“This is the third one this week Z’hinsol.” Said the dark elf Varthen Moonweave glowering down upon the corpse at his feet, flanking him on either side stood a highly trained bodyguard. “It’s only fair that I tell you that if things continue on like they have someone is going to start asking questions.” He glared, “And were those answers to lead to you and the rest of The Three Merchant’s Shipping Company I would be most displeased.”

Z’hinsol looked up with a detached expression from the body of his fellow Ghaunadauran and lifted an eyebrow. “You would threaten me Varthen? Surely you let your growing arcane power go to your head.” The priest wore a half smiled as he spoke, a sly expression that screamed that he knew something that you didn’t, it was a smile he knew to unnerve Varthen. “But you make a fair point. Nothing good can come of these deaths; the Council of Slime might even be so bold to question my competence as their high priest.” He shook his head, a motion that looked as though it might send his gaunt form tumbling to the ground. “I’ll have to consult with Ghaunadaur upon the matter, that is if S’rafrin wasn’t able to find out anything either.”

“It matters not to me.” Replied Varthen with an upturned nose, “So long as your faith doesn’t seek to turn its ire upon the company. However as long we’re on the subject why don’t you seek out Aldier if your own magic fails to get the answers you require. Much as I dislike the ass his mind magic might be able to accomplish what arcane and divine may not.”

“Perhaps.” The Ghaunadauran priest shrugged and looked back at the wizard, or rather at his guards. “It would seem you’ve become much more wary as of late.” Varthen snickered. “Wait a few moments more and I’d be more than willing to accompany you back to the house. I told Harn and Illmyrn to meet me there.”

“Illmyrn?” Asked the wizard. “Isn’t he that ooze? Bad enough that you keep the company of duergar but must you associate with that…thing? By the gods he’s barely sentient.”

“Ah yes but that is more than most of his kind can claim is it not? For whatever reason Ghaunadaur has bestowed a great blessing upon Illmyrn, and for that I as a priest take note.” The priest couched down next to the dead Ghaunadauran’s body and whispered a prayer before tapping his body lightly, whisking him away to the hidden temple where the priests and wizards would seek to learn the identity of his murderer. Z’hinsol already knew that they’d fail just as they had with all the other bodies.

“Bah, you’re half ooze yourself of course you think he’s blessed.” Spat Varthen referring to Z’hinsol’s abilities as what was commonly referred to as a slime lord.  “Why anyone would worship that ball of gunk is beyond me, but no matter, come, let us be going.”

“Do not think to give me orders Varthen, I reminded you that I hold an equal place among the company as yourself, you’re not my superior.”

The dark elf laughed and smiled at the priest, as if to mock him. “Of course you are Z’hinsol, I would never imply otherwise.” His tone said otherwise.  Z’hinsol shook his head and followed, he could trust Varthen he believed, so long as he didn’t threaten the stability of the company they and Aldier had worked together to build.

All three of the partners had gone into the venture for their own selfish reasons of course, Varthen’s however just happened to be the one most tied to the company’s success. Z’hinsol had helped build the company in hopes of funding the Elder eye’s faith, Aldier to gather together the dwarves of the city and Varthen to use as a shield against those who would seek to kill him.

Each of the three knew of the others reasons and none of them cared, so long as their goals were not threatened. The partners were far from friends but they were, at the very least, allies, parasites feeding off of each other to increase their own strength.

“Are you coming master Z’hinsol?” The priest looked up to regard the man in front of him, one of Varthen’s bodyguards. Reflecting the light of various bits of Faerie fire were the man’s black scales, contrasting his pale human flesh. A half-dragon the priest knew, the bodyguard wore a katana at his side and the clothes he wore beneath his pifawei seemed more attuned to the lands of Kara-tur than the Underdark. Racking his brain the Ghaunadauran finally recalled his name, Malvaius he’d joined the company a few years back. Looking down he saw the small iron band given to all surface races that served the company sitting upon his pointer finger, gifting him the ability to see as through he were a drow.

“Yes, lead on.” Answered Z’hinsol. The quartet, Z’hinsol, Varthen and his two guards continued on for some time in silence.

****

Unbeknownst to the trio they were expected up ahead along the road.

The gnoll mercenary smiled to himself and hefted his axe upon his shoulder; his employer had paid him a fortune for this one job. Though the up front fee had been less than he would’ve liked the gold he’d be getting after the deed was enough to make him drool. And such a simple task! A pair of drow and their bodyguards, it was a job that he and his posse were more than familiar with. Under normal circumstances he wouldn’t dare to take a job without first meeting the employer first but the messenger, a friend of his, had sworn the man to be good to his word.

Next to him he heard his goblin ally laugh, a lycanthrope the small humanoid was more than a match for any dark elf. “They approach.” Whispered the gnoll his sharp sense of hearing catching their banter racing upon the air.

“Time to split some skulls than.” Laughed another of the gnoll’s companions, a tiefling swordsman, his very presence filling the air with the stench of brimstone. The tiefling’s pet hellhounds growled in unison next to him. He whispered something to the hounds in infernal that the mercenary didn’t recognize.

“Quiet!” He barked, “They come, ready your crossbows.”

****

Z’hinsol’s head snapped up as he caught the sound of a crossbow bolt being released. Acting upon instinct he threw himself the ground, his frail form crashing against the ground in a balanced roll, he didn’t often have to resort to physical combat but when he did he knew what to do.

Finding Varthen and his guard’s one step ahead of him he grasped the holy symbol hanging around his neck and began to pray, just as their adversaries appeared and rushed them.

Rushing to Moonweave’s side the wizard’s bodyguards left him completely open, Z’hinsol sneered. Glaring at his adversary, a gnoll with a two handed war axe held within his grasp, the priest took a step back and finished his prayer. Z’hinsol gasped as he felt the familiar touch of his god’s power coursing through his body, rushing towards the palm of his right hand. A brilliant light materialized there awakening a look of fear in the gnoll’s frenzied glare. “Now.” Z’hinsol brought his palm up and stared directly into the beast’s eyes, “Pray. Pray for all that you are worth.” A blinding ray of light pierced the natural dark of the Underdark in pursuit of the gnoll desperately trying to throw himself out of the way.

But he was to slow, the beam of divine energy slammed into his scarred breastplate and sent him tumbling to the ground, smoke struggling to rise up out of the many cracks and scars that decorated the piece of beaten muscle. His tongue rolled of his mouth and his breath became pained as he struggled to push himself up. He lifted his head weakly to look at the priest facing him, Z’hinsol nodded, the fact that he’d survived that attack proved him stronger than most of his kind, he could respect that. The priest turned his nose up as the stench of burnt fur hit his nose.

“Get up. It’s time to face your maker.” Rage filled the gnoll’s eyes as he struggled to his feet.

“Damn drow.” Muttered the wounded creature, “Your kind and there damn superiority complex…It’ll be the death of you one day.” He chuckled, a pit of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. “Just like it’ll kill you today.”

Z’hinsol’s eyes widened as he heard something sounding suspiciously like a roar behind him. “Oh hell.” Spinning on his right heel his hand dropped to the hilt of his rapier, it was halfway out of its scabbard when the hellhound crashed into him, knocking him to the ground. A purple light surrounded the dark elf as the hound struggled to rip out his jugular, one of the divine effects of his pifawei. Growling as the force of the Hellhound’s body crashed against his arm as it reached for his rapier he screamed as the force and angle of the hound’s charge broke his wrist despite his protective spell. But even as his back collided with the ground and the first wave of pain coursed throughout his body emanating from his broken wrist he began a spell.

“What now priest!” Barked the gnoll as he chocked down a healing potion.

“This.” Replied Z’hinsol calmly, his spell finished. A glowing green mass of energy formed above the hound’s head and took on the shape of a flail. “Goodbye.” The priest wormed his good hand up and waved farewell to the infernal beast atop him, just as the divine flail cracked open its skull.

The momentum of the flail’s strike sent the beast tumbling to the side, off of the priest. Slowly, and with his good hand the Ghaunadauran pushed himself up and looked the gnoll in the face. “Who was it that you said was dying today?”

Acting upon natural instinct the mercenary charged forward axe held high for an overhead strike, looking to kill him before he could cast another of his spells. Z’hinsol shook his head and whispered a single word beneath his breath, causing the ring upon his right hand to glow. Ignoring the pain coming from his wrist he watched the gnoll’s blind charge with a bit of amusement.

Dark energy formed around his hand like a cloud in response to his ring’s magic, bits of what appeared to be purple lightening lingering around it, lighting his ebony features. The gnoll closed within striking distance and brought his axe around in an attempt to rip the drow’s head from his shoulders. Z’hinsol smiling and stuck his arm out, discharging the energy hovering around his hand in a beam, stopping the gnoll in his tracks.

“I don’t appreciate being mocked assassin.” Z’hinsol looked up at the gnoll towering over him watching with dry amusement as he axe fell to the ground. “And neither does my god.”

The mercenary however couldn’t hear him, couldn’t hear anything after all he had far more pressing concerns to worry about than the dangerous elf in front of him. His shredded heart being one of them, blood flowed like water from his jaws and without a word he fell to the ground.

“Nicely done sir.” It was Varthen’s other bodyguard, a human wearing clothes too big for him, a spiked mace gripped firmly within his hand. Z’hinsol saw that he wore the same ring as Malvaius.

Casting a healing spell he gripped his wrist with his other hand and smiled as he felt the bones knit themselves together. “Soldier.” He stretched his wrist, hearing a series of satisfying pops. “Perhaps you care to explain why you’re just standing there? And why you didn’t help me?”

The human didn’t look away when Z’hinsol met his gaze, “Sir I was busying checking the area for any additional threats.”

Varthen walked up behind his bodyguard, “Good job Calven. I take it you weren’t hurt in the scuffle than Z’hinsol?”

“A broken wrist.” He replied, “But no nothing fatal, no thanks to you.” Varthen smiled, Z’hinsol frowned, since when had Varthen grown so arrogant?

“Good. Now than why don’t we search these bodies and see if we can’t find out who ordered these men to attack us.” He looked around, “Now if only I knew where Malvaius disappe—“

“Sir.” The voice of the half dragon suddenly manifested itself behind them as he appeared in a swirl of darkness. A shadowdancer noted Z’hinsol silently. “I think you might want to see this.”

****

“You know this man?” Asked the half dragon, a drop of blood rolling off his Katana’s tip, blood that belonged to the dead man in front of them.

“Yes.” Answered Z’hinsol kneeling over the corpse, holding the dead man’s necklace up for a closer look at the pendant that hung from it. “I never would’ve thought,” He ripped the necklace off of the deceased priest’s neck, Ghaunadaur’s holy symbol dangling from the end of it. “to think that the killer was one of the faithful…”

“Unfortunate.” Agreed Moonweave. “But at the very least you now know where to look, unless you honestly believe this man—“

“Sesaven.” Z’hinsol spoke without thinking raking his brains for why the man would want him dead, as a minor priest he stood no chance of assuming Z’hinsol’s position so why. “His name was Sesaven.”

“Yes, well, thank you for that little tidbit of information than.” He coughed, beginning again where he left off. “But now is the time to turn your reach inward, I don’t think this man was alone in his plot, someone else must have plotted this whole thing.”

“Agreed.” Z’hinsol looked down upon the priest and cursed the shadowdancer who’d killed him, why couldn’t he have kept him alive for questioning? The buffoon!

“I’d advise you to stop sending your priests out to find new followers in the richer sections of the city as well, you wouldn’t want some noble hearing about the cult—I mean, church from a traitor.”

“Agreed, now come let us be gone. I wish to meet up with Harn and Illmyrn as soon as possible, I need to get this whole mess settled as soon as possible.”

“By all means, the sooner this whole mess comes to a close the better.” Varthen motioned for his human guard, Calven, to lead the way.

****

“I’m not surprised.” Said the gray dwarf Harn, patting the haft of his battle-axe with his shield arm, “Drow, you just can’t trust them.”

Z’hinsol shook his head, “Well, thank you for that enlightening speech about my kind Harn, I appreciate your racism.” Z’hinsol briefly rubbed his chin. “But you are right, we live in a society bred for betrayal, the problem is there’s no motive.”

“True.” Answered the third of the trio, Illmyrn, by all appearances a dark elf dressed in the rust colored robes of a wizard, though in truth an ooze blessed with sentience by Ghaunadaur. “Sesaven was new to the priesthood so he stood to gain nothing from your murder, but perhaps position within the church wasn’t what he was vying for.”

“You think he was a traitor than?” Asked Z’hinsol, “It’s possible but if one of Lolth’s had managed to infiltrate our temple than why are we still standing? Surely they could do better than a lowly band of mercenaries.”

“Well,” Spoke Harn, “Who says he was one of Lolth’s? There are several other deities and groups that would benefit from the destruction of Ghaunadaur’s faithful. Kiaransalee perhaps? Once the temple falls apart all of the remaining Ghaunadaurans will be ripe for conversion.”

“It’d make sense.” Agreed Illmyrn. “But let’s not jump to conclusions.”

“Yes.” Answered Z’hinsol, “Let us hurry to the temple.”

****

“We failed.” Said a dark voice in an angered tone, his figure shrouded in the darkness of the room. “Z’hinsol yet lives and Ghaunadaur’s faith continues to spread.”

A second figure, the leader of the group, smiled and sipped from a wine glass. “It was never my intention to kill the priest.” He chuckled as if the idea was absurd, “Those third rate mercenaries never stood a chance of killing Z’hinsol, and I never intended for them to.”

“Than why?” Asked a third, very bored, voice as he fiddled with the long sleeves of his shirt. “What was the purpose of hiring them than? And who was that priest that Malvaius killed?”

“All in good time my friends, but needless to say there is more to my plan than you seem able to grasp.” Stated the man sipping from the wine glass. “But alas we’ve other matters to attend to, show Karvos in.”

Both of the figures moved towards the door opening it to reveal a nervous goblin dressed in tattered robes waiting nervously. The goblin’s hand dropped to one of the wands at his belt as a human hand closed around the collar of his robe and dragged him into the room. “Don’t even think about it.” Said the human as he all but threw him to the floor.

The goblin wizard let out a submissive yelp and moved his hand away from his belt. “Yes sir.” He bowed to the figure with the wine glass, his forehead tapping against the black shag of the room’s carpet.

“No need for that Karvos, I’ve called you here to ask for a favor actually.” The figure stepped forward and tilted his head in respect, Karvos found himself baffled.

“M—me sir?” The goblin pointed at his chest unbelievably, “What could I possibly do to aid you?”

“Oh it’s nothing much, I just need you to deliver something to Z’hinsol for me. Can you do that?” He reached into his pifawei and produced a necklace made of corded leather. “I’m afraid I angered a few of the priests over at the temple and wouldn’t want to cause any trouble by going there in person. You do worship Ghaunadaur do you not?”

“Ye—yes sir.” He held his palm out and the figure waved it away, instead opting to place it around Karvos’ neck.

“It provides protection from scrying, Z’hinsol commissioned me to craft it, a reward for one of his students I believe.” The figure backed up a step as if to admire his work hanging around the goblin’s neck. “Can I trust you Karvos?”

“Certainly sir. I will see to that the high priest has the necklace in his grasp within the hour.”

The figured downed what was left of his wine and smiled. Karvos beamed.

****
Z’hinsol allowed himself a small smile of pride as he and comrades stepped into the Ghaunadauran tavern that served as a gateway to their temple. Using funds from The Three Merchant’s Shipping Company and their many illegal activities he’d purchased many such taverns in the Braeryn. From there it hadn’t taken him long to convert them into safe houses for the Ghaunadaurans of the city, of course that hadn’t been his only purpose for the investment.

The Braeryn was filled to the brim with the poorest of citizens, each of them stuck in a hole so deep they’d never escape it without aid. And if there was one thing Z’hinsol knew it was that those down on their luck were the easiest to convert. That was the genius of the venture, not only did the taverns in time pay back his investment but he, in turn, used them to convert the various drunkards and druggies that hung around them.

It hadn’t taken him long to build up a substantial base of power for Ghaunadaur, and they only continued to grow stronger as time passed. And as their power base had matured in the Braeryn they’d become more daring in their recruitment, reaching up into the social ladder for new converts.

Looking about the tavern he recognized many of the faces sitting at the bar, of course none of them spoke to him openly. It had been one of the first rules he’d set up in an attempt to stop the Lolthites from discovering them, the only time one spoke of the church was in the temple or in private. Of course everyone broke the rules, even he, but for the most part secrecy was maintained and that was what mattered.

Ignoring the many patrons he moved to back and threw open a door leading to the cellar Harn and Illmyrn followed him down. Again Z’hinsol couldn’t help but congratulate himself on his own brilliance as his foot met the bottom step of the stairway. Speaking Ghaunadaur’s name backwards a rune inscribed on the back of the carpeted staircase erupted with azure light, and Z’hinsol disappeared followed soon after by his companions.

Coming out on the other end of the spell in perfect stride he paused briefly to shake away the teleport sickness. Beside him he heard Harn grunt in annoyance as he came through, followed soon after by a distasteful snicker by Illmyrn.

“Laduguer’s influence I’ll never get used to that.” Groaned Harn.

“It is most unpleasant.” Agreed Illmyrn, “However effective.”

“Exactly and however awkward it works, and that’s what matters.”  He smirked, “Now come, let us see if we can’t located Kelven, he was the man in charge of Sesaven’s assignments. Perhaps he’ll be able to give us some insight in to why he was there.”

****

Kelven, like Z’hinsol, was a slime lord only unlike the priest his proclaimed skill set revolved around the art of assassination not divine power. It was his job to teach choice converts the art of infiltration and disguise so that they could move about within the noble houses and carry out Ghaunadaur’s will. Whether that was the death of priestess or the conversion of a weapons master did not matter.

Kelven himself was adorned in his usual leather armor died purple and short swords, along with a black sash with the symbol of Ghaunadaur imposed upon its center. He currently lectured on the value of a well-hidden knife in case of discovery, spotting Z’hinsol however he stopped and set them to practicing.

“What can I do for you Lord Z’hinsol?” Asked the instructor.

“Sesaven.” Stated the priest. “Do you know where he’s supposed to be right now?”

The slime lord paused to think for a moment, more than a bit curious as to the strange questions. “He should be on bar duty at one of the taverns I believe, why the sudden interest?”

“Bar duty you say? That’s strange, considering he just got done trying to kill me.” Z’hinsol’s tone was flat, sharply contrasted Kelven’s confused snort.

“What? You’ll forgive me if I have a hard time swallowing that last bit, he hardly seemed the time, far to cowardly.”

“It was him.” Affirmed the priest. “He apparently took it upon himself to hire a band of mercenaries to kill me. One of Varthen’s pet swordsmen found and killed him while scouting the area.” At the mention of Moonweave’s name the assassin’s features turned sour, it was a usual reaction to the dark elf’s name he was far from liked within the church. Welcomed yes, kindly no.

“Have you consulted with Ghaunadaur yet?” Questioned Kelven, thoroughly confused. “Perhaps a bit of divine guidance could supply some answers.”

“No I haven’t had time, but you can rest assured I plan on it.”

****

Karvos smiled brightly as he saw Z’hinsol leave one of the instructor’s classrooms, he’d never been in that one but he could clearly identify it by the dagger carved into the door. No, he was a wizard taught by Halvion who was in charge of educating all of the new converts with a talent for the arcane. He’d always been smarter than most of his kind but still it had been shocking when they picked him to receive the training, elevating him above the filth of Braeryn and giving him power. Even being given a well paying job by The Three Merchant’s Shipping Company. Words could not describe the sense of pride he felt every time he cast a spell, bending the weave to his will, to his power.

But perhaps it was that same intelligence that made him so wonder as to why he’d been told to deliver the necklace. He’d be clear on the other side of the Braeryn when he’d received the summons. He shook his head, no matter the master had probably just wanted another like himself to carry out the duty.

“Lord Z’hinsol!” He called for the high priest who turned around and looked at him with a quizzical look, recognition filling his eyes a moment later. Karvos’ smile grew wider, the most favored priest of Ghaunadaur in the temple knew who he was!

The annoying gray dwarf that Z’hinsol always seemed to keep around stepped in front of the priest, tapping his axe against his shield. A spell jumped to the front of his mind ready to strike out at the insolent duergar but he stopped himself. “What do you want goblin?” Asked the dwarf in the harsh tone of his people.

“Now no need for that Harn.” Said Z’hinsol, Karvos didn’t notice the way he held himself ready to strike though. “What is it Karvos?”

The goblin took the necklace from around his neck, “I was told to give you this by maste—“ He stopped suddenly as the corded leather of the necklace grew as hot as heated metal, dropping it to the floor just as it released the spell pent up within it.

A flash of white filled the goblin wizard’s eyes followed only by the darkness of death.

****

Z’hinsol cursed as he saw Karvos drop the necklace to the floor in pain, steam rising from his burnt hands. He knew what was coming next but hadn’t the time to protect himself as the pent up energy was released.

Luckily for him though Illmyrn was there. Thinking quickly the drow-ooze tackled Z’hinsol to the ground, covering him with his body even as the blast went off. Pain raced through the priest’s limbs despite the fact that Illmyrn covered him and took the brunt of the blow, next to him he heard Harn yell, his eyes were closed though so he couldn’t see where the dwarf was.

Chunks of marble impacted with Illmyrn’s back and Z’hinsol’s arms and legs followed quickly by the choking smoke. A large piece of marble struck his left shoulder, breaking it the Ghaunadauran hissed in pain.

Feeling Illmyrn go limp on top of him he pushed the disguised ooze off of him and pulled him out the smoke with his good arm. Already he could hear the shouts of people rushing to the center of the explosion. “Illmyrn, are you alive?” He asked, the wizard’s arm twitched.

“Of course.” He said, “You forget that I’m not an actual drow, though I will say without healing I might die.” Nodding the priest cast a spell, charging his hand with blue-white energy and placed it on the ooze, discharging the powerful healing spell. Illmyrn grunted and rolled over, looking up at the temple’s ceiling and breathing easier. Casting his own minor healing spell for his shoulder he got up and looked around for Harn.

He was hardly surprised to find him walking towards him, his shield arm hanging limp. Z’hinsol looked at the black markings on the dwarf’s shield and breastplate and suddenly thought about investing in some armor of his own. “And that my dear priest, is why steel will always overcome magic.” Harn laughed and rightfully so Z’hinsol conceded, he was, at least this time, correct.

“Yes I might pick up some chain mail for myself after this.” He silently conceded, “But still this would only seem to confirm that someone within the church is trying to kill me. Using people like Sesaven and Karvos who won’t be noticed to get close enough to me to strike.” He shook his head. “I need to speak with my god. Illmyrn, I trust you can explain what happened correct?” Illmyrn nodded. “Good than Harn come with me, I’ll need you to guard my door.”

****

Z’hinsol sat alone in his quarters sitting crisscross with his eyes closed and a sleepy expression plastered across his face. Harn could be heard grumbling on the other side of the door but the priest paid him no heed, there was a much more important voice for him to listen to.

Listening to Ghaunadaur was, like any god, a different experience than merely speaking to another mortal. It was a conversation as much of brief images and emotions as it was of words, though they were there on occasion.

Feeling the oozing tentacles of Ghaunadaur’s mind reaching into his own Z’hinsol cleared his thoughts of anything not of importance. Feeling the wasteful thoughts of his mind pulling away into a little alcove of his consciousness the priest brought his memory back to the point where he, Varthen and his guards had been ambushed.

His thoughts grew heavy for a moment as if they were covered in ooze prompting a smile from Ghaunadaur’s priest. His god was with him he knew, it was the greatest feeling of his existence every time he felt that ooze that told him of Ghaunadaur’s favor, the favor of the god who rescued him.

He would do anything for That Which Lurks.

A sudden image began to build itself within the priest’s head allowing him to see what had already been.

Sesaven sat alone in a tavern not owned by the movement sipping from a rancid looking ale, Z’hinsol could’ve sworn he saw it bubble. Soon after taking his first sip of the liquid a figure clad in a many-pocketed pifawei approached him, his hood was pulled low over his face.

The Ghaunadauran priest looked up at him and asked him something, Z’hinsol couldn’t hear, apparently sound wasn’t a part of the vision. The stranger replied and took a seat across from Sesaven, the two spoke at length with exaggerated hand motions coming from cloaked drow. The two seemed to meet an agreement and the drow whom he couldn’t fully make out tossed a small bag onto the table, payment no doubt. Sesaven reached for it just as the vision changed.

The same figure from the bar slowly crept up behind a dark elf that Z’hinsol recognized as one of many slain priests that had been popping up. The man seemed oblivious to the figure behind him holding a dagger hidden by the folds of his pifawei. Z’hinsol knew what was coming as the stranger grabbed the priest by his hair and pulled his head back to reveal his throat, which he promptly cut. The image faded.

Karvos stood in a long room that Z’hinsol recognized from somewhere, the floor was covered in black shag and there was a long table taking up the center of the room. Again he found the same figure there along with two other people but their forms were blurred, no doubt by Ghaunadaur himself to test his faithful’s cunning. The figures spoke briefly with an obviously scared Karvos before the drow from before, the killer, placed a necklace of corded leather around his neck. Z’hinsol recognized it as the necklace that had almost killed him. The spoke a few words more before Karvos left, the murderer laughed.

Z’hinsol felt Ghaunadaur’s presence leave him and opened his eyes, a fire burning within the confines of his crimson eyes.

He knew who was behind the murders, and he knew that going after him could well lead to his own death. Nonetheless, in the name of his faith he would see the drow dead for his betrayal.

****

“Master Z’hinsol why are you here?” Asked The Three Merchant’s Shipping Company guard. “Is there a problem?”

“I need to speak with Varthen.” Answered Z’hinsol calmly; he motioned towards the tower carved out of a stalactite that they stood below. “I may be needing his help with something.”

“And will they be coming with you?” He gestured to the three people behind him, Harn, Illmyrn and Kelven from the temple.

“Yes, I’m afraid I never know when I might be attacked.” The robed priest gripped his holy symbol to accentuate his point.

“Very well than, just step over onto that platform there and speak S’rafrin’s name, he should let you up.”  The guard gestured with his bastard sword to the round platform behind him. Z’hinsol and the rest of his band nodded their thanks as they moved past.

“S’rafrin.” Pronounced the priest, almost instantly aware of the effects of the now active scrying spell in place. It would appear S’rafrin Druu’gir, the wizard who controlled the tower and the eldest son of his house, was inspecting them. Z’hinsol and Harn had met him several times before and Illmyrn had worked together with him on some query from Sorcere.

Feeling the spell end Z’hinsol was hardly surprised a second later when he felt himself being teleported. Shaking off the disorientation that accompanied the spell the Ghaunadauran stopped to look around the library he found himself in.

Malvaius and Calven stood off in the corner seemingly off guard while Varthen sat at a table reading from a book, S’rafrin stood in front of him waiting for him. The old dark elf smiled, creating even more wrinkles around his mouth. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit Z’hinsol?”

The priest returned his smile while his companions wandered off. “I came to ask Varthen’s help with something and heard he was over here.”

“What is it?” Asked the arcane trickster without looking up from his book, his shoulder length white hair obscuring his remaining eye. “Don’t tell me you found out who was behind those attacks already.”

“I did.” The priest announced.

Varthen looked up and closed his book, bringing his pipe up from underneath the table and up to his lips while he kicked his feet up on the table. “And? Who was trying so hard to off you?”

“Why don’t you tell me Moonweave?” Z’hinsol’s posturing became more threatening.

“I see.” Emptying his pipe the one-eyed merchant stuffed it into one of the many pockets of his pifawei. “Obviously you figured it out so there really is no use denying it.” He rose from his seat and walked the table, drawing a pair of wands as he did so. “You know…I never meant for it to come to this, all I wanted to do was stop you from going to deep and revealing your whole cult.” He shrugged. “A few deaths to save your entire movement as well as my own hide and the whole of The Three Merchant’s Shipping Company. It seemed a fair trade to me.”

Z’hinsol brought to mind a powerful slaying spell; he’d already cast his share of protection spells before coming here. “What do you mean save the movement? All you’ve done is kill its members.”

“Maybe so. But it had to be done. Your recruitment strategy reaches too far, for Vhaeraun’s sake you’d try and convert Baenre if you had access. No, someone would’ve caught you the way you’ve been operating, and the pending investigation would’ve led back to the company and ultimately back to me.” Varthen shook his head, “And I can’t be having that my friend. Thus I set up this whole thing, I killed all those priests, I told Sesaven to be waiting on that street, I hired the mercenaries and I gave Karvos that necklace. And my purpose you ask? To stop you from showing your hand to the enemy in your rush to collect the pot.” Z’hinsol began to speak but Varthen cut him off, “But alas here we are, my good deeds wasted as you come to strike me down for my Blasphemy. It really is a shame but I’m afraid I’ll have to kill you now.”

Z’hinsol reacted quickly stepping backward and beginning his spell, but he was too slow for Varthen’s wands. Unleashing the power of his first rod Z’hinsol found himself bathed in a thick sticky grease, he closed his eyes in time to stop it from getting in them. Thinking slyly the wizard used his second wand to fire off a burning lance of fire at him. His protective shield of divine energy stopped the fire from burning him but not from igniting the grease that coated him.

The flames popped and sizzled against his spell shield leaving the priest unharmed, however the flames dancing before his eye blocked his vision. Cursing he dropped his spell, it would do him no good if he couldn’t aim or hear Varthen’s voice with the flames crackling all around him.

But fortunately for Z’hinsol he didn’t need to see Varthen to guess as to what his next move would be. Acting upon instinct the priest threw himself to the ground just in time to avoid the dagger soaring past him. Rolling back up to his feet he reluctantly reached for his rapier, he wasn’t a fan of melee combat and had no desire to dual with Varthen sword to sword but he had no choice.

However Varthen didn’t do as Z’hinsol had thought he might, which was to say close with him and attack with his short sword. But had instead disappeared from the priest’s sight.

Reacting calmly and with the intuition of a battle-hardened soldier, which in a sense he was, Z’hinsol spun uttered a single, purely chaotic word. Moonweave, standing behind the priest with his sword held ready to split the Ghaunadauran’s skull, stumbled backwards and clasped his ears.

The confused dark elf made for an easy target as he desperately tried to recover his wits, Z’hinsol smiled. Reaching up towards the roof of the Underdark he drew forth the divine might of his god with a mumbled incantation. He giggled with glee as he felt his dark god’s power flooding his being justifying his existence.

Answering his call a glossy red glow engulfed his upraised hand, holding it in front of his eyes he reached out and grasped Varthen Moonweave by his hair. Instantly the energy discharge and raced down his white locks to slip within his physical form, the dark elf’s form grew rigid as his body and mind struggled with the magic.

Blood escaped from the merchant’s lips in tiny sprays that stained the front of Z’hinsol’s robe, not that he cared as he tightened his grip upon the dying elf’s hair.

Or at least, he thought he was dying, something he found to be wrong as he glanced down and saw Varthen’s hand twitch a little to purposefully. Bringing his hands up to slam against the Ghaunadauran’s chest, a cone shaped blast of cold funneling forth from between them.

Gasping in shock Z’hinsol took a knee and released his hold upon his opponent’s hair. Damn! He shouted within his head, have to think fast. However looking up he saw Moonweave in much the same shape as him, gasping for air apparently his spell had done enough damage to stagger him.

Z’hinsol kept enough mind to back away; from a distance he knew he had the advantage. Feeling his boot connect with something behind him the priest looked down to see a line of spider silk; following it he found it was connected to Varthen’s thrown dagger.

Looking back he saw Varthen lift his head and smile from between blood coated lips at him as he tugged his hand. Z’hinsol realized that the string was tethered to Varthen’s hand as the dagger whipped past him, stepping to the side he managed to avoid having it cut him, but only just in time.

Reaching up Varthen snatched it out of the air by the tip of the blade, quickly sending it end-over-end once more at the priest, only this time Z’hinsol was off balance. It connected, though only narrowly as it cut into his arm and continued past, but it was enough.

Z’hinsol struggled to bring forth some sort of mental defense to shield himself from the potent magic he knew to reside in the blade. The priest had known Varthen for a long time and had seen his dagger in action before and knew what it could do upon contact.

However none of this knowledge served to help him as his limbs froze in place as if held in place by ice. Z’hinsol screamed in despaired on the inside, his lips and tongue paralyzed by the dagger’s spell, he’d failed his god. “It’s over priest.” Gasped Varthen wiping the blood from his mouth with a smirk, flash of white beneath ebony skin. “To think it would have come to this.”

Z’hinsol screamed in despair and pain as he felt the tip of a katana burst from his chest. Dimly aware of his surroundings the priest noted that it had been Malvaius who killed him, not Varthen.

****

“You know I must admit.” Z’hinsol’s eyes snapped open, he felt wrong and it wasn’t just the burning agony of his wounded chest. “You don’t look halfway terrible for a dead man.” The priest recognized Harn’s harsh voice. “Course still not half as good as you did with a sword through your chest if you ask me.”

Z’hinsol leaned forward into a sitting position and growled. Varthen hadn’t killed him, nor had his bodyguard. Illmyrn had even managed to teleport him back to one of the taverns without spilling all of his organs, however some rather unique methods had been applied to keep him from deaths door.

Absently he reached up to feel the bite marks upon his neck suddenly feeling the need to feed. Varthen would have to die of course though the undead priest didn’t dare set foot on Three Merchant’s ground to get at him. Still he was sure he’d find a way so long as Ghaunadaur willed it to be so.

“Yes Harn.” Replied the vampire, “I know.” Feeling his stomach rumble he sneered, he’d starved before but this was a different kind of hunger. It would take a little getting used to but this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing he knew, in fact some might consider it a gift. A personal present given to him through his god’s sly workings alongside a bit of wisdom.

Moonweave had been right though, he was pushing the movement to fast, he needed to slow down. Of course that didn’t mean the merchant was justified in his actions, never that. Z’hinsol silently thanked his god for his dark gift realizing the power it would give him.