His mother was true to her word. Tull had just finished taking his men through a small tunnel, created in record time by a tiny clan of Duergar. He had come across them a year back during one of his explorations of the area around Rilauven. So small was this clan that they didn't hesitate at all when he came to them with a proposition about doing a task for his mother.

Unspoken promises of first chance to negotiate a trade contract with a potential new drow city made Tull's subtle mental intrusions into their greedy little minds that much easier. “I can always arrange for something special if they start to get too uncooperative afterwards,” he thought.

Even from beneath several meters of bedrock, he sensed the slight, unnatural vibrations caused by the fierce battle being fought right above their heads. The battle had begun in earnest while Tull and his men were two-thirds through the tunnel. Even though shielded by the bedrock, Tull could still feel in his mind the psychic death screams of friend and foe alike. Fortunately, it was mostly foe at the moment instead of friend. It was still giving him quite a headache with all the psychic feedback.

"We're here," the oldest member of the drow war party and a grizzled veteran of many conflicts, Rakarth, announced upon their arrival at the appointed spot.

Everybody quickly started preparing all the necessary enchantments and items they'd need for the next phase of the mission. It was this phase that still worried Tull. He could still remember the last time he had used the item he and the others would be using now. The memories of that experience still gave him phantom pains when he wasn't expecting any. Now he was going to use another such item --- though a bit more improved than the last one --- and so were the other four drow with him.

"Remember what I told all of you," his blood was beginning to burn with anticipation for the upcoming fight, "once all of you levitate upward concentrate your minds on nothingness. The slightest hint of a formed thought will give us all away before we even get close to it. And trust me, you wouldn't want to get caught by it."

"We've all gone through this with you several dozen times already. You wouldn't have picked the four of us for this mission if you thought we weren’t able to implement your plan," this time it was Urian, the assassin-mage of the group, who answered.

"Well, let's do it then," Tull gave the signal.

All five drow enabled their enchanted rings first, then levitated upward and miraculously phased through the ceiling of bedrock. It took all five several seconds before they passed through the lowest floor of the Tower and into the main area. Already they saw some debris from all the spells that were pounding the edifice of the tower. It was during then that one of the rings suddenly stopped working and several giant-sized chunks of masonry made short work of one of the five.

The other four kept their minds blank as they continued to rise up into the next level, still searching for their target. They had passed through several levels of the Tower already when the levitating power of Urian suddenly ended and he was plunged back down through a floor at the same time his ring of stone-walking stopped working. 

"Iblith^*1!!!" Urian suddenly phased back into solid form. He was halfway through the floor with his upper body visible and his lower half still below the floor. His mid section suddenly intermingled with the stone flooring. His death cry was enough to sound the alarm that Tull hoped they wouldn't have had to deal with. 

Their element of surprise all but gone, Tull signaled the remaining two, Rakarth and a young fighter-mage by the name of Xiranax, to take off their rings and to ready the weapons they'd be using against their foe. His Mother had once gotten quite upset when he brought up the idea that maybe the sargtlinen of the house should learn how to wield and then be issued the new weapons. She forbade him to ever have the weapons in her house, calling them noisy and messy and crude. But she did say that outside the house, whatever he did was his business.

"Make sure they are loaded and hold them carefully. No use shooting yourself by accident and wasting ammunition," Tull took out his special pair of Lantan Gondgunnes^*2 he had bought especially for this battle. He had actually bought several pairs for his men. One pair was lost when Chronaur ended up smashed into drow pulp by falling debris. The other pair became part of Urian's anatomy just a few moments back.

"Is everyone ready?" Tull made sure he pointed the barrels of the unusual weapons upward.

"Let's dance," the usually quiet Xiranax answered, his own weapons pointed upward as Tull had showed them.

Off the three went, up the spiraling staircase. All their senses tuned for anything that may mean death for one or all of them. So far nothing was in their way. No traps of any kind, and no servants and guards barring their upward path. The sounds of the battle outside started to get louder and louder, more and more debris fell around their heads as they trudged onward.

To slow down now meant death for them and maybe for the entire assault force. That grim thought spurred Tull past his limitations, seeing his mother dead and battered, or worse yet, the plaything of S'rotavele, the alhoon^*3. This last thought gave him the reserve burst of energy he needed so badly now. Rakarth and Xiranax had their own reasons for their sudden burst of energy. 

Soon, they came upon a massive door of pure adamantium that was slightly ajar. Enough of a space for them to sneak in through. One by one, they slipped past, sensing no danger as they did so. What they saw on the other side was the grandest and most majestic place they had ever seen. Even the Temple of Lloth in Rilauven paled in comparison. “This must've been the main temple for the original drow inhabitants,” Tull guessed, letting his guard down for just one bit.

**I am so glad you think it grand. Because it will be the last thing you will be seeing. I am pretty hungry and I see dinner served,** the familiar mental voice of Tull's tormentor, S'rotavele echoed inside the minds of all three drow.

"Ugh..." it was Xiranax, hands trying in vain to beat off the oncoming alhoon, its tentacles writhing on its face, reaching out to bore into the young drow's face. Raising one of the Gondgunnes, Xiranax aimed and fired at the alhoon, hoping to kill or at least injure it. 

With a loud thunderous roar and a brilliant flash of light, the weapon discharged its small metal sphere with extreme velocity and aimed directly at the things writhing face. Before anyone knew what had happened, the alhoon phased suddenly, letting the metal ball speed past and through where its head had been, without causing any damage. Unfortunately Rakarth was not so lucky as the hurtling object hit his stunned face behind the alhoon’s head. 

Tull saw it like it was in slow motion.

First, the metal ball struck Rakarth perfectly right on his forehead. SMACK!!

Second, the ball itself flattened upon impact causing the top part of the old male's head to come off, along with most of his brains. The intense pressure of the impact caused his eyes to explode out of their sockets and fly through the air. SPLAT!!

With half his head gone, Rakarth slumped to his knees dead before he even realized what had happened. Xiranax was in for a worse fate, as the tentacles finally caught hold of his face and began burrowing like sandworms through his cheeks, up through his nostrils and up through his mouth. Tull stood there transfixed by the scene before him.

Xiranax's arms now flailed about him wildly, his screams muffled by the tentacles that were stuffed in his mouth. Tull could see the furrows the tentacles created as they searched upward into Xiranax's skull to pull out the alhoon's meal. With a final shriek of horror that the tentacles couldn't stifle, Xiranax died as his brain was pulled out through his nose, mouth and ruined cheeks. It was that scream which broke through Tull's trance.

"Not again!!!" Tull screamed as, with both weapons raised, Tull fired them simultaneously, temporarily blinding himself with the flashes. Instead of hearing the alhoon scream its death, Tull was suddenly hurled from his feet and towards the far wall behind him. Only quick thinking saved him from becoming a smear on the wall.

Tull quickly grasped the medallion his mother gave to him long ago and activated it. A portal opened that led to a sanctuary on the Fire Plane. He usually went there when he wanted to be alone. Right before the portal closed with him on the other side, Tull heard one final thing in his mind from the alhoon.

**So, you care for your mother a lot, my young friend. I guess maybe I should now personally introduce myself to her. I am sure we will both get along well.** The evil, maniacal laughter of S'rotavele echoed through his mind as the portal closed leaving Tull alone with his thoughts on the other side...

---

Lonely Fears
by Tullarix Elythanar

Tull's body still shook uncontrollably from the shock of his hard landing, and from the last mental jab the alhoon, S'rotavele, had sent his way right before the portal closed.

Taking deep breaths to calm down his nerves, Tull began the long, arduous task of getting his wits and strength about him. More than ever, he needed to be calm and clear-headed if he was to get back and save his mother. “Yes, save my mother,” Tull grimaced. As much power as the females commanded, an alhoon of S'rotavele's stature and power could easily cut them down if it didn't want to play around with its food first.

Images came and went through his mind. Mostly of S'rotavele making good on its promise to get to know his mother better, but it always ended with the alhoon getting its mental claws into him again. That, above everything else, spurred him to start getting back into the fray. Whatever else happened today, either the alhoon or himself would be lying dead in Velkyn Tirith. Tull wanted this chapter of his life closed, and if it meant his death then so be it.

Taking out what remained of his grimoire, Tull began studying and memorizing as many spells as his mind could take. It would not be an easy thing to get back into the Tower. Resistance was a foregone conclusion in Tull's mind now. What worried Tull was that it would take him three-days equivalent of Fire Plane time to get all his spells into memory. He hoped that only a few minutes at the most would have just passed in the Prime Material Plane.

After three days of studying, memorizing, and trying to get some semblance of his strength back, Tull was finally ready to return to Velkyn-Tirith and re-join the battle. Taking several deep breaths, he began the enchantment that would re-open the portal. A shimmering, vertical disk expanded in front of him. “Well, time for the moment of truth,” he gritted his teeth and steeled his nerve before stepping through the portal... and into a room full of the alhoon's personal elite guards...

Hook Horrors!

Tull’s right arm hung broken and useless at his side. His face and head were battered and bruised  with blood running down thickly along one side of his face.  Several deep gashes scarred his body; most of the major wounds were on his back and chest. Even the ring he wore to keep his health and strength up could not do its job quickly enough, but at least he was still standing --- though with some effort --- instead of already dead on his face.

After dealing with the hook horrors (with the help of several tons of falling stone, thank Lloth), he had gone to where the headless body of Rakarth was sprawled. Searching the bloody rubble he found and picked up one of the gunnes Rakarth never had a chance to use. He had hoped that both weapons would be intact, but in the heat of the battle with the horrors, one was damaged beyond repair. At least he still had the one.

“This'll have to do. I just can't miss, that's all.” Tull held the weapon barrel upward with his remaining good arm. Fighting the horrors was not enough, it seemed that every upstart and wanna-be creature this beast-master of an alhoon had, got in his way. Tull prayed to Lolth that he wasn't too late.

His heart almost stopped when he went through the massive courtyard gate and saw with his own eyes a deepbat swoop down and sting his mother with its poisonous barbed tail. Rage filled his eyes as his mother's body suddenly went rigid from the paralyzing poison. Gathering every ounce of strength and willpower he had left, Tull hobbled as quickly as he could to get a closer shot, not seeing the figure of Shadosin go through a complex weaving of symbols that meant a powerful spell about to be cast. 

He was now in range, and in front of him he saw a trio of figures struggling together. One was the alhoon with its tentacles already burrowing into an unfortunate young yathrin's face and the third was the yathrin's kyorl, trying in vain to pull her away. Raising the weapon up and aiming down its front sight, Tull steadied himself for the end.

He squeezed.

This time the flash of the firing didn't blowback into his face, and he saw clearly the ball flying straight and true for the back of the alhoon's head. Tull never heard or noticed a sudden rushing of hot air and the sound of an onrushing meteor storm spell. The last thing he saw before his world exploded into fire and felt himself being flung backwards, was the metal ball smashing into the back of S'rotavele's head. Distracted by the yathrin and the sargtlin struggling with it, the alhoon never got its defenses up in time to stop the bullet or the meteor storm that engulfed all three of them.

The power of the spell created a blast of fire and heat that headed Tull's way, flinging him backwards. Lying there mortally wounded, Tull suddenly felt something snap into his mind that sent it spiraling downward into the dark's embrace...

*1.  "Shit!"
*2.  Similar to the early flintlock firearms.
*3.  An undead mind flayer.