*(Cross-posted in "The Scathachian Sanctuary" folder)*

Micar'shalee. The Poisoned Gaze.

She was one of three daughters born to Baewyss'breena of the House of Barri'und (the fourth, Zilva'ayne, was born disfigured and was ripped to pieces by her elder sisters only a week after her birth). Micar'shalee and the oldest of Baewyss'breena's offspring, Bae'Akorwae, were in constant competition for their mother's esteem as they grew and matured. The sisters regularly endured the other's incessant attempts of murder and bodily harm. Their mother only prodded their scheming and stoked the fires of their violent acts toward each other. The elder sisters contended for their Mother's House, while the third daughter, Jhul'riina the Rune Mistress, awaiting the victor.

It was not until Micar'shalee slew her own mother while she slept in a mistaken attempt on her elder sister's life, that Bae'Akorwae finally was victorious. Micar'shalee, was struck down by her two remaining sisters, receiving near fatal wounds. She was then cast aside by the House and sentenced to death above ground as Bae'Akorwae took command of the family.

After five long years of excruciating suffering and hardening self-reliance did Micar'shalee find herself able to survive. The raw hatred burning in her belly only grew with a more intense fire as she wandered from night to night, until her bleeding eyes were finally able to brave the sun's light. Her loathing of the surface races festered and spurred on her nocturnal massacres; Micar'shalee would descend upon villages and slaughter for the sheer release that orgasmed deep within her. Her love of torture was further nurtured as she evolved from her mother's chief executioner to a virulent butcher. It could be said that this drow's only pleasure was derived from the panicked screams of her prey as they laid an inch from death.

Through dreams Micar'shalee believes that Lloth is communicating with her. Sending her visions of human female warriors dressed in red; Micar'shalee awakens only with the images of their burning bodies deliciously lighting her memories. Dream after dream, the tableaux pulsate with a more violent pace, Micar'shalee rousing in a sweat, her heart racing. Day after day, Micar'shalee can hear the divine voice of Lloth booming into her consciousness. Her dreams grow more and more vivid, the burning warriors in red now have faces as they scream out in terror. The sort of terrified cries that only echo deep within Micar'shalee's dark heart and between her thighs. The apparitions inundated her waking mind after weeks of becoming her constant sleep companions.

Lloth then began to push her in a direction, almost literally, to the East. For months, Micar'shalee traveled almost exclusively by night, driven by her dreams from the previous day. The women in crimson burning, and two new pieces of Lloth's puzzle: a pair of scales and the skeletal ram's head. The disparaging drow didn't understand, but she trusted her goddess implicitly, just as her goddess counted on her for absolute obedience. Theirs was a partnership of divine veneration, and sanctified destiny.

Micar'shalee had arrived in the city of Rhy'Din.

The hollowed out shell of a building deafly echoed the drow's silent footsteps. Though Micar'shalee, having ears trained in the Underdark, heard her own steps sounding like steel armor on a tin roof. She got the uncanny sensation that something else down here had the same senses that she did. The drow felt as if something were watching her, waiting for her to cross some sort of line in the sand.

Micar'shalee finally let her nose lead her down to the lower floors. She left the upper and common floor when she found a peculiar stairway; she had seen it before. The once ornate carvings and crown molding at the arch of the doorway were details from her dreams she had often seen in her waking moments over the past two weeks. The stairs themselves, even their creak seemed familiar. Surely Lloth was beckoning her onward.

Her nostrils flared, the warrior recognized a coppery scent mixed with the putrid chaser of rotting meat. Whatever was down here had a voracious appetite.

The Beast within knew that a distinguished guest was fast approaching. Not one from far above.....but one who used to reign far below. A dark elf........this fierce killer wrapped in the tight ebony skin of a subterranean hunter......a Drow.

It was a female Drow at that........Nocent knew this arousing detail for sure. In accordance with the details of her vivd dreams, Nocent could smell her savory form even from here........a sickly perverse scent which embraced the evil Priestess like a leathery set of cloying bat's wings.

When she ultimately reached the bottom of the lengthy stairway, the Drow warrioress quickly spoke to the silent gloom in her harsh native language. Now, Nocent was no stranger to the callous Drowish tongue.......both figuratively and literally.

For many, many months on that accursed Island of Scathach did she amorously lie with her estranged love, Umrae'diira.........and as fate would have it, her lover was also her willing instructor. During their private time together, the Drowish Judge expertly taught Giminicka much of the difficult language and the subtle gestures of the ruthless dark elves.

This exotic form of communication was intimately shared between them both to ensure that they alone could understand their hushed words when they spoke of their forbidden union......of their growing, taboo relationship. More deep secrets which they could silently keep from the watchful eyes and ears of the other Sisters. Damn them all to smolder and rot in Hell's scorching lakes.

Long nights they spent in one another's muscular arms.......Rae patiently teaching Giminicka the fundamentals of the infamous tongue, and Giminicka sharing her own tongue with the gorgeous Umrae'diira to show her warm appreciation. Endless encounters.....laced with deviant violence and raw sexual force.

That too, was long ago. Warring emotions of the past, wicked desires, and twisted fantasies of her perceived future all clashed together only to quickly rearrange into one unholy monstrosity which Nocent now stoically labeled as 'destiny'.

For right now there was a new dark elf........and, of course, a new Giminicka. Nocent listened carefully, like a poised and ravenous jungle cat, to the intruder's spoken words.......in her sharp mind, she translated them roughly to mean: "Show yourself to me stranger...."

A feral grin split the lips of the savage Priestess of Bhaal. The ever-winding hallways of the sublevels of the IronHelm Flats were quite alluring.......and quite chaotic in their backwards design..........like some demented maze descending further into the tentacles of the unkind shadows. Truly this abandoned building had now become the primal heart of darkness......a womb of veritable evil which was maliciously birthing forth horrors onto the unwitting denizens of RhyDin.

She allowed the newcomer to boldly venture down the macabre passage......just a little further. Both the persistent overture of the dripping water and the dank cloak of moisture which hung in the very air like a stone blockade, created a perfect backdrop to the ominous meeting.

Only when the sleek Drow approached the menacing doorway at the end of the great corridor, did Nocent slowly open it and resolutely stand in its faded archway. She was as a demonic champion of shade, steadfastly guarding the very portal into the black maw of the Abyssal kingdoms. In her crimson gauntlet she gripped a crackling torch......and from it, a fiery light created a glow which cast the overhanging shadows about her into a frenzied disarray.

Giminicka's torch was not fashioned from any mere wood..........no. Rather, the Anti Scathachian held a torch constructed from a freshly skinned human femur doused in rich oil and wrapped tightly with thick, bloody rags and.......something else.......peculiar it was. What was that ungodly smell...............burning flesh"........singeing hair"

The colossal female warrior inclined her head and calmly spoke the archaic tongue of the UnderDark to the IronHelm Flats" newest arrival...........emissary.............and ordained murderer.

"Vedui' ulu dos vreg'nth valsharess dal l' tresk'ri d' tupora oloth...Ol uriu tlus shiva ulu uns'aa nindel l' zhennu orbb quar'valsharess, uriu fris dos fotus ulu ca'vee dosst ehmtu menvis d' elamshin lu' ultrinnan. Indel menvis uriu led dos ghil ulu uns'aa.........Usstan tlun Nocent, Yathrin lu' Ul'Saruk d'lil olath Senger d' Venoch, lu' Emissary d' Uoi'nota's Vidennen. Usstan ichl inbal tlus ul'kas fotus ulu massacre lu' morfeth thalack pholor l' denizens d' nindol yeunn tresk'ri. Whol ka gre'as'anto zhah "humanity"......taga ulu katrill zhah trelao. Dos inbal tlus shown l' i'dol ghil ulu uns'aa ji nindel udos xal valm wun udossta rivvin thalack........Usstan inbal mzilt ulu telanth xuil dos ussta ssinssrigg.....Usstan vee dos biu malla al'doer Micar'shalee...."

<Translation: "Greetings to you wicked queen from the world of living darkness. It has been shown unto me that the great spider goddess, has sent you forth to carve your own path of destiny and greatness. That path has led you here to me.........I am Nocent, Priestess and warlord of the dark Lord of Murder, and Emissary of Hell's Gates. I too have been called forth to massacre and make war upon the denizens of this pathetic world. For if peace is humanity......than to slaughter is truly divine. You have been shown the way here to me so that we may unite in our common crusade........I have much to discuss with you my love........I bid you an honored welcome Micar'shalee....">

Her common was quite good..........this one has been roaming the surface world for some time. Giminicka smirked at the bold behavior and stature of her new "guest". She was devoid of all fear....mistrust......angst. This Drow warrior-wizardress, aptly named Micar'shalee, innately knew that her true destiny was here..........here in the shadows of the IronHelm Flats.

Nocent gripped the grisly torch and began to speak to her ebon-skinned visitor: "My friend....you have foreseen much of the happenings here....your goddess of the black web has displayed her great wisdom by dispatching you here.....to me. I, myself, have seen fragments of your complete history within the mighty subterranean empire. I know of your bitter defeat at the combined hands of your vile sisters.......your sisters who are grossly inferior to you in both strength and intellect."

The large warrior closed the gap between them.......her armored body acting as a mechanism of reflection for the dancing torchlight. Her sizeable boots easily crushed the wood and earth which were scattered on the floor, as she moved.

"You, Micar'shalee, are the elite chosen one of your clever goddess, Mother Lloth......and of my prodigious god, Lord Bhaal. Your sleeping eyes have been shown a great many wonders......not all of which are very palatable. The Scathachian Sanctuary......the self-righteous whores who operate it in the name of 'justice'.....their gathered friends.........murder......torture......death........your future allies...........me.......and, of course, our magnificent forthcoming crusade laden with smoldering flames. These events are in your recollection.....I will simply fill in any lingering voids which you may have."

Without any sudden action, a crimson gauntlet was gently placed upon the muscular shoulder of the Drow sorceress. Emerald eyes, which brimmed with the storms of hatred and rage met the spidery eyes of this woman, "Poison Gaze".

In her succulent, but affirmative voice, Giminicka once again spoke, "You wish to know of our crusade.......it begins right here in RhyDin......within the walls of this wretched city. It consumes innocent lives......it births insurmountable sorrow.......it savagely sheds blood........oh yes...so much glorious bloodletting.

Before all is done, my love.......mighty demons themselves shall be invoked from the blackest pits of Hell and the shrewdly hidden Island of Shadow shall be left in utter ruin. Our foes, these Scathachian priestesses and their miserable allies have taken great effort to establish their order here......an order which we shall peel back like so many layers of ripe, moistened flesh. Their resolve and loyalty is quite impressive.......but far from untouchable by the skulking fingers of unadulterated evil.

That accursed Sanctuary.......I shall infiltrate their very home here in RhyDin. Hungrily shall we gnaw at their exposed innards while our forces continue to brutally strike at them from the darkest recesses of the night. I vow that the Sanctuary of this false goddess shall be razed to the very ground.....into the forgotten dust.

In addition to these joyful measures, the serene abodes of those foolish enough to ally with them shall be obliterated without clemency. Indeed......all monuments will be sinfully decorated in the sodden blood and eviscerated organs of our enemies and their contemptible bastard children.?

Giminicka extended her long arm towards the bulky entryway from where she originally emerged to initiate this conference. There was then a chilled breeze which seemed to sharply roam through these abandoned corridors.......a breeze with no obvious beginning and seemingly without a traceable end.

The darkness enveloped Micar'shalee like a long lost lover, and she returned the adoration in kind; her steps guided her smoothly around the fringe of torchlight as she listened to Nocent speak. The woman addressed her with confidence, to be sure, a natural grace of the tongue. Intriguing. For in Micar'shalee's dreams the woman had never spoken. However, upon hearing her now, the drow admired what she heard. She was also, without blame, curious about the offer before her. 'Darex D'Barra' (and in her own tongue no less) seemed too good to be true. And as most folk with even a meager amount of sense knew, many things that seemed too good to be true, usually were.

Still, Lloth had pushed her here, had guided her steps to this very basement. Of that she was sure. The seeds had been planted, it was the seedling that now was about to push through the fertile soil

"You speak of weaponry, and of reclaiming my house. You, who would address me so informally as 'love' and know so much of what is hidden from others, you only serve to spur on my own thoughts on this matter, the matter of the crimson women of my idle dreams. Your offer is hinged upon what I know of you, and whether or not I deem your intentions to be worth my efforts." The drow stalled her movements to regard this red-headed Valkyrie, wondering if she did not try to slay her right now, if that was what Lloth had truly intended all along. She dismissed the thought. Every ebon fiber of her being vibrated, every notion whispered seductively into her mind to take the offer. Lloth would be praised. "I will see this shield first, then make my decision."

Keeping her eyes clapped on the tall Nocent, Micar'shalee closed the short distance to the door and only when she turned the knob with gauntleted fingers did she pull her poisoned gaze away from the woman to look upon the contents that awaited her. In truth, she was salivating from proposition, her very core was pulsating with a hunger she had only felt once before in her life. And that incident ended very happily indeed, with blood running over her black skin.

Tried, tested and true, the sturdy legs of the drow moved her forward into the room. The shield stood like a masterpiece beyond price in the center of the murky room, like a flower yielding the first droplets of dew up to the light of the rising sun. It was a weapon unlike any she had seen before, even in the creative confines of the Underdark. The shield, by its appearance, would fulfill the roles of both offense and defense; the serrated edge would surely spill as much blood as it would safeguard against.

Micar'shalee moved to encircle this would-be gift, letting her ebony fingers trace the upper border of the wartime treasure. "Natha ssin ke," a lover's whisper to an impassioned mate*. It would have perhaps occurred to her that the darkness of the room echoed back her whisper, that is, if she were truly detached from the object. Instead, however, the shady confines of the room answered her. "'Zil ssin'urn 'zil l' uss vel'uss orn'la ragar ultrinnan xuil uns'aa."**

Micar'shalee inhaled a skidding breath, her heart leapt at the lover's answer to her compliment. Blood boiled beneath her heated skin, the rage she had felt upon her mother's murder at Micar'shalee's own hand and her elder sister's ascension of the head of her House was once more renewed. Visions stirred through her mind's eye, she saw Bae'Akorwae's headless body fall. She saw her own return to the House of Barri'und, victorious and unprotested. She saw the crimson women from her dreams melting...drowning in pools of blood and from this pool did she see Nocent, the woman who awaited her decision, rise and come forward. Nocent's form blazed with the fires of Hell and smoldered with the supremacy of Lloth, for she wore around her head, a halo dipped in the black tongue of the Spider Queen.

It spoke to her once more..."Gultah phor dosst quortek, plynn vel'bol zhah belbaunin, lu' doera l' ditronw'urn kult'ressin."***

Micar'shalee, second born of the House of Barri'und, took up the shield at the prompting of her Goddess. The firm straps conformed to her burly arms, as if it were created for her and only for her. The heat from the bracings seemed to burn through her arm and up to her shoulder. Only a slight sting remained on her upper left shoulder as she hefted the shield and turned to face the door through which she had entered. The figure of her newfound ally Nocent, draped in the fires of Hell and the black halo of Lloth, faded to reveal only the statuesque woman whom she had first met in the dingy surroundings of these Iron Helm flats.



*"A beauty, indeed." **"As beautiful as the one who would find victory in commanding me." ***"Offer up your soul, seize what is given, and become the rightful ruler."

The weight and heft of Darex D'Barra settled onto Micar'Shalee's resilient arm. Her shoulder eased into its new partner, as if each had been incomplete without the other. The darkened skin of her face pulled and stretched with an eerie smile; Micar'Shalee lifted her milky gaze to Nocent. A warming oscillation rode through her core as the women locked eyes; a partnership was born.

With long fingers regripping the seductive weapon, the drow moved foward towards the tall redhead. "This gift, is no gift. It is a payment," her stoic diction clipped each word as her gaze bore into Nocent. "I am no fool."

After a slight pause which she employed to let those last words sink in, the follower of Lloth continued, "And while I am not one to expect something for nothing, I am one to enter business ventures with an educated agenda. You speak of oaths and service to 'your Lord.' And in exchange this weapon, this Darex D'Barra is made one with me, to be mine."

She was not so naive as to think that the searing pain felt up her arm was anything less than significant as she and the weapon bonded. "This bargain, this truce..." opalescent eyes glanced down, then proudly met Nocent's face, "...is acceptable."

Black muscled legs moved several steps closer, the Drow was face to face with the Anti-Scathachian. And while Micar'Shalee had to lift her chin to gaze upon the taller woman's expression, she still thought herself just as powerful (if not more so now) than this mysterious female who had haunted her dreams for the last several months. Just as Micar'Shalee had bonded with Darex D'Barra, she now stood ready to bond with Nocent. Her newly acquired weapon on her left arm, her right arm lifted to grip Nocent's shoulder. Micar'Shalee's fingers pressed and clutched the iron fibers, in almost a massage-like hold. "Dalninin, siyo. Ori'gato mina doer."* The white of the drow's teeth glinted from the torchlight and illuminated the sullen darkness of the basement room.

Hell had smiled.

* "Sisters, yes. Let them come.?