Chapter 12 The Conspirators

The female drow stepped back from the illithid, a look of freight and suspicion stung the sharp features of her face. She was very short and slight even by drow standards, standing just shy of four feet. She was dressed in a modest but form fitting black dress. The thin material it was made of changed its shape slightly as she moved accentuating her scrawny boyish figure.

"I think I will stay here," she said. "You go on ahead," she told the mind flayer.

"Fine. You do that," it gurgled with a tone of displeasure as it teleported away, but not before it allowed one of its four tentacles to brush the side of her face ever so gently. The illithid knew it disgusted her and it reveled in her discomfort.

The drow female was left behind with three of its illithid apprentices, one of which still had not completed its ceremorphosis and was stuck in a rather strange limbo between human and illithid form. The mere sight of it twisted her stomach though she found it hard to avoid gawking at it.

"We need to keep moving," she declared. The four of them stepped back from the static that lingered exactly in the spot where the illithid had opened its teleportation portal. The drow motioned for the three illithids to follow her. They were in the clearing of a small rust-red plateau of a cave shaft that extended about 20 yards.

There was a cliff where the edge promised a drop of several hundred feet before hitting a bottom covered with jagged stalagmites. Just beyond the stalagmites was another drop, the uppermost beginning of the Claw Rift, a place the drow female was very familiar with-her entire family had met their demise in its bowels-or so she believed.

There was not a sound in the cave except for the occasional hot swoosh of air that was prone to blow through the shafts given its close proximity to the veins of lava that flow to the nearest volcano about five miles away. The four figures said not a word out loud, that was not their customary way of communicating. Instead the conversation they shared telepathically was deep and intense. They were plotting, they were planning, they were searching-searching for something presumed dead- and they needed to find it, what they were planning depending on it.

They continued their hike up towards the back of the cave where an ancient ruin structure jutted forth from the back wall. The female drow's face widened in an eager smile as she picked up her pace then stopped just shy of the old stone stairway that lead into the ruin. The illthids were quick to flank her side and wait for what was to come.

A long smoke-like shadow slithered slowly and deliberately down the steps. The four shifted their weight and moved away from the stairs as the shadow suddenly rose up to take a drow-like form. He stood taller than the average drow with a body that was lithe and tightly muscled. His eyes, fierce black orbs, were the magnificent atavism that revealed his ancient dragon bloodline. He wore a thin rapier on his hip and his every movement exuded confidence. He casually stepped down the remaining stairs with a small measure of arrogance to his mannerism. He took a low respectful bow in front of the drow female before a rather wicked smile found its way to his chiseled face.

"I am sorry if I have kept you waiting too long." He voiced a rather empty apology.

We would have waited as long as necessary to ensure this chance meeting, the female replied telepathically in his mind. It is an honor to meet you Master Nimor Imphraezl.

We are excited you have even considered our offer and we assure you that an alliance forged with us will be worth your while.

"That is what I am counting on." Nimor flashed his wicked smile again.

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Jarlaxle stood with his back up against the tree on the hillside he frequently used for meetings with Valas and occasionally Kimmuriel. Valas had just left for his current assignment and the mercenary now waited for the arrival of his former lieutenant and the imaskari child that he entrusted in his care. He had much to discuss with Kimmuriel in regards to Laenaia as well as matters for Bregan D'aerthe.

Jarlaxle would be leaving and there were things of concern he needed to address before imparting on one of his frequent long absences. A sound caught his ear and nearby a shadow moved. A young child appeared followed by a drow both seeming to glow in the waning moonlight. Kimmuriuel proceeded in Jarlaxle's direction and stood by the tree while Lanie rushed to the edge of the hill to wait for the sunrise which wasn't too long away.

"How did it go with her?" Jarlaxle asked keeping his eyes fixed on the small child.

Kimmuriel scratched his chin as a moth flew up towards Jarlaxle, attracted to the moonlight reflecting off the hilt of his sheathed sword.

"It has been challenging. But then my hands are tied to a certain degree when it comes to training her." The psion shot a sidelong glance at Jarlaxle.

"She is learning to master a few techniques that can help her control her mental breakdowns." He explained, "But she still has a long way to go. If I can be more regimented and disciplined with her training, I know I will make better progress with her. "

"One can teach as efficiently and effectively with gentle hands as they can with brutal ones. You feel a need to break her, because that is all you know, and that is how you were taught." Jarlaxle paused for a moment considering his words before correcting himself, "That is how we were taught."

Kimmuriel grunted his displeasure with Jarlaxle's sentiments.

"That is why we are the stronger race." He challenged.

"And I say we are the weaker." Jarlaxle flashed him an angry look.

"And I say that you have spent far too much time up here in this world, its time you come back to where you belong," the psion spat.

"A tad bit emotional are we?" Jarlaxle jested.


"I am trying to be reasonable. I am trying to be logical. You don't belong here and either does the child. She is not human in the way the surface races are. This is not her home. This is not your home. You call my methods cruel and unreasonable yet convincing her to live up here amongst these creatures is just as a cruel as my preferred methods of teaching, if not more so." Kimmuriel argued.

"We used to belong here. All of us collectively."

"Are we going to delve into the stories of old times now?" Kimmuriel asked his voice riddled with disgust.

Jarlaxle didn't like the way the psion spoke those words, they seemed to hang in the air heavy and thick before finally melting away. Jarlaxle turned to regard his frustrated friend. No one knew Kimmuriel the way he did, there wasn't a single soul who understood the dark depths from which Kimmuriel had come. No one knew just how unmercifully the psion had been beaten and tortured throughout his childhood and into his later years. His may be riddled with scars but even those do not run nearly as deep as his psychological ones.

Could he ever change? Could he ever see the good in the world? The hands that molded him, the ones responsible for creating who he was, did so with hate and cruelty. Jarlaxle's gaze settled on the child who sat quietly and patiently with her back towards them waiting for dawn to usher in its warm golden splendor. A glimmer of hope resounded with that child.

"Don't break that girl, Kimmuriel," Jarlaxle voiced his response, which sounded more like a desperate plea. A long moment of silence swallowed the morning air before Jarlaxle dare continue.

"How are things fairing where Gromph and Bregan D'aerthe are concerned?" Jarlaxle inquired. "I may not have much to do with Bregan D'aerthe these days, but the actions of my brother are always of a concern to me."

Kimmuriel observed his former master silently for a while longer before swirling his hand in a downward motion to a show a collapse into chaos. Jarlaxle leaned back against the tree staring up into the wildly laced boughs above him. The leaves on the tree were beginning to lift in anticipation of the rising sun and the dewdrops that clung to their green flesh shimmered in the fast fading moonlight. It was a beautiful sight and he wished to hold onto bit longer before it became yet another memory. He slowly turned to observe the psion whose eyes were now settled on the girl, the mercenary wanted to break this awkward silence, but he struggled to find the words. Instead it was Kimmuriel who voiced two words that shattered the silence.

"Troubles Coming." Kimmuriel's mouth turned down at both ends, despite having a face that usually revealed little, Jarlaxle could sense the psion's trepidation.

There are matters I wish to discuss with you in private the psion's telepathic voice entered Jarlaxle's head.

It was clear that whatever Kimmuriel did not want the child to be in their presence when he shared whatever it was he had to share.

Jarlaxle nodded his head, I will make a point to meet with you ten nights from now, and I will come to you."

Kimmuriel's eyes still focused on the child said not a word only nodded his head in return and then abruptly teleported himself away.