.

Curious, he dropped slowly down to the floor, and let the darkness dissipate. What he found within was truly unexpected, though ironic. She had managed to partially impale herself on the stalagmite, and now she scrabbled helplessly as she sank lower down its length, thick ichor oozing from a wound in her abdomen just above her lower pairs of legs. Her head whipped about as she realized the darkness had disappeared, searching for him.

"What have you done?!" She cried in pain. "Please, don't kill me! I'm sorry I tied to eat you- just get me down from here!"

He winked back into view, and moved close to her, glaring at her coldly. "Why should I help you?" He asked bluntly. "You were going to kill me; I should just leave you there. It seems only fair, after all."

"I promise to leave you alone if you will just help me! Please!" She begged, tears streaming down her face now. She slipped down a little further, and moaned as the wound became larger. Lothir paused for a moment, considering. Should he help her, or just let her suffer? Then he remembered all the pain he had seen his family inflict on others, and felt ashamed for wanting to take revenge on her. His mother and the other priestesses enjoyed torturing victims before sacrificing them to their wicked goddess, or tormenting slaves who did not respond quickly enough to their demands. Even Morganna loved nothing better than to cruelly abuse anyone who displeased her. He refused to be like them.

"How do I know I can trust you?" He asked pointedly. He had already learned the dark lesson of betrayal, and that the people around him could not be trusted.

"I give you my word, I will not attack you again if you will get me off of this thing," she said, still struggling vainly to keep from sliding down further. The young drow paused a moment longer, then nodded.

"Alright, but if you go back on your promise, I'll kill you myself," he replied, and she saw from the look in his eyes that he meant it.

Then he gazed at the spike, wondering how to get her down. She was much too large for him to lift, even if he could levitate up to pull her up from above. He pondered the dilemma, then he suddenly remembered the sword in his hand. The spire was narrow, and formed of soft, brittle limestone- perhaps he might be able to break it. He held up the sword, and stepped closer to the stalagmite. The aranea saw the blade in his hands, and suddenly shrieked in fear.

"What are you doing?!" She cried. "You said you would help me!"

"And I will," he said calmly. "I have to break the spike- it's the only way to get you down. Just keep your limbs out of the way; I'd hate to cut one off by mistake."

Then he set the edge of the blade against the stone, high up where it was thinner and weaker, and swung back far to the right. He let fly with a mighty slash, and the sword bit deep into the stalagmite, breaking a chunk out of it and cracking the stone. He looked at it, and decided that one more good strike should do it. So he pulled back again, this time to the left. His next stroke took all the strength he had, and cut through the other side of the spire, to send it toppling over on its side, with Shelatchka tumbling down with it. She screamed as she hit the floor, but it couldn't be helped.

Quickly, the young dark elf rushed to her side, and grasped hold of the piece still impaling her. He pulled hard- so hard that he lost his balance and went flailing backward- and suddenly the stone spike was free. She glanced up at him, still lying prone on the cavern floor, holding her hands over the front half of the wound.

"There were some potions in my web," she gasped out. "Find one and bring it to me," she continued with a low moan.

He nodded. He ran over to the corner where it was suspended, still hung with the remains of her past meals. He looked up, wondering where they might be. Finally, he turned to glance back.

"Where are they?" He called out. He had seen no sign of any potions.

"They were in the packs of some goblins," she replied, looking somewhat paler than before. He nodded again, and shot straight up, floating just above the web's edge as he searched for the aforementioned goblins. Then he saw them, and quickly pulled himself along the wall until he came to them. He tore through the cocoons wrapped around them with the sword, then dug into the bags they carried. He pulled out two small bottles filled with a glittering red liquid, and swiftly pulled himself back out to drop lightly down below the edge of the nest. Then he raced back over to the fallen aranea, bottles in hand, and gave her one. She gulped it down quickly, then they both waited for the potion's magic to take effect.

They did not have long to wait. Almost instantly, the gaping wound began to close, growing smaller with each passing moment. She soon began to look stronger, and her color returned to normal. The drow heaved a sigh of relief. He did not know why, but somehow he was glad that she had not died, for he felt oddly guilty for causing her injury.

"Thank you, little elf. I am grateful. Now, what shall I do with you, hmm?" She rose, still wobbling a bit, and gave him a devious smile.

He backed away, suddenly wary again. "Y- You promised," he said flatly, though he had half-expected her to go back on her word. No one, it seemed, could be trusted. He held his blade up again, ready to face her.

She straightened, tilting her head to one side, staring at him almost thoughtfully. "So I did," she said, and suddenly laughed. "Well, then, you are quite the brave one, aren't you? Something has changed, I think. You could have killed me, or let me die. You did not. Why?"

He thought for a moment. "All I want is to see what's down there," he said, pointing to the far tunnel. "If I leave you alone, will you promise to do the same?"

She seemed genuinely surprised by his honesty, and perplexed by the single-minded determination of this most peculiar young drow. She studied him for a long time, then shrugged. "What is it to me?" She asked. "There is nothing down there for you but death, little man. There are far worse things in these passages than myself, you know. Hook horrors, carrion crawlers, and the like, mostly, but there are darker things, too. Oozes that will melt the flesh from your bones and leave nothing of you behind. Umber hulks, shrieker fungi, darkmantles. Even ropers and rust monsters like the one in my web. You would do well to forget going that way. Go home, little elf, before you get hurt."

He shook his head grimly. "I'm not afraid. I'm still going." He stared right up into her cold black eyes, then turned and calmly strode off toward the second tunnel. Shelatchka started to protest, then shook her head ruefully, sighing at the young elf's bravado. Let him learn, then. He would discover all too soon that those who wandered alone in the Underdark nearly always met a grim end.

Lothir paused at the exit, glancing back over his shoulder. "Maybe when I come back, I'll bring something with me. That way you can eat something besides me!" He grinned, then went skipping off into the darkness, singing a merry tune. The aranea only chuckled. He's going to get himself killed down there, she thought to herself.

He had traversed nearly a half-mile in the cool, dark passageway, when he came upon the first side-tunnel. It branched off the main tunnel on the right, leading deeper into the earth. The cool stone walls made seeing difficult, even with his dark-vision, for there was little heat to pick up, and the only magic he had left was his natural fairie-fire. He was unwilling to use it yet, for he wanted to save it in case he might need it later. In any case, he had nothing upon which to cast it except for the sword or himself.

The drow cursed himself mentally for not having thought to bring a light, though he knew that lights were dangerous, since they often attracted predatory beasts. He debated for a few minutes whether to take the side-path or continue through the larger shaft. At last, he decided to take the smaller passage. He marked it with a small piece of chalk he had brought along in a large pouch on his belt, then crept carefully down the narrow tunnel.

It snaked along for several hundred feet, winding through the dark. Then it ended abruptly, in what appeared to be a solid wall. He was disappointed at first, wondering why it should simply stop; then he noticed a small crack down near the bottom- a chunk of stone that had broken off and fallen into a hole beyond. It was too small to squeeze through, and even his head was too large to fit into the hole, but it was at least large enough to see what might lay beyond. He knelt down low and pressed his face against the edges of the hole, but all he could see was a large dark space, with no end in sight. The floor appeared to drop a few feet below, but continued on.

He began to tap at the edges of the hole with his sword, until he had broken off several chunks of stone. After a few minutes of prying and chipping, he finally had the hole large enough to slide through. He crawled on his stomach until he was beyond the opening; small objects poked up from below, jabbing him as he slipped through the gap. Then he got up and dusted himself off, looking around cautiously.

He sensed that he was in a large cavern, but it was too dark to see much more than a few feet away. He picked up a piece of rock from the hole, and tossed it out into the darkness; from the echo it made, he could tell that he was in a vast, domed space, which stretched at least a hundred feet. He could see the vague outlines of many protruding shapes covering the walls nearby like spikes jutting from a portcullis, in a multitude of sizes. Something crunched underfoot- the area of the floor near the hole was covered in some kind of hard, jagged rubble, with many small, sharp points beneath his feet. Further out, the floor smoothed into an almost flat, featureless surface, though it appeared to be slightly convex, rising somewhat toward the center.

He carefully stepped closer to the wall, and reached out to touch the nearest object; he was surprised to feel what seemed to be a long, hexagonal object with smooth, flat faces that met in a sharp point. It was nearly a foot long, and as big around as his arm. He pondered for a moment, then felt another one, which was similar, though much smaller. Every one he touched was more of the same, with some having fewer faces, but all were long and spike-shaped, or shorter and more blunted, yet still with the same basic shape. He had a flash of revelation- he was in a cavern whose walls were covered in crystals!

The young drow had a sudden urge to see more, so he used his innate power to create fairie-fire on the large crystal he had first touched. It lit up with a pale, silvery-blue radiance; he blinked as the brightness dazzled him for a moment, and then looked around again. The sight that met him almost took his breath away, for he found himself in a huge dome-shaped chamber whose walls and ceiling were completely covered in crystals of every shape and color imaginable. Most were various types of quartz- amethyst, rock crystals, and rose, blue, or smoky quartz- but he also noted beryl of green, yellow and even red hues, as well as several shades of spinels, topaz, and rough corundum.

He glanced down at the floor, and discovered that it was littered with broken crystals that had fallen from the ceiling, no doubt during earth tremors. However, the floor itself was one vast, smooth, glassy black surface, marred only occasionally by cracks or small round holes. The cavern was a gigantic geode, the bottom of which was an upwelling of volcanic glass that created a display of natural beauty unlike anything he had ever seen.

He stood staring in wonder for a long time, marveling at the amazing discovery he had made. There was no other entrance to the chamber, so he knew without a doubt that no one else had ever seen the cavern before. And he knew with certainty as well, that he would keep it that way. This was his own secret discovery, a place he could make his own, to practice his skills while remaining hidden from the eyes of his family.

On impulse, he bent down and picked up several of the fallen gems. He gazed down in wonder, realizing that this one handful alone was probably worth hundreds of orbben. He smiled to himself, and slipped them into his small belt-pouch before he finally decided to leave the cavern. Yet he would return soon, and the next time, he intended to bring his flute. He had noted the way the chamber had seemed to amplify any sound within, and wondered what effect it might have on the flute, if only he could figure out how to play it.

Some time later, he had trekked nearly a mile from the side-path when he came across another small side-tunnel. This one was too low to walk in, being just large enough to crawl through, and appeared to have been dug by some large creature, perhaps a young purple worm. He marked it, then cautiously ducked down to his hands and knees, slowly edging his way through the long worm-hole. The burrow-tunnel was cramped even for someone his own size. There was barely enough room to creep through without bumping his head; anyone larger would have had to slide along on their bellies, and even then they might have become stuck if their shoulders were very broad.

He slid along an upward slope for what felt like an eternity, before he finally saw a dim glow of light ahead. He grew more cautious, for lights usually meant one of two things- either a patch of luminescent fungus growing nearby, or the presence of intelligent beings. Either could mean trouble. Many creatures were drawn to such fungal growths, and predators often hunted the regions around them for prey, while most intelligent denizens of the Underdark were hardly to be considered friendly. He knew that the grey-skinned dwarves known as duergar, squid-faced illithids, and even worse beings dwelt in the vast reaches below the earth.

As he slid closer to the exit, he suddenly heard a sound from beyond. Voices- at least four of them- and the sound of many muted footsteps were approaching steadily. He inched further, the better to discover who or what was coming. Soon he was able to discern the harsh, low voices of five males, all speaking in drowish. Curious, he moved closer, until he could just see past the opening into a large, smooth-walled passage. At last he saw a small group of dark elven warriors- all males, save one- all in black chain mail or leather armor, approaching the hole with their long, camouflaged piwafwis trailing behind them. There were eight in all, the standard number of a patrol unit. He could see from the symbol emblazoned on the fronts of the ones in leather that they belonged to his own House.

He listened as the patrol came to a halt not far from the hole, which came out at a slight angle between the wall and floor. He wondered how far he was from home, and why no one had ever ventured through the hole, for they did not seem surprised to see it.

"We rest here for the night. Karas, you and Zedarr secure the perimeter. Hathmar, you are in charge of dinner. The rest of you, get set up." The lone female seemed to have taken it on herself to command the others, which was not surprising, since as she was the only cleric in the group, she had the most authority, whether the others wished to admit it or not. They seemed not overly happy with the arrangement, either, and Lothir could well imagine why. As members of the male-dominated First House, he was certain that it must grate on them to be under the command of a female. The first two nodded and began to do as ordered, while the third simply turned and pulled some supplies from an over-sized pack, hiding his sour look from the female.

"Mistress Varr'ga, should we not block off the worm-hole, in case something else should come out of it?" Asked one of the males, a grizzled older warrior with several battle scars.

"Aye, we've already sent four goblins in to see what's down there, and none of 'em ever came back." The one she had called Karas called back as he and another drow moved off to set up traps around the edge of the camp.

The young prince heard their conversation, and realized they were talking about the goblins he had seen in Shelatchka's web. Well, he thought, there was one mystery solved. The goblins must have wandered into her lair by mistake, either as part of their scouting task, or an attempt to escape into the Underdark. But there had been only two- what had happened to the others? He continued to eavesdrop from his spot within the hole, wondering what might have happened to the remaining goblins, and whether the patrol intended to send more scouts into the burrow.

"If there were any more worms, we'd have seen them by now, fool," snapped the priestess impatiently, while she dug out a small mat and a pair of candles and a spider-blade dagger. Lothir knew what that meant- she was preparing for the evening prayer ritual, to seek the Venom Queen's blessing for the coming day. He knew that the priestesses usually prayed for her favor and magic at what would have been sunset on the surface world, for it was considered the time when her power began to wax through the darkness of night. Drow were, as a rule, blinded by the harsh light of the sun because of their ancient curse, so they tended to prefer darkness and shadows. There were those who had become acclimated to the light of the sun due to spending long stretches on the surface as raiders, but they were the exceptions.

"Fine," answered the male, turning back to her, "but if another damned worm comes out of that hole, I'm feeding you to it." He glared at the female. Either he was oblivious to the danger of such a comment, or else he was confident enough in his own power that he felt he could be as insolent as he wished. He was wrong.

The priestess did not even bother to reply; she simply uncoiled the long scorpion-tailed whip at her side, and lashed at him with it, a vicious snarl of fury marring her otherwise attractive features. The whip stung deep into his arm, and the male let out a pained grunt, his other hand whipping out his short sword, even as the one she had struck went limp. He raised the sword to attack her, but the old warrior stepped between them, his own blade already in his hand, grabbing the female's arm as she swung back for a second lash, and brought his sword up to block the other male's blow- all in one swift move.

"Save your strength for the creatures of the Wilds, both of you. We need every arm we have for this patrol- or have you both forgotten that we are to ambush that duergar outpost that so foolishly settled in our territory?" He glared from one to the other, as if daring them to dispute his authority. Apparently, the two realized he was right, and both backed down.

"Very well, Valefyrr, but keep that idiot away from me. The next time he dares to speak to me that way, I will cut out his tongue and offer it to the Goddess!"

He nodded, and turned to the younger male with a hard stare. Karas blanched, and dropped his gaze, turning away to return to his task in defeat. His red eyes held murder, though, and it was clear that he would neither forget this humiliation, nor allow it to go unchallenged for long.

"Mistress Varr'ga, do heal his arm now. He will need it to complete his job." Valefyrr reminded the priestess. She started to retort, then saw the cold look in his amber eyes, and nodded. She turned back, and uttered a spell in a few harsh-sounding words; a pale, blue-green light shot from her up-raised hand to envelop the paralyzed arm of Karas, who simply made a small smirk of triumph with his back still turned to her. Lothir decided it would be a good time to leave, and silently began to crawl backward through the tunnel, away from the camp.

Going backward through the burrow was more difficult- and took even longer- than crawling forward had been. Eventually, he was able to exit the hole, and stood up to brush the loose dirt from his hair and clothes. Exploring the caverns was proving to be much dirtier work than he had thought, and he was fairly sure Ravyn would scold him when she saw the state of his clothes. His mother would probably do even worse. He made a mental note to carry a spare change of garments the next time, so that he would be clean when he returned from his forays.

After making a second mark above the burrow to indicate where it led, he decided to continue onward, although he knew it must be getting late if the patrol had decided to camp for the evening. He wondered just how far he had gone, for though the tunnels themselves had only wound a few miles from his home, distance in the Underdark could be misleading, with twists and turns that made the passages far longer than one might believe, and the tunnels often sloped up or down so that they might end up deeper or higher within the earth than where they began. With so many cracks and branching pathways, it was easy to become lost, and easier still to wind up in a region with no food or water. It was not unheard of for travelers to starve or die of thirst simply from taking a wrong turn and becoming hopelessly lost, before finally running out of provisions.

Still, even with such dangers, the young prince was enjoying the journey far too much to go back now. He would go a little further, then, and turn back as soon as he began to get too thirsty. At least he knew there was plenty of water in the aranea's lair, if it came to that. Perhaps there might even still be some usable rations in the dead goblins' supplies.

He had gone another half-mile when he found a small grotto, with a stream running through it and large patches of various fungi growing around it. He even saw a few of the rare, delicate glowing flowers known as cave lilies near the water. He noted that the stream cut through a large break in the far wall, rushing along on a slight down-slope toward another wide cleft in the wall near where he had entered, before trickling off into the darkness once more. He took a deep drink, then sat down for a moment to ponder the stream. It was small, clear, and cold, but the direction and slope made him wonder if it was connected to the one that flowed through the cavern of Argos Hall into the cove. Perhaps it was even the same stream, he mused, as he took off his boots and dangled his feet happily in the swift, cool water.

After a few minutes, he tugged his boots back on and examined some of the plant-life in the grotto. The luminous fungi glowed with soft blue and green light that made the rock formations appear to sparkle from the water that seeped down over them. The rocks formed strange and wondrous shapes along the walls and ceiling, flowing down in curtains, waves, sheets, or stone falls, with many long, thin stalactites and stalagmites in shades of pink, white, yellow, and blue, with a few bands of red or grey here and there. Many were carpeted with strange molds and lichens, moss, and mushrooms in bizarre colors or shapes. Bracket fungi made little stair-steps up miniature stalagmite castles, some of them glowing eerily to light gaps and hollows like tiny windows or doors. It was almost like a wondrous fairyland world.

The drow noticed a few small round mushroom caps near the stream, and bent to pick one, noting the soft, leathery texture of the brownish-white ball. Puffballs, he thought happily, and broke it apart, to find a spongy interior with a heavy, earthy scent. He finally tore a small piece off, tasted it cautiously, then decided it was indeed what he had thought, and popped the pieces into his mouth one after the other, munching on the chewy white balls contentedly.

At last he picked a few more, then proceeded further into the Wilds, through the long, wide fissure at the far end of the grotto. The stream was shallow, and cut a narrow groove through the middle of the crevice, leaving a smooth course on either side. He followed it for several hundred yards, until it opened up onto a large, wide tunnel, much like the one the patrol had passed through, though perhaps not as smooth or well-traveled.

He had almost forgotten about the conversation between the patrol members when he came upon a narrow cleft that ran up the side of the tunnel from floor to ceiling, glowing faintly in his darkvision from some distant heat source. In fact, the entire tunnel was much brighter than the crack he had left behind; the cold stream had left the winding channel so devoid of heat that everything had appeared almost black. Now he could see quite well, though he still needed his darkvision to do so.

He was cautious of such a fissure, however, for heat was usually accompanied by volcanic gasses and molten rock, another of the many dangers of life deep beneath the surface. Sudden quakes could open cracks into magma tubes, releasing deadly gas or blasts of heat that could cook a person in seconds. Even worse, magma pockets could bubble up and flood tunnels with red-hot, liquid death, or block off long-used tunnels, forcing creatures to find new passages that might not even be safe to traverse.

Yet the crevice itself was not what had attracted his attention; Lothir had almost been tempted to simply pass by, when he noticed a small pile of debris on the floor near the lower end of the crack. Curious, he moved closer, and soon discovered that it was a pile of bits of cloth and metal, along with a small rothe-hide sack, heaped carelessly as if someone had simply left their belongings there. A large, dirty white bowl-shaped object rested on top of the pile, with strange protrusions on the front, half-buried amid the rest. He cautiously poked the pile with his sword, but nothing happened.

Then he crouched down to get a better look, and tried to pick up the strange white object. It appeared to be caught on something, so he gave a hard yank, and heard something snap as the object came away in his hands. When he looked at it more closely, he suddenly yelped, tossing it away in startled disgust.

The thing rolled onto the ground, and stopped with the rounded side up. He found himself staring down at the grinning face of a flat-domed goblin skull, with bits of dried, rotted flesh still clinging to the nose and eye sockets. He stared at it for a moment, then moved toward the pile beside the crevice, poking it with his sword once more. He heard a rattling sound, and realized the heap was the remains of a goblin. But how had it died here?

He was still pondering that mystery a moment later, when he stepped back toward the fracture, and felt something touch his left leg, just above his boot. He barely had time to glance down before it gave a sharp tug, and he was swept off his feet by some kind of sticky thread thinner and stronger than any rope, and so colorless it was nearly invisible. Worse, it began to pull him toward the fissure, reeling him in like a fish on a line. He dropped his sword as he fell, and it clattered to the ground nearby.

The young drow struggled frantically, grasping and scratching at the cavern floor to try to pull away, but the filament was far too strong, and held him fast. He looked into the crack, and at last saw what held him. Perched just inside the cleft was a gigantic, insect-like creature with many legs, the front two of which ended in large pincers. It had a long, nearly flat body- nearly seven feet long- covered in bands of hard chitinous plates that overlapped, with a softer shell on its underside. Yet the most horrifying trait of the thing was its long, proboscis-like snout, that protruded above a pair of large, serrated mandibles. The sticky line extended from its long snout, and was quickly retracting back into it. He cried out in alarm, for he recognized it almost instantly. A cave fisher.

He felt the cave fisher's thread pulling him toward the crevice, dragging him across the floor to its waiting jaws. He tried to plant his feet, but to no avail, for the creature was larger and stronger by far. Desperately, he flailed about for something to keep it from pulling him in. One hand landed on the goblin skull; he grabbed it instinctively and threw it at the cave fisher, but the creature merely snapped at it with one pincer claw. It missed, and the skull bounced harmlessly off its shell. Then his hand closed on the sword, and he tried to hack at it as hard as he could.

He heard the creature let out a high-pitched screech, but the blade could not sever the line. Instead, it only seemed to enrage the beast; it darted out of the crevice, skittering on its spindly legs. He suddenly realized that the only way to keep it from drawing him into its jaws was to move toward the creature. So he scrambled to his feet, and rushed at the cave fisher. It did not know how to deal with its prey running at it, and the sudden slackening of its strand confused it even further. It finally released him, instead snapping at him with its pincers.

The drow jumped back, his sword-arm moving up to block the monster's attack. It thrust at him again, its pincers clacking loudly in the echoing tunnel, so he backed away. Then he saw the creature rear back slightly, and suddenly the long thread whipped out at him again. However, he saw it coming this time, and dodged aside in time to avoid being caught again. The sticky line shot past him, striking the wall behind him instead. The cave fisher struggled for a moment before it realized it had missed its target. While it was distracted, Lothir let out a yell of triumphant exultation, and rushed a few steps toward the monster, then suddenly made a mighty leap at the beast, landing atop its hard shell to stand in the middle of its back.

That made the cave fisher stop short- the prey was not supposed to be on its back! It tried vainly to snatch at him with its huge claws, but could not reach him there. Furious and frustrated, it began to buck to dislodge the drow; Lothir suddenly realized the precarious position he was in, and his grin of victory turned to a look of worry. He had managed to avoid its weapons, but now what? He would remain safe only until it managed to dislodge him from its back.

Thus, he did the only thing that he could think of- holding his blade above his head, point down, he drove it down at the cave fisher's back with all his might. There was a sickening cracking sound as it sank in deep. Then the creature let out a screech of agony and rage, and thrashed even harder. The young drow's feet slipped on the smooth plates of its back, but he gripped the sword's hilt tightly, hanging on for his life.

After a few moments, he managed to get his feet back under him, and hooked the toes of his boots under the edge of one of the plates. The monster continued to thrash wildly though, and it was all he could do to hang on. He tried to drive the blade in deeper, even tugging it back and forth, hoping to do as much damage as possible. Unfortunately, he had no idea what to do next, for he knew that he was only safe as long as he remained on its back where its pincers and trap-line could not reach him.

Then the cave fisher did the unexpected; it stopped thrashing, and crawled toward the cavern wall, where it began to climb straight up the side of the tunnel. The drow became even more anxious than before, for now he realized that it meant to make him fall off from his own weight. He pushed down with as much force as he could, and finally he heard a crunch as the blade opened the slit in its shell further. The cave fisher shrieked again and climbed higher, the noise echoing down the long passages. The split lengthened as it climbed, the sword's sharp edge and the boy's own weight serving to slide it further down the edge of the opening.

Unfortunately, Lothir had not counted on the creature's thick, greenish ichor spilling out of the crack in its shell to ooze around the edges of the opening. It left the chitin plates slippery, and the lengthening split in the shell was already causing the embedded sword to loosen. After a few seconds more, it had slid down nearly half the length of the creature's body; the beast's insides were fairly gushing out of the gaping wound now, making it nearly impossible to keep his footing.

Then it happened. The shell split even further with a sudden cracking sound, and Lothir found himself falling as the sword came sliding out of the huge wound, and he unexpectedly lost both his footing and his grip on the hilt. He flailed in mid-air as he fell, letting out a cry of surprise. He had a brief glimpse of the monster clinging to the wall as he tried to slow his fall with his power of levitation- tried, and failed, for his magical gift had been fully spent- then he struck the ground, lying on his back with the breath knocked from him, dazed from his head hitting the hard stone beneath. The next instant, he heard an agonized screech from the cave fisher- and it suddenly came tumbling down at him, having finally succumbed to the massive wound in its back. It landed up-side-down on top of the drow; he felt a moment of searing pain as something inside him cracked, and then he lost all thought.

Hours passed. When he finally regained his senses, the first thing that he was aware of was a sharp pain in his chest, and a throbbing ache in his head. The next was a huge, heavy object pressing down on him, and the cold hard stone beneath his back. He opened his eyes slowly, acutely aware that every breath sent agony through his chest. Worse, he could not move his head, for whatever pinned him also covered his head as well, so that the left side of his face was pressed against the tunnel floor. In fact, he could not move any part of his body except for his arms. The rest of him was completely immobilized by the cave fisher's huge bulk.

He tried to lift it, pushing up on the monster's corpse with as much strength as he could muster; all it accomplished was to send another jolt of agony coursing through him. The creature's body did not even budge an inch. He tried once more, hoping to roll it off, but it was far too large and heavy. At last he realized he was well and truly trapped. That frightened the young drow far more than his fight with the monster; unless he could somehow free himself from under it, he would die, either from starvation, dehydration, or from some Underdark scavenger.

Terrified of the thought of dying alone and helpless, he did the only thing he could. "Help!" He called, in spite of the pain that stabbed through his chest at the outburst. "Someone, anyone! Please help me!" He listened for a moment, but all he heard was his own echo. The tunnel was utterly silent and empty. He called out again, though tears stung his eyes from the agony. Still there was no answer.

He screamed for aid until he thought his lungs would burst, then kept yelling until his voice was too hoarse to continue. Eventually, he stopped yelling, and simply wept, now truly afraid. No one was coming to help him. No one knew or even cared where he was. The young drow cried until he was too weak to do even that. By then, all he could do was stare at the wall of the tunnel a few feet away, silently praying to whomever would listen that someone would find him before it was too late.

Several hours had gone by, and the cocky little dark elf had not returned. Shelatchka found herself glancing back at the tunnel he had taken, for perhaps the fifth time in the past hour. Not that she was worried about him- far from it. She told herself that she was simply waiting for her next meal to wander into her lair, or perhaps curious to know what sort of trouble he might have gotten himself into. She was quite certain he must be lost or dead, to have been gone so long.

She caught herself staring again, and shook her head, letting out a heavy sigh as she paced back and forth in her dark elven form. She should simply leave him to his fate, she knew- still, she could not help being a little amused by the young dark elf's display of bravado, or his clever use of magic. She was not particularly malicious; in truth, despite what the young drow might have thought, she was not truly evil. Neither did she bear him any true malice or ill will. Her first attack against him had been nothing personal, being motivated by hunger more than any real desire to kill.

Even so, she could not help feeling a bit guilty for letting him leave, and a little distressed at the thought of losing her first intelligent visitor. After all, most of her "guests" were hardly intelligent enough to hold a conversation with, being little more than animals. To have a companion to keep her company…. The aranea sighed, realizing she was lonely. She continued to pace for a few minutes more, silently debating with herself. Should she go after the foolish boy?

Of course she knew he was probably already some monster's meal, but she also knew that the stubborn and impetuous youth was the closest she had ever come to finding a mate. If he survived, perhaps in a few years? At last she shook her head, dismissing the thought, and made a decision- she would go find him, and hope he was still alive when she did. Shelatchka turned, and changed to her spider form, stalking off into the dark tunnel after the drow.

Lothir didn't know how much time had passed; he was still pinned beneath the dead cave fisher, staring out from under its huge mass at the floor and a part of the tunnel wall in the utter silence of the passage. But then he heard a sound; something shuffled along through the corridor, coming toward the dim light the crevice gave off to his heat-sensitive vision. Whatever it was, it was large. It made a soft noise like many feet stepping lightly. He knew it was only one creature- or possibly two, since the noise seemed to echo in a slightly different cadence- for though it sounded like many feet, the steps were in a precise order and tempo that suggested the gait of a many-legged creature, rather than several individuals. He wondered what it might be- some new horror come to finish him off? As it turned out, he did not have long to wait to find out.

When he saw the thing that made the sound, he gasped in renewed fear. A three-foot grub-like beast with a thick green hide, many small, padded feet, and a toothy maw with a pair of large mandibles and several long tentacles beneath it came crawling toward the carcass. He nearly gagged from the smell of rotted flesh that emanated from the thing, as its eyes waved about on small stalks above its head, as if searching for enemies. When it found no threat, it began to move toward the corpse, its mouth-parts clicking together hungrily. It was a young carrion crawler, not even half-grown. They were scavengers of the Underdark that fed on anything they could find or kill, with paralyzing venom in their long mouth tentacles. He gulped, knowing his situation had just become even more dire. If even one of those slimy appendages touched him, he would be unable to move at all, doomed to a slow, agonizing death from which there would be no escape.

He froze, hardly daring to breathe. The carrion crawler started slurping at the oozing fluids from the carcass, its tentacles waving about randomly as it fed. He watched in terrified silence as the scavenger slowly devoured its meal. He looked about frantically for his weapon, but he could not see it. He had been holding it when he fell, but the blade had been knocked out of his hands when he struck the ground, and now lay on the opposite side of the dead monster. With his head pinned to the left, he could not see that it lay just inches from his right hand. In any event, the sword was on the wrong side to do him any good against the carrion crawler.

Then he heard another sound coming down the tunnel, very much like the first. He strained to see what it was, and stared in horror as he saw another of the long-bodied crawlers approaching the cave fisher's corpse. It saw the first one, and made a hissing noise; the first crawler reared up, pausing in its feeding as it turned to ward off the intruder. They both hissed at each other, and for a moment the young drow thought they would forget the carcass entirely in their squabble. Such was not his luck, however. The newcomer finally backed off, moving past the first one to take a spot on the other side of the cave fisher, and both settled down to feed.

As if his straits were not dire enough, the drow felt something wet brush against his feet where they poked out from under the dead monster's bulk- then his legs went numb. He was vaguely aware of the crawler's tentacles sliding over his legs a few times, but could feel nothing. For all he knew, it might already be devouring his feet, and there would be nothing he could do to prevent it. Fear gripped him, as he wondered how long it would be before the two scavengers finished off the cave fisher and started in on him. His only good fortune was that the corpse was more than large enough to feed both carrion crawlers for some time. Perhaps if the venom wore off, he might eventually be able to push the dead monster off himself, once they had devoured enough of it. But he doubted he would get the chance.

Several more minutes passed while the creatures continued their grisly meal. Lothir watched in fascinated horror; never had he seen such creatures alive, and never had he thought to see one so close. After a while, he heard a new sound echoing down the corridor, a clicking noise like claws on the hard stone. Certain that yet another fearsome beast had arrived, he said a silent prayer, hoping that by some miracle he might live.

It was only when he heard the strange chittering that he realized it was coming from down the other end of the passage- the same way he had come. That puzzled him, for he knew that he had not passed any other creatures that way. What could be making it?

Then he heard a strange crackling noise, followed by the intonation of ancient words in some eldritch tongue. The voice was vaguely feminine, yet with a harsh quality that he barely recognized. Yet it was somehow familiar, too. He realized that someone was casting a spell, and one that he thought he knew. Sure enough, he heard a new sound of something- no, several things- streaking through the air. There was a brief flash of light, a loud sizzling and screeching, and then something large and heavy thudded to the ground.

He waited to discover what was happening, and suddenly saw something flash downward at the carrion crawler near him. It gave a loud shriek that echoed through the passage, and its head suddenly fell off, severed neatly. He looked up as far as he was able, and saw that the end of his own sword had sliced off its head. A moment later, he saw a pair of small, black-skinned bare feet stepping close to the side of the dead monster pinning him.

He glanced higher, and saw that the feet connected to a rather shapely pair of equally nude legs, which met a pair of voluptuous hips, and…. He could not see the rest, but from his vantage, he had a very good view indeed of an attractive and curvaceous lower half. In fact, it looked extremely familiar.

"Ah, so there you are, little morsel. I told you there was nothing but trouble for you down here, did I not?" Said a sultry voice, with just a hint of amusement. The legs bent, and suddenly he could see the aranea crouching before him, leaning forward with her head cocked to one side, smirking at him.

The young drow almost shouted with relief. Instead, he just grimaced, pretending not to care. "I'm still alive, aren't I?" He gasped out matter-of-factly, in spite of the pain in his chest. Still, he knew that if she had not come when she did, he might soon have been dead. "Besides, I did kill the fisher," he shot back, a touch of pride in his voice.

Shelatchka tossed her head back and laughed outright. "That you are, little elf. But you are fortunate that I came looking for you, else you'd be food for those crawlers now. You were lucky." She shrugged, and began to rise.

"Wait!" He exclaimed, afraid she might leave. "Could you- help me? Please?" He asked, wincing through the pain of trying to speak.

"Why should I help you?" She asked, using his own words from earlier. "It would be a pity to let a little morsel like you go to waste." The boy's stomach sank. Was she simply going to let him die?

"Be- Because I helped you," he finally answered. "Fair is fair, is it not? And I found you something to eat, just like I said," he finished weakly.

She stared at him for a long moment, then finally laughed again. "So you did, foolish boy. Very well, I suppose I do owe you a small favor. But do not think that I am doing this because I care. It simply suits me to keep you around a bit longer, for amusement." She gave him an indifferent wave, then she shifted to her spider form, and he watched as she grasped the edge of the cave fisher's shell with her humanoid arms, then her two front pairs of legs pushed up beneath it as the hands lifted, shoving the dead hulk over until it rolled off.

The drow winced, stifling a moan as the bulk was lifted off of him; then he was free, though he still could not move. He lay prone, relieved and grateful for her aid. When she attempted to lift him, he let out a sharp yelp, causing the aranea to pause in poorly-disguised concern. She changed to her drow form and knelt down beside him, her brow furrowed, a frown on her beautiful features.

"What is it now?" She asked impatiently.

"I- It hurts," he said, wincing. "I can't move…" He grimaced, for his chest burned, and his legs were still numb from the carrion crawler's venom.

Shelatchka sighed. "Then perhaps I should just leave you…" She began, only to have the drow reach up to grab her arm.

"No! Please, don't-" He was trying not to cry, though every move brought pain, and his nerves were frayed from the ordeal.

The aranea only chuckled. "Of course not, silly boy- I was teasing you. But I will have to move you somehow, as I did not bring any of my potions with me." She said matter-of-factly. She felt beneath his gore-covered tunic, and heard his sharp gasp when she touched his chest. "Hmm, you've broken some ribs. One, two, three… four. Five? My, it's a wonder you did not pierce a lung. You really should not have come out alone."

"I'm- not a boy, I told you." Lothir protested, annoyed by her condescending attitude in spite of the pain. "Can't you just use my name? It's insulting." He said irritably, glowering at her. She glanced at him sharply, but finally sighed and shook her head.

"My, aren't we presumptuous? Do you think to order me about like one of your servants? Your Matron would be appalled." She chided him, clucking her disapproval. "But I suppose it would not hurt, little prince. Now, how shall we get you back to my home, hmm?"

Lothir thought for a long moment, knowing he could never make such a trip back in his current condition. He ignored her snide remark, not really caring if she thought he was being pushy. Then it dawned on him- hadn't there been a travel bag with the goblin corpse by the crevice? "Look- by the crack," he said, each breath making him want to cry. "Goblin- it had a sack. Check for a potion?" He pointed to it, so she would see what he meant.

Shelatchka looked toward the crevice, and saw the pile of remains. In a flash, she rose and leaped over to it, snatching it up quickly, and began to dig through it even before she returned to the young dark elf. Soon, she smiled triumphantly, and brought out a small bottle of deep red liquid. It was nearly identical to the one she had quaffed earlier.

She pulled out the stopper, and tilted his head up so he could drink. He downed it in two quick gulps, then she settled back to wait for it to take effect. In seconds, she could hear the peculiar grating sound of the bones knitting back together, as he hissed in pain, for drow healing potions were not meant to ease suffering, only to mend the wounds that caused it. Soon enough the potion had done its work, and he was finally able to raise up on his elbows, looking half-dead from the gore that covered him from head to foot, but whole once more.

"There, now we can return to my nest," she said, rising. She moved over to one of the dead crawlers, and changed to her hybrid form. "After I wrap up a few snacks to take home, of course," she continued, and began to calmly web up the first carrion crawler.

"Uh- there's just one problem," he said after a moment. "I can't walk," he said, pointing to his feet. Though the potion had healed his injuries- even the lump on his head- it had done nothing for the numbness of his legs, since it was merely an effect of the crawler's paralyzing venom. That would have to wear off on its own.

Shelatchka glanced over as she continued webbing up the dead scavenger, and sighed. "Wonderful. I suppose you are expecting me to carry you, then? Never mind, don't answer, of course you are. Fine. But you are fortunate I'm in a generous mood, or I would tell you to get back on your own. If you hadn't provided me such a marvelous feast…" She shrugged, letting the threat trail off.

Lothir sighed, and rolled his eyes as he sat up, though his feet were still unresponsive. He had already decided she was bluffing. He watched as she wrapped up the second crawler- severed head and all, and then moved on to the cave fisher. He gaped as she began to deftly cover the remains in a tight cocoon. How in the Abyss did she expect to carry them all back?

He puzzled over that for several minutes, until she was done. Then she shifted back to her huge spider form, and picked up the goblin's pack with her small arms, handed it to him, then used the arms and her front pair of legs to carefully lift him onto her humped back. When he was settled, she shot a thick strand of web to each of the dead monsters, and gathered them all up into a bundle. Then she turned and began to scuttle back down the corridor, dragging the carcasses along behind her.

The young drow was amazed; he had forgotten that araneas- and all spiders, for that matter- were incredibly strong, able to lift or drag very heavy loads that were often many times their own size. Finally, he shook his head in awe, and grinned, leaning back to enjoy the ride back to her lair. He had never ridden on a spider before; his family's soldiers kept a pen of them in the fort at the entry tunnel, along with the stable for the riding lizards, but he had never actually worked up the nerve to try to ride one. It was almost fun, if one ignored the short bristly hairs that poked up. He decided that perhaps the aranea might not be so bad, after all.

An hour later, he had finally said his farewell to Shelatchka, promising to visit her again- she had tried rather unsuccessfully to hide her pleasure at the prospect- and ran back down the long passage to the fissure that led home. He was still covered in dried, sticky cave fisher ichor, and he knew he was going to be scolded for getting so filthy if anyone saw him. Thus, he made a point of diving into the cove- clothes and all- before he approached the House compound, hoping to wash off as much of the gore as possible. He had no idea what time it was, only that it was late. He only hoped he would have time to eat and bathe- and possibly get some sleep- before his morning lessons.

He was just sneaking into his room, having levitated straight up to the window, as before, when he heard a distinctly annoyed sound of someone clearing their throat impatiently. He cringed, and turned to see who had caught him sneaking in. He was both relieved and remorseful to find Ravyn sitting on his bed, waiting for him.

"Where have you been?!" She asked, frowning. "Do you have any idea what time it is? The morning meal is only an hour away! And what in Elrinya's name is that on your clothes?" She asked, aghast. "You are fortunate your mother never noticed your absence, or you would surely be in for it now."

Lothir looked down, shame-faced. "I was exploring, and lost track of time. I'm sorry- I didn't mean to worry you," he said, though he knew it was a lame excuse.

"You did not answer my question," she said pointedly. The boy sighed, and shrugged, realizing he was well caught.

"I killed a cave fisher," he said meekly, hoping to make it seem like a small matter. In truth, he had never been more terrified, yet he could not help feeling a bit of pride, too. Fighting a creature as dangerous as the fisher was no simple feat. Even many full-fledged warriors could not defeat one alone, yet he had not only killed it, but had even managed to bring back a small trophy of his victory, in the form of a talon from one of its feet.

"You what?!" She exclaimed, shocked. Ravyn could not believe what she was hearing. Yet again the lad had gone out and gotten into some sort of trouble. He did not admit it, but she suspected that he had been in mortal danger, and had very nearly died. If the state of his clothes was anything to go by, it had been a fierce battle.

"Don't worry," he said hastily, "I'm fine. It was just a bit- messy, that's all," he tried to shrug it off, and gave her a weak smile, but he could tell by her stern expression that she saw right through his bluff.

"Really?" She asked, one thin black brow rising in disbelief. He hung his head, and she knew she was right. Something had happened during the hours he had been gone, that he was afraid to tell her.

"Well, maybe it was a little dangerous," he amended. "It fell on top of me when I killed it. I had to wait for Shelatchka to come find me,"

Ravyn frowned. "Shelatchka?" She asked, puzzled. He had forgotten to tell her the aranea's name.

The drow nodded vigorously. "Yes- the aranea; she helped me! She even killed a pair of crawlers that were attracted by the dead cave fisher. I guess we're friends now, since I saved her life. You should have seen her stuck on that stalagmite- it would have been funny if she wasn't hurt so bad! She looked like a spider-ka-bob!" He choked off a laugh, in spite of himself, at the memory of the aranea flailing helplessly on the spike.

"I think you should tell me just what you've been up to, young master, while I help you get cleaned up." Ravyn said sternly, and his grin faltered. He looked away, and sighed again, as she pulled fresh clothes from his wardrobe. He took a deep breath, and began to tell her all that he had done. By the time he had finished his tale- and his bath- it was time for breakfast. Ravyn scolded him for getting into danger, as he had expected, but he knew that she was secretly impressed with his accomplishments. Even her ire and worry had not been enough to dampen his feeling of pride in defeating two foes in one day. He spent the rest of the day in renewed dedication to increasing his skills, until he was too tired even to practice or study any more. He was happy to have achieved so much, yet grateful when sleep finally came.

The next few weeks passed quickly. Lothir spent his days in constant honing of his skills, reading, and learning everything he could. His evenings were spent in the secret tunnels of his own private domain, as he now thought of it. He visited Shelatchka frequently, sometimes bringing her news of what was happening at home- most of which involved his mother's constant harping about one thing or another, Morganna's continued terrorizing of everyone outside the family, and the occasional battles fought by the patrols with encroaching duergars or sahuagin.

His visits with her were always brief, however, for he spent most of that time silently slipping through the winding passages and caverns like a shadow. He had learned how to hide and to move with almost no sound at all, in order to avoid some of the most dangerous beasts in the wilds. Once, he had come upon a cavern full of deepbats, and had used several stones to distract them so that he could pass through unharmed. Whenever he came across a new tunnel that he had not been through, he would mark it, and proceed cautiously in, always searching for some new wonder to explore.

Yet he always returned to the geode chamber. It had become his own special place, where he could practice playing his flute in secret, as he slowly discovered how to use it. The hardest part had been learning how to form the notes, and how to use the stops to change the sound. Once he understood how it worked, though, he had taken to experimenting with different sounds, stringing random notes together to learn the various finger positions. After the second week, he had memorized nearly every combination of positions well enough to begin playing simple tunes. He still had not learned what sort of magic it held, but at least he was getting there.

After the first few days, he had taken his hidden cache of treasures from the cove and the vaults- as well as the things he had taken from the mage's lab- and hidden them all in the crystal cavern. He brushed away the broken crystals from the floor, and used the wide empty space to practice with his sword. It was becoming easier every day to lift and swing the weapon, in spite of its size in his hands. Eventually, he even began to include his kukri in the exercises, slowly improving both in strength and skill. Even Nalvir had begun to notice the change, though of course he believed it was due to his own instruction.

Three months had passed since his battle with the cave fisher, and in that time he had fought several other monsters. He discovered a small darkmantle on one foray, and another had led him to a den of dire rats. The darkmantle had proven difficult to fight, being large and able to fly. In the end, he had tricked the beast into flying into its own globe of darkness, where he had waited with his sword and kukri pointed straight up as it tried to land on his head to suffocate him. The creature had skewered itself on his blades, leaving him once again covered in a bloody mess, but unscathed except for a few small bruises where its tentacles had tried to latch onto his arms.

Then one day he was reading in the library, and came across a small tome bound in dark blue leather, with the title written in silver letters in elven script. That in itself was not so unusual, as there were many books written in elvish among his father's collection. But what drew him to it was the symbol on the cover- a familiar-looking sword on a circle with swirls around it. He recognized it instantly as the same symbol as the amulet he had found. Excited, he read the words on the cover again. Hymns of the Moondancer. He opened it cautiously, somehow knowing that the book was holy. Hymns? He had never heard of any Moondancer, though he vaguely knew what a moon was from his cosmology lessons with Jezdin. Was this a book about other gods? That other deities existed, he knew, but their worship was strictly forbidden within the House by his mother. Only Aldan himself followed any other deity than Lothrenya, and his mother seethed bitterly at that affront.

As he sat poring over the many songs, a strange feeling began to come over him. It took some time before he knew it for what it was. Hope. The words stirred something inside him that had never been given a name before. Who was this Moondancer? Why did the songs speak to him so? "Come to the Lands Above, come dance in the moonlight and find your true place," one song said. He wondered- could he? What was the surface world like? He did not know anything of dancing, but somehow he found himself wanting to do as the song said. Suddenly his mind was awhirl with questions, and none of them seemed to have answers. The drow sat going over the hymns again and again, committing them all to memory, before he tucked the book inside his tunic and took it with him out into the wilds to hide in his sanctuary.

Two weeks passed, and he had nearly forgotten about the book, when he came upon a tunnel that he had never seen before. He was far from the tunnels he knew well, having only recently worked up the courage to explore a chimney that led into still more winding passages and caves. He had come across a chasm that ran through a wide cavern that held a colony of myconids- strange, intelligent mushroom people. The chasm ran through a deep, wide crack in the cavern wall, and disappeared off into the darkness, with no end in sight. A large stalactite had fallen across the chasm, forming a natural bridge to the other side, where a small stream rushed into the gap, falling for hundreds of feet before continuing on its way. A large, smooth round passage led out of the other side, the long-forgotten burrow of a huge purple worm.

He had been afraid to cross at first, worried that the rock bridge would crumble if he tried to walk on it. But at last he steeled himself, and cautiously inched his way across. He was relieved to find that it held him easily. He continued on, wondering where the path would lead him. As it happened, he did not have to go far to find out.

The burrow ended abruptly in a large grotto which held a deep, clear spring surrounded by a large patch of moss, lichens, and various fungi, as well as cave ferns, deepstar blossoms, and giant mushrooms. Small fish swam in the pool, which he decided must connect to a larger body elsewhere. Another huge burrow led away from the cavern, while a smaller passage ran off to the right. After a brief pause, he decided to take the smaller one.

The small passage wound for a fair distance- perhaps a mile or so- gradually leading upward. As it wound its way through the earth, it progressively became smaller, until at last he was forced to crawl through it. The young drow had just begun to consider turning back when the tunnel simply ended. A huge pile of rubble blocked the path, preventing any further progress. He looked around, wondering whether he could dig though it, but decided against it when he found that the walls were soft. In fact, he suddenly realized that they were no longer made of solid stone, but earth and soil. A small shaft of light shone down from the ceiling near the end, half concealed by strange tendril-like things that hung down from the ceiling.

He looked up, and discovered that the light came from a small hole in the ceiling amid the tangled mass. There were several large stones surrounding the opening, with more scattered about on the floor, and embedded in the walls. A small hollowed out area against the wall near the cave-in had once been the dug-out nest of some creature, as evidenced by the large depression in the floor. Earth and debris had been pushed up around it, and he saw bits of fur lining the hollow. Not far away, there were several old, half-chewed, dried bones with teeth marks in them, most of which had come from large rodents, by the look of them. The air smelled strange; he knew the smell of soil, and the musty scent of old death, but there was another odor in the air, coming on a slight breeze from the hole. It smelled like water and mushrooms- and something else.

It was clear that he was in a den of some sort, that had been invaded and partially collapsed long ago, yet he worried that whatever had dug the small den might return. He had noticed several sets of strange tracks in the hollow, suggesting that the former inhabitants had four legs and relatively small feet with short, sharp claws. He judged that they must have stood about three feet tall, and had been covered with grayish-brown fur. Several sets of smaller tracks much like the others suggested that there had been young present. However, whatever had burrowed through here had been large enough to have possibly eaten all of the den's inhabitants. He wondered what manner of creatures had made the den; some kind of carnivores, surely, by the look of the gnawed bones, though he knew of no creature that made four-toed prints with rounded centers. After several more minutes spent pondering the mystery, he decided to investigate the hole from whence came the strange scent. He approached the long, thick tendrils near the hole warily, for in the Underdark, even mushrooms sometimes moved and attacked. The things were not unlike the thin roots of the giant mushrooms in the grove near his home, but were much thicker, and covered with some rough, hard outer layer.

He poked one with his sword; nothing happened. So he began to climb up, pulling himself up to the opening. He slipped out of the top onto something soft and fuzzy; he glanced down, and found himself sitting in a bed of moss. However, this moss was not the pale, grayish stuff he was used to- it was bright green, like an emerald from the vaults beneath Argos Hall. He looked around, and discovered that he had come out into a grove of huge plants bigger than even the tallest giant mushrooms, with long, wide arm-like structures that branched out into many small, flat green things. Everywhere he looked, there were shades of green. The ground beneath his feet was soft and springy, with even more green things sprouting here and there. Strange rope-like things with green foliage wound around the larger hard-bodied plants. Even more amazing was that some of the growing things had flowers, much like the pale cave lilies he had seen so often before, but in colors and shapes he had never imagined possible.

Then he looked up. The sight that greeted him nearly took his breath away. High above, far beyond even the tops of the gigantic plants, was a vast open space of velvet black, studded with tiny twinkling lights. In the distance, he could see two much larger lights, one huge, round, and white, the other smaller, grey, and half-concealed by a dark shadow. Dark grey billows like gigantic banks of smoke drifted across the expanse, gathering overhead to slowly obscure the lights. The young drow gasped in awe, for he realized that he was looking at the sky.

He had heard of the twinkling lights and great orbs of light before, yet never had he dreamed they would be so bright- or so beautiful. A dozen tiny sounds came from every direction, soft chirping noises, deeper croaks, and even a few distant howls that sent a slight shiver up his spine. He searched for the source of the noises, but found only a few small insects and some sort of small soft-bodied creatures with warty skin, bulging eyes, and webbed feet. He laughed, suddenly excited for no reason he could explain, and began to feel around of the many strange plants, touching them, taking in their textures and colors as if they might disappear at any moment. He was surprised to discover that it was the blooms that made the sweet, heady scent he had noted earlier; once he realized this, he was eager to sniff them all, marveling at their varied fragrances.

Then he heard a low, soft rumble, and paused. He had never seen clouds before, and knew nothing of weather; so it came as a surprise when a bright, blinding light flashed across the sky, followed by a sharp crack of booming noise. He ducked behind the nearest large plant- a tree, he thought it was called- and peeked around it, expecting some great dragon or other monster to come sweeping down at him. Instead, he was surprised to feel large drops falling from the air, a few at first, then thousands of them. Water from the air itself? He was completely baffled, as the light rain fell upon the forest- for that was what he found himself in.

Lothir laughed again, happily basking in the cool rain, and soon spotted a narrow trail that wound off into the forest. He decided to follow it, wondering what other wonders the surface world held. Would he see one of the many strange creatures from his books? As he walked, the gentle sound of the rain seemed to comfort him, lending a sense of peace to the shadowed forest. Somehow, he knew that he was safe here- he could not explain it, but he was certain that no harm would come to him in this place.

After a while, the rain slowed and finally stopped, and the clouds parted to reveal the two lights once more. Moons, he realized, searching his memory for the name of the lights. They were Anterris' moons, and the smaller lights were stars. He frowned briefly, for he seemed to recall that there were three moons. Yet he had seen only two. He concentrated for a few seconds, trying to remember their names. Semerrya was the white one, he recalled, while the smaller was Brakis. And Crinos- that was the smallest one, the one called the Dark Moon because it was only visible when seen by day or when it passed in front of one of the others.

He was still wandering silently along the trail when he heard a new sound nearby, coming from above. It was a soft, mournful hooting; he froze, looking up quickly toward the sound. On a low branch of one of the trees, sat a large white creature with a round, flat-faced head, a small sharp beak, and a body covered in soft fluff, with two large clawed feet that clung to the branch easily, balanced perfectly on the narrow, round surface. It shook its body, sending droplets of water flying, and spread a pair of wings that had previously lain flat against its sides. The creature turned its head to stare at him with large round eyes, blinking, and made a soft chirp, fluttering its wings briefly before it dropped off the branch, and swooped down over his head to land on a stump a few feet away.

The creature bobbed its head at him, then turned it until it was nearly up-side-down, blinking again, then turned it back upright, and chirped once more. Puzzled, he took a few tentative steps toward the strange animal. It fluffed up and began to preen beneath one wing, as if it was ignoring his presence. He moved slowly toward it, one hand out, until he was only an arm's length from the winged creature. As if finally acknowledging his nearness, the avian turned its head inverted again, and hopped closer on the stump.

He held out his hand to it, and it hooted softly, blinking up at him with those wide golden eyes. He touched its downy chest, and marveled at the sensation, for it was softer than anything he had ever felt. It fluffed its wings, and took off, circling above him before flying silently down the path. Curious, he followed, wondering how a wild creature could appear so tame, as if it knew he meant it no harm. Or was it something more?

A little further on, the narrow trail widened out, with tangled undergrowth along the edges, drooping with large pink or white many-petaled blooms, and a carpet of moss and soft earth. As he followed the avian, he soon heard a new sound- one that he knew well. He heard a woman singing a sweet, joyful melody, in a high, pure voice more beautiful than any he had heard before. The voice drew him on, as if some part of him needed to be near the singer. He knew, though he could not say how, that he had heard that voice before. But that was impossible, wasn't it?

As he continued, the trail soon ended at a large clearing, carpeted with flowers, surrounded by tall, majestic trees. A large pool in the center reflected the light of the two moons, and a large white, flat-topped stone rose up near the water's edge. The water was dotted with floating plants with large white blooms, and the trees were draped with more of the rope-like things with pale blue blossoms. Everywhere the scents pervaded the air, wafting to him on the gentle breeze.

Yet he noticed all this almost as an afterthought, for in the middle of the clearing was a tall, beautiful female drow, with long silvery hair that fell to her feet- and she was moving about with a long, slender silver sword in her hand, waving and swinging it around in a series of complex moves that were as inspiring as they were deadly. Even more amazing, was that she was wielding it while completely nude, the moonlight gleaming off her smooth onyx skin, her feet as bare as the rest of her. He gasped in awe, amazed by her serene beauty and grace. He drew closer, entranced by the song and her strange dance with the sword.

The woman seemed oblivious to his approach, but he sensed that she knew he was there. In fact, as the winged creature swooped and circled over her, then landed on the stone, he realized that she had known he was near all along- the avian had led him to her. It was then that he heard the voice in his own mind.

Come, my child. I have been waiting for you, it said gently, and he had to fight the urge to weep for joy at the warm feeling that rose up inside at her mental touch. He took a few steps closer, afraid that he was imagining her. Do not be afraid, she whispered in his mind, even while she continued to sing. She danced with such grace and lightness that not a single leaf or flower was crushed beneath her tiny feet.

"Who are you?" He asked, pausing in the clearing, near the stone. The woman's laughter tinkled in his head like tiny bells, silvery and sweet. He watched almost breathlessly as she twirled and kicked and leapt about, her sword flashing with the reflected moonlight.

You know me, she said. You have always known me. Did you not wonder why your heart was so different from all the others? I am there. I have called to you, and now you have come. She whirled and leapt, pirouetting around him as he came nearer, and he felt the barest whisper of the flat of her blade touching his cheek. Yet he did not flinch, somehow sensing that she would never hurt him. He heard her light laughter in his head again, and smiled hesitantly.

"Moondancer…" He whispered; she smiled back, and swiftly stopped her dance, standing before him with her sword held straight up above her head. Long silvery tresses swirled around her for a moment before falling down around her, to cloak her body in a nimbus of shimmering locks. The sword flashed, and faded from view, into a swirl of glimmering motes of moonlight. She was taller than any drow or surface elf he had ever seen- taller even than an orc or bugbear. Awed, the young drow gazed up at her lovely face, and suddenly fell to his knees, head bowed in reverence. He knew he was in the presence of a goddess. "You honor me, Lady," he said softly.

She knelt down on one knee, and reached out to lift his chin gently. "Did you think that you were alone?" She asked. "I am always with you. When you feel lost, or afraid, you need only call on me, and I will hear you, child." Her voice was soothing, and tears of happiness welled up to trickle down his cheeks. "Come, little one, and join me in the dance. Listen to the song of the Night Above- do you hear it?"

He nodded, gazing up into her serene face. Her eyes were the hue of perfect amethysts; they reminded him of Ravyn's, or Morganna's, if his sister had not been so cruel. "But I don't know your name," he protested, and frowned. "I don't even know how to dance," he finished mournfully.

"It does not matter, my child- only what is in your heart is important. You need only follow it," she murmured gently, then leaned forward to kiss his forehead lightly. "But perhaps you are not yet ready. When that time comes, you will know. But now it is late, and you must leave soon. My name is Elistarrya, the Dark Maiden and Lady of the Dance. Remember it well, and call on me when you have need." She smiled, and rose, moving over to stand beside the stone. The white avian fluffed up, and fluttered up silently to land on her shoulder, its taloned feet clinging so gently that they did not even scratch her obsidian skin.

"What is that?" He asked, gazing up at the strange creature curiously. "Does it have a name?"

"He is my servant- an owl named Snowfeather. He likes you," she said with a chuckle, smiling.

Lothir rose, and held up one hand to stroke the owl. "He's very beautiful," he said wonderingly. After a long moment, he looked up at the goddess again, with a serious but hopeful expression. "I- I wish to serve you, my Lady," he said hesitantly. "If you wish it," he continued, "May I? What would you ask of me?"

"To serve me is an important decision, my child, and you are young," the goddess replied. "Are you certain you want this? I ask nothing but that you follow the ideals of faith in me. To act always with kindness and courtesy, spread music and joy, and to give aid to those in need. But you know this already- it has always been in your heart to do this. Yet think carefully before you pledge yourself to my service, for if others learn of it, you will be hunted, perhaps even killed for your faith. Are you willing to take such a risk?"

He looked down at the ground for a long time before answering. "As you said, Lady- I have always done so. Yes, I would gladly do as you ask. I pledge myself to you, Jabbress." He replied, kneeling with his head bowed. She laid her hand on his shoulder, smiling, and nodded.

"Very well, young one. As you wish." She raised her arm, and the silver sword appeared in her hand. She brought it down before her, and held it out. "Hold out your hand," she said solemnly, and he did so. Then she drew the blade across his palm, leaving a long, shallow cut. "By this are you bound to me, to serve as one of my faithful. Be true to the calling of your heart, and remember your oath, for by your own blood freely given is it made."

The young drow nodded, and let the ruby drops fall upon her blade and onto the ground. "As you will, Lady," he said, and stood up once more. "I will remember." Then she smiled again, and stepped back, before slowly fading out into sparkling moonbeams that soon disappeared. He stared at the two moons for a long time, then finally turned and began to caper back down the trail to the hole beneath the tree.

Some time later, he had finally returned home, and was quietly slipping up the stairs to his room when he felt something sharp poke him in the back of the neck. The young drow froze; then he heard a soft chuckle, and turned slowly to see who was behind him. His stomach sank when he saw the familiar swirl of black, silver-streaked hair and violet eyes. Morganna. He sighed, and glared at her, as she stood there grinning wickedly at him from the shadows of a guard post.

"Careless is dead, little worm," she sneered, casually flipping a dagger in one hand. She stepped out of the alcove, watching him with narrowed gaze, moving like a cat stalking its prey. He noted grimly that she had blood spattered on her cloak and tunic; no doubt, she had been down at the outpost practicing her fighting skills by slaughtering wild beasts brought into the cavern from the wilds, or perhaps even on the soldiers and scouts themselves. He was certain that the blood was not hers.

"What do you want, Morganna?" He asked warily. She rarely ever deigned to notice him unless it was to torment him, a habit she seemed to have picked up from his mother. She flashed him a wicked grin, her teeth showing white against her dusky grey lips. Her eyes glittered coldly, as she held the dagger pointed toward him, circling slowly like a shark.

"I know you've been keeping secrets, little brother," she hissed; she laughed softly when she saw the hint of worry in his eyes. "I do not know where you have been hiding, but even our Lady Consort is beginning to take notice of your frequent disappearances. Where do you go, I wonder? Shall I tell her you have been sneaking out somehow? Past the patrols, perhaps?" She teased, as if daring him to dispute her claim.

Lothir blew a lock of hair from his face, annoyed. She had played this game before, always pretending she knew more than she did. "Don't you have a goblin to torture somewhere?" He asked scornfully. "And just what if I have? What are you going to do about it? I can do as I please- I don't answer to you." He made certain she caught the slight emphasis on the last word, reminding her that she had no real place within the family.

The half-drow girl bristled, all pretense of civility suddenly gone. "You little-!" She began, but then paused, as though she could not think of a curse vile enough. "You may think you are special because you are the Heir, but one day Father will realize what a mistake he made in naming you his successor. And when he does, I will see to it that you fall. It should have been me!" She hissed, then turned and stormed away in a red haze of fury.

He stared after her until she had disappeared down the long spiral stair, then shook his head with a sigh, wondering how she could be so jealous of him, when in truth, he had nothing. For all the expectations of his family, he was treated little better than the slaves, and only his blood kept him from being shoved aside and forgotten, into the ranks of the common servants and soldiers of the House. Morganna was too blinded by her hatred to ever understand that she had far more freedom than he ever would. He finally trudged the rest of the way to his small room, with its bare walls and stark furnishings- so unlike those of the House priestesses, or even his father- and fell onto the bed, exhausted. His last thought before he fell asleep was that he was glad she had not noticed the bandage around his hand.

The following weeks passed quickly. Several times, he had gone back to the forest clearing on the surface, exploring the strange new world excitedly, always amazed by each new sight or smell or sound, yet he never saw the goddess again. He found himself saddened by that fact, wishing she would return, so that he could ask all the questions that seemed to continually bubble up as if from a never-ending fountain. Still, at least the owl had remained, for it was always there waiting when he climbed out of the hole onto the soft, earthy-smelling soil of the forest.

He had quickly discovered that the forest was set in a small valley, secluded and peaceful, with few creatures larger than Snowfeather himself. Occasionally, he would find tracks like those from the abandoned den, though he never saw the animals that made them. On several occasions, he heard distant howls that brought a chill to his spine, but whatever made the sounds never came close enough for him to see what it was, though he knew there must be at least half a dozen.

Strangest of all was the night he had come upon a large creature with four long, slender legs, a graceful arched neck, and a small, long head with large ears and a pair of large, curving, many-pronged horns. It had stared at him with huge dark eyes, flicking a tiny tail with a white underside as he watched it move slowly through the clearing toward the pool. It had tawny fur, and its tiny hoofed feet made it seem to almost glide across the clearing. The drow wondered what sort of creature it was, and whether it might be dangerous, until it began to graze quietly on the grass and flowers, reminding him of the placid rothe herd at home. He had sat by the stone near the pool, watching until it left the clearing, awed that a simple beast could be so beautiful.

He continued to explore the tunnels as well, until he was satisfied that he had memorized nearly all of them. Most were empty of anything more dangerous than a few shrieker fungi or the occasional rust monster or hook horror. Once he had found a small, deep hole that led into the lair of a beholder. He had wisely left it alone, for he knew well enough that beholders were some of the most dangerous and intelligent beings in the Underdark. Even the deep gorge he had discovered with a colony of grey oozes at the bottom was easily avoided, since it was narrow enough to jump across. He had been excited when he found a narrow tunnel that wound around to exit at a small, high ledge above a large cavern that connected to a tunnel whose walls and floor bore the marks of many years of traffic from riding lizards and booted feet. When he had followed the larger passage, he had discovered that it was part of the main trade route from his home to the various Underdark cities that dotted the deep caverns beneath Argonia.

That meant two things- first, that the secret warrens he had found were, in fact, part of the larger cave complex that his family knew, and second, that only their relative inaccessibility and the fact that the entrance was hidden behind a huge boulder had kept them from being discovered. Naturally, he set about doing what he could to insure that they would not be found. He liked having his own private domain in which to learn and practice his skills, and he enjoyed keeping the secret of their existence even more. Morganna thought he had been sneaking out through the outpost, and had begun watching it to try to catch him. It amused him immensely to know that she was watching the wrong place, and would probably never discover where he really went.

As time went by, he began to gain more skill, not only at swordplay, but his magic, as well. He had already learned several spells, though none was very powerful, or even particularly useful for more than amusement. Even his proficiency with the flute had greatly improved, to the point where he was able to produce several recognizable tunes, though he knew that he still needed improvement. Unfortunately, he still had not unlocked the magic in it, a fact which frustrated him more and more each time he tried.