The Underdark is aptly named, for it holds a darkness that most will never, nor would ever want, to know. Shadows are not simply a two-dimensional thing cast by three-dimensional beings; here, everything is blanketed by the shadow of the Underdark. There is no light, save that created artificially, or by plant life and fungi, that would at best appear strange to the eyes of a surface dweller. Fire is nearly nonexistent, the fuel far too rare and precious to be wasted on something as paltry as lighting one's way. This, however, is not a curse to the creatures that call the Underdark home; in fact, it is a blessing. For when a surface dweller has no more fuel for his fires, and no more items carrying a light-giving enchantment, his body blasted by cold fear still shows red to those who can see in the infrared spectrum. 

There is only one form of darkness that is darker than that of the Underdark; and it is usually the direct result of a rather smart smack to the head. 

It was from this darkness that Noir found himself awakening out of. 

He emitted a low grunt at the effort of raising himself to a sitting position. When he opened his eyes, even the dull blue of the cold walls around him added to his already stinging headache. The voice that followed his grunt, lovely as it was, didn't help much either. 

"You sleep well for someone surrounded by enemies, human." 

"I... I'm no human," was the best Noir could respond. 

The low chuckle followed by the rustle of cloth against skin caused Noir to open his eyes and look at his captor. He decided the red heat caused by her body, however charming the shape of it, was even more painful to his head than the walls of his cell. "True," the drowess replied, "but you are not drow either, and I can think of no more offensive term for your sorry carcass." There was a momentary pause as she considered her next words. "Still, you aided in the struggle to obtain our new home, so I suppose I should be in some small way grateful." 

Noir took her words to be a welcome, and so he rose to accept the rewards of his efforts, "I am called Noir Morte." 

Apparently, in his time away from the drow, he had indeed forgotten much about them. 

"I will tell you when you can rise, human!" A boot planted firmly in his chest drove the severity of her words home. Unlike the drow males, the males of his race were actually larger than the females; and his race as a whole were larger than the drow. Noir himself was perhaps the size of a large half-elf or small human, making him larger than his attacker. He was not, however, stupid; and had in the past learned of the results of striking out against a drow female. While smaller, he could sense that this drowess in particular was definitely more powerful than he was; thus, he sat calmly on the floor, awaiting her next move. 

"Allow me to clear the air a little, Noir Morte. It is only because of Lloth's pleasure at your assistance that you are allowed to live. And it is only because of my gracious nature that you are not destined to spend the remainder of your days herding rothe." A smile graced her lips. "Or, better yet... I wonder how well you would cope through the transformation to drider..." Noir blanched, although it was more to allow her satisfaction in the moment than any real fear. He felt he had a pretty fair understanding of where this was all leading. 

"Here is how this is going to work, Noir, of whatever race you call kin. I shall arrange for you to become a student at the Sorcere. I care not whether you actually learn the craft, or merely amble through using your mental powers to characterize actual learning. You will be my house agent within Tier Breche. Perform this simple task to my liking, and you shall become my Qu'el'z'talinuk^*1. Fail, and..." She allowed an unforgiving smile to complete her thought. 

"Yes honored Matron," was all Noir said as she left his cell, closing the door behind her. 

"Sleep well this eve Noir... Tomorrow you begin your task. I'll leave you now to your thoughts... I'm sure you'll have many to keep you company." Her taunting chuckle was the only thing he heard as she slipped away with classic drow stealth. 

-Indeed I do, honored Matron,- he thought. -Indeed I do.-

"You have shown great perseverance in your studies Tylek. I have spoken to Shado of you as well," the factual tones sent a shiver of apprehension through the kneeling form. Taking the box from Ven, Mavralyn opened it and pulled out an unmarked amulet of quality mithril. Placing it over the mage's head her words seemed to ring in his mind, "To you I give the first qu'ilinsar for you to fashion others from. That is your first duty as well as seeing to the wards of this House. You may rise Qu'el'Faeruk."

"Asanque Malla Ilharess." Tylek had said almost fervently as he stood and took the indicated place. Turning and looking at the assembled house from this perspective gave him a new sense of power. They all looked; smaller somehow, less than him. 

He felt now, sitting in his study, that he would remember that moment forever. He looked down at the qu'ilinsar laying on his desk before him. This was something he had been prepared for, but still he was apprehensive. Bending down, he opened a hidden drawer in the shelf beside him, removing several sheets of loose paper. Ty ran the pages between his fingers, admiring the quality of the paper before even looking at the inscriptions on it. A simple pattern of two connected "wishbone" shapes. 

*Perhaps,* Ty thought, *deceptively simple would be more appropriate.* It was a rune that he had created. One that had taken him years to complete. At first it looked like an insect, though rather basic. From a central point two inner and two outer lines arched out, down, and back in. Interlocking at their points. He'd been as of yet unsuccessful in recreating it however, for all of its simplicity. 

Sighing, and feeling all the weight of this task, Ty picked up the tool that would allow him to inscribe the house rune onto the first qu'ilinsar. He sat there for a moment, holding the stylus, and just looking at the empty pendant. Then, after dipping it in the prepared mixture that would serve as ink, Ty slowly and with great care, lowered the stylus to the qu'ilinsar. 

Pausing once more to clear his thoughts, he began to try a final time to redraw this rune. Runes, no matter how casually drawn are dangerous, a fact he himself could attest to. But what he undertook now was deadly serious, the things this rune could do to him should he get it wrong in these circumstances Tylek did not want to think about. He could not allow himself the luxury at the moment. 

Many hours had passed when Ty stopped the archaic chant and picked his stylus up off of the qu'ilinsar. Fatigue warred with a strange elation at the finished work. Sitting up, and leaning back, he studied his work. It was perfect. Yet somehow, it looked crueler, and more spider like than the original. Leaning close, he studied it again, along with the original. There was no difference, and still the qu'ilinsar looked more.....menacing. 

Somehow unsurprised, he stood up with it in his hands. He would not delay getting this to the Ilharess.

Shado moved to the area where the Tier-Breche stood. The Matron had chosen him to recreate the Sorcere here. Levitating up past the arena of the Melee-Magthere he surveyed the scene before him. Rubble and debris seemed the main problem, but he knew there must be ancient wards and other magical traps to disarm before the Sorcere section would be ready. Landing lightly on the balcony entrance, he carefully studied the open portal. The stone had many runes and patterns carved into its otherwise smooth surface and most were intact. None seemed active now, so he stepped through to explore his new home. 

As he looked about the large entry hall, Shado grinned, thinking of what might have happened in the past to create the damage he saw. Moving carefully past the chamber and deeper into his new home he assessed the amount of work required. Shado's mind slipped back to the task at hand when he found what appeared to be the master chambers for the head of the Sorcere. First he needed his room readied before the rest of the work was started. 

Studying the room closely, Shado was amazed to find minor wards still active. Chuckling to himself, "Yes, these shall do until I have more time available". The room itself was not as bad as what Shado had originally feared, true there was some rubble, and some of the walls needed to be strengthened due to decay. For the most part however, a good cleaning and redecorating was the main priority! Pulling out a scroll from within his robe, Shado chanted the words and grinned as five Unseen Servants appeared. "clean this area", Shado spoke with command as the invisible servants moved to accomplish his wishes. After a day, most of the minor cleaning was done, now all that remained was to reset the wards and move the larger rubble away. Shado again grinned thinking on the best way to accomplish this. 

Shado retired to his newly prepared rooms and pulled one last scroll from his robe. As Shado finished reading the scroll, a swirling mist rose sending papers scattering in all directions before calming down to a light breeze. A steady but harsh whispering voice shattered the silence , "Why have you summoned me!" declared the voice. 

Shado moved to a nearby chair and took a seat. Looking up slowly, Shado spoke, "You know what you are?" Shado waited for a reply then continued, "Your service shall be simple and Lloth permitting, short! You have been summoned to simply stand guard until such a time as this compound is finished! You will not attack any in this compound until attacked first!" Shado's eyes narrowed as he spoke again, "And do not let me find you provoking any into attacking!" Chuckling to himself, "For you know how uncomfortable that would become for you, you are to be my eyes and ears, do you understand this!?" 

A low growl emitted through the room, "Do not make idle threats at me mage! I am bound to serve you to the letter of your request. Do not presume to have any more power over me then to banish me!" 

Shado chuckled slightly, then his face turned hard and serious, "I do not make idle threats Balynza... !" Shado let the remainder of the name fall silently, teasing and tauntingly. A roar of anger and anguish filled the room as Shado sat silently letting his newest servant comprehend the full meaning of what was just spoken. 

When at last the room became silent again, Shado spoke, "I have given you a simple command in which you should be grateful! If you perform this task to my expectations, You shall be let free in this realm at the end of your servitude. All that will be required is that you make an oath to never harm any of this city directly or indirectly." 

A wicked grin crossed Shado's face as he spoke the next words, "But, should you wish to stay true to your nature, then know this, I shall hold you here for what shall seem like an eternity, and it would be most unpleasant for you to say the least." 

A large brutish form semi-materialized before Shado, glaring down at him with hatred running through every vein. In tense and forced tones, a simple reply came forth, "I accept!" 

Shado nodded then waved his hand dismissing the form before him, "then go to your tasks, for I grow tired of this conversation and of you!" As the demon faded from view, Shado sat back taking a deep breath and sighed to himself, "Yes, there is still much to do". Gathering his strength, he proceeded to make plans for his trip to the surface.

Zorbock glanced about slightly. He was sure not to let anybody notice. With only his deep green eyes scanning about, he listened intently. Many of those who now stood here had fought side by side against great odds to take the cavern that all now called home. 

Standing near Mavralyn, Zor had hoped that his loyalty to her had proven unshakable. It had become a habit now, looking over those within her company. For while Zorbock was present, no harm would come to her. 

He listened as Tylek was promoted to the position of Qu'el'Faeruk. "A most suitable position for the wizard," Zor thought to himself. They had fought side by side to see to the destruction of one of Velkyn-Tirith's most deadly residents, an ancient dracolich. The two fighting side by side were a lethal pair. Zor was unfamiliar with the ways of wizards, and, quite honestly, didn't care one way or the other about most of them. In spite of this, he had a great deal of respect for Ty. 

Zor focused on his surroundings when he heard the beautiful voice of his Ilharess speak his name. Stepping forward, with a brief look of surprise upon his face, Zor quickly dropped to one knee in front of the Matron and lowered his eyes immediately. He listened intently as she spoke, "I am pleased with your performance during the past several weeks Zorbock. I have need to replace Uro as Saruk and have chosen you for this honored position." She then placed the ring that marked him as House Weapon's Master upon his finger. As he felt her warm touch upon his hand and the cool feeling of the heavy band placed upon him, Zor grinned slightly. He was truly pleased that his Ilharess had noticed his undying loyalty to her. "You may rise now Qu'el'Saruk and take up your new duties." she said. Rising, Zor quickly took his place near Mavralyn, the protective position of the Saruk over his Ilharess. 

After the ceremony was concluded, Zor walked the halls of Xol'Niaren, feeling almost awkward with the warriors stepping to the side allowing him to pass unobstructed. Many thoughts raced through his young mind. The position of Saruk was a position he never imagined he could acquire, but it did belong to him now. 

Zor knew he still had much to learn in the ways of combative arts. He also knew he would indeed learn and excel even further. Zor figured that Mavralyn knew he wasn't the greatest of fighters, not yet anyway. However, one thing she did know without question was his loyalty to her. Dishonor would not come to this house while Zor was breathing...

All around him was darkness. A darkness his infravision was unable to penetrate. He could barely see his hand in front of him when he raised it up to his face. Only knowing it was there because he sensed its closeness. Thoughts of where he might be raced through his mind. Could he be dead and this place the Abyss where he was to eternally serve his Goddess, Lolth? Yet, deep in his mind he knew this wasn't the domain of the Quarval-Sharess. The feeling he had been getting about the place was of familiarity, as if he'd been here before many times. He walked --- he thought that was what he was doing for he felt no ground beneath his feet --- in this perpetual darkness, every sound he made muffled. However loud a shout and scream he made, the void around him absorbed it, leaving only a washed-out remnant. 

"Where am I?" he thought aloud, not expecting an answer. 

*You're in you, Tullarix*, a voice very familiar echoed in reply. The voice alone caught him off-guard; that the voice was heard in his mind made him catch his breath. 

"I am in me? What sort of gibberish is that. And who is talking to me?" Tull inquired, his natural gift of suspicion building with every moment. There was no answer this time, only a deafening silence greeted his questions. 

"I must be going insane. Speaking to no one but myself," he shook the notion away from his head. If he was truly mad, he wouldn't need to ask himself that question. *You are not mad*, again the voice spoke in his head, startling him, *not yet, anyway.* 

"Damn it! I know someone's out there," his anger was slowly rising out from the corner of his mind. Tull was really feeding off his passions now. "Show yourself." It was not a request, but a command. 

*There's no need to show myself. You already know where you are and who you are talking to*, there was a pause and a chuckle very familiar to him, *You've known for quite sometime already, but like your mother, you are just too stubborn to admit it. You really have turned out to be your mother's son.* 

Did he already know what he kept asking all this time? Tull fought the truth of the voice's statements. But the stronger he denied them, the louder they repeated in his mind. 

Mind... 

*uh-oh, could it be that logic and common sense are breaking through that adamantium-strong wall of stubbornness you've erected?* Now the voice was openly mocking him. Which only fed more fuel to Tull's anger. *Is that a hint of intelligence behind those eyes of yours, or are you about to loose your temper at me? One never knows when dealing with you, eh.* 

"No. No. No, I will not be manipulated by you," Tull's voice was soft, as cold iron is soft, "Leave me be." 

What followed Tull could only think of was a mental equivalent of a sigh which precluded an outburst. *You stubborn fool. It's this stubborn streak of yours that almost got you killed. Or have you already forgotten that little act you did in front of your mother and her entire court?* 

Mavralyn's son sensed a familiarity to the frustrated tone of the voice. *Phaw! It looks like I must tear down the rest of this wall you so enjoy putting up. I do this only because I do not suffer fools, and lately you've been a prime example of one. See those tiny pinpricks of light around you now? I am one... and I am all. Seek one or all and you'll have your answer.* the voice faded like a passing breeze, leaving Tull alone with his thoughts and the dancing lights around him. One of the voice's statements bit into him like one of his Mother's snake-whips, deep and painful. *I do not suffer fools*, Tull always said that whenever he tired of listening to some idiot spout off, and when he was about to put an outmatched opponent out of their misery. 

"No. It cannot be that easy...," Tull tried denying what his thoughts were putting together as the answer, but even now the fire and convictions behind his denials were absent. 

Tull reached out to one of the dancing lights and suddenly memories flashed vividly in front of his eyes. This certain light replaying back memories of time growing up from childhood to adulthood within the Fire Elemental Plane. Memories of his mother and the priestesses, who helped rear him and his now-dead twin brother, visiting regularly. Of him and Daevion, his twin, learning early on in life to plot against each other. Always trying to gain the upper hand over the other, no matter what it was they were competing for. Which meant simply: everything and everyone. He saw how he won and lost contests to his twin. Always Daevion sneaked up on him, surprising him and causing him to jump up and yelp like some human female tasting the sting of his whips for the first time. Now that was one memory he would rather not have seen again. But as much as he hated and despised his brother, he learned early on to never let anyone get the upper hand on him. He always strove to improve in areas he was lacking. Even if it might earn him the ire of his mother, sisters, and the other females. These certain memories brought back to Tull his vow to never let himself be surprised by anyone ever again. One vow he seemed to have broken these past few months. Sighing, he moved on to the next light as the visions of his early childhood and the years after faded into nothingness. Flash. 

A drowess' face, her eyes glowing bloody red, flashed into view. Up close and personal with his own face it seemed. And with those eyes, eyes one could drown sweetly into, came a shocking partner. Gleaming white yet dripping with a yellowish liquid were fangs poised to rip out his throat. *No*, he broke the trance and power even the memory of his encounter with that drow vampire from his mind. But he watched on. Tull watched as memories of his fight with the undead drow unfolded. Watching it without the adrenaline pumping through his system and his survival instincts in control, Tull saw how close he almost died that night and maybe even worse than dying. 

The accompanying visions, those that followed the fight, Tull thought he'd never react strongly to, but their vividness and clarity hit him squarely between the eyes. He could practically smell, taste, and feel, what was unfolding in his mind. He didn't want to see this again, but he knew that he didn't have control anymore. Tull was along for the ride whether he wanted it or not. 

"Desinari. My name is Desinari, m'lord." Her face and voice pounded into Tull. He struggled to let go and close off the visions as they replayed, but it was no use. *No. I do not want to see this. Lolth take me. I do not want to see...,* but he saw through his own eyes, as it happened. Himself coaxing the young rivvil girl from the back of the wrecked wagon, fear filling her emerald-hued eyes. Taking advantage of the situation. Those memories didn't bother him. It was the memories of her face looking up at him. First, a look of fear, thinking he was there to cause her harm, but then a look of relief. Relief that someone was there to rescue and protect her. It was her naiveté on things other than her training which drew him to her. Which still tugged at him even now, especially with these damnable memories playing back for him. 

Her face so full of innocence to the ways of the world, especially his world. "I shan't slow you down, m'lord," her eyes desperate and voice past the point of pleading. "I will do whatever you instruct me to do. Just don't leave me by myself again. I promise to do as you say and serve you willingly." Why was he being tortured this way. His mother's whip and dagger hurt less than what he was feeling now. Tull watched as every moment of his time during the return trip to Rilauven with Desinari flooded his mind. Every second a bittersweet moment. So bittersweet and painful to watch again. He wanted it over. 

"Yes Master. I'm sorry to have put you through such an ordeal. I promise that I will do better and make you proud of me. I only want to please you, Master. That and nothing else," her eyes told him the truth of her words. Eyes looking at him apologetically and also awaiting whatever he'd tell her. She was ready to do anything he wanted her to do. Yes. She did do as he had asked her afterwards many times. Maybe his mother was correct in sending the slavegirl away. Selling her off to some other master. He did become attached to Desinari, even though he had taken over the training of all the female slaves. Genevra's death during the assault didn't hit him as hard and painfully as Desinari's absence in his life. Could it be that he saw in her a way out for him one day? Someone devoted who would willingly runaway with him when that day finally arrived. 

*What in the Nine Hells am I thinking?!* that sudden realization to what his thoughts were telling him brought a shudder and grimace to his face. Tull just now realized that his steel-like attachment to the slave had left him open to weaknesses he had always kept in check. Open to suggestions and paranoia. These were the things that he had been feeling and noticing. "Have I been acting like the jealous suitor whose object of affection was suddenly taken from him?" It was something he already knew the answer to. "All this time I had been putting up walls to block off people, but they were the wrong people. No wonder I was so easily broken by S'rotavele. Is he and my weakness the source of my odd behavior of late? And if yes, have I gone too far from my mother's grace and favor...?"

*1.  House Psionicist.
*2.  The primary badge or medallion of a Noble House.