Severing the Thread of Hope.
The dingy cell had never seen light, Slalre was sure of it. The sweat that covered her body had matted her hair and made her situation more uncomfortable. Inside she wondered how it could have happened, how her bound slave could have betrayed her!
Her slave! The former wizard whom she had claimed as a battle captive was her prized possession. The binding she had placed upon him only allowed him to use his magic in certain situations, yet he had broken it.
The night of the betrayal had been like any night. She had been bathing and was no preparing her self for trance and her battle-captive came into. She gave him a simple order and he obliged. Then she was thrown into the wall by magic. Once she had brushed her hair away from her eyes, she saw her mage casting again. She leapt up and charged at him, drawing the dagger-concealed in her gown as she moved. Slalre was not fast enough, as the spell struck her unconscious.
That damn slave had turned her over to her daughter. How could that little imbecile of a daughter have known how to break the binding she had placed?
Using her darkvision, Slalre, had determined that the cell was deep enough to hold about ten drow if it was filled to the brim. The far end had been burned and some charcoal was littering the floor. She couldn’t reach the far end due to her shackles.  
Every so often, the priestess had prayed. Prayed that Lolth would give her a chance of escape so that she could prove her worth. Her mace, dagger, plate mail and wand had been taken from her. If only she could reach the far end of the chamber and use a piece of charcoal from the floor to wright a divine glyph of transport.
Suddenly she hear foot steps and the cell door swung open revealing a muscular male dark elf wearing adamantine armor and carrying a staff. He pressed the staff at the shackle around her neck and Slalre felt the magic course through her.
Slalre’s shackles unlocked and a magical cord bound her neck to the staff. The male dragged her through the black stone corridor and up several flights of stairs. They cam to a large oak door the shimmered with magical protection. The male turned to her and smiled.
He swiped the staff bludgeoning Slalre on the head.
She fell yet oddly she felt no pain. When Slalre opened her eyes she couldn’t see. A swirling cloud of darkness filled her vision. The cleric heard the door swing open and felt a painful tug on her neck as she was dragged forward.
“Matron Mother” a deep voice spoke, Slalre knew it belonged to the male that had been dragging her.
“Leave Zvrandir no males are permitted past the door” a new female voice snapped in a commanding tone. Slalre felt the male brush past her as she left. Again, she was dragged through a doorway, the cold metal of the frame brushed her arm.
  The darkness covering Slalre’s eyes was dispelled the moment she passed through the door. What lay before her inspired fear in her heart and it took her great effort to effectively conceal it. Another lightless chamber met her dark-seeing eyes. It was perfectly round and in the center, a spider-shaped altar stood with a holy icon of Lolth at its head. The icon was a great black spider with the head of a beautiful female drow, a dark smile etched on her face.
Including the Matron whom had dragged her, eight matrons where in the room. The matrons where from the eight ruling houses, their piercing eyes glaring with her like daggers. The one whom had brought her shoved her forward onto the altar.
Slalre heard the door swing closed behind her. Web-like strands crawled up from four of the spider’s legs, incarcerating her wrists and ankles. A new strand originating from the spiders mouth tugged her matted hair and finally settled around her neck.
“Slalre Grestina” the ruling matron spoke her voice making the fear in Slalre’s heart swell. “You have been captured and held for acts against the Weaver of Webs.”
Slalre resisted cursing. That bastard of a slave, he must have told them about her prayers to Vhearaun and Selvetarm. The priestess began imagining several ways she could enjoy the slaves’ death; several options came to mind.
The continued speech of a harsh voice split her from her reverie.
“…are to be sacrificed for your blasphemous acts. Proceed!” the first matron called and her and the other matrons began chanting. The fifth, sixth, seventh and eighth matrons came forward, small knifes drawn.
Slowly they began carving religious symbols into her flesh, the pain made Slalre want to attack them but the webbing held her truly in place. The wounds where shallow yet blood began to trickle out of her wounds.
Once the symbols where covering her limbs, she was stripped of her clothes and the ritual proceeded. Now that the markings dominated her flesh the chanting quickened in pace. The two highest matrons cast their spells, draining the very essence of life from her left leg. The next two cast and stripped the life from her second leg. The next killed her left arm, the fourth her right.
Unable to contain the fear and pain that had been locked up inside her, Slalre gave the matrons their satisfaction by screaming. Uttering a prayer to Eilistraee, whom she had been studying, Slalre felt the power undoing the bonds restoring life to her body, healing her wounds.
The priestess leapt up from the altar, the mixture of sweat and blood dripping from her body. Fire zoomed past her as she ran for the door, conjured by a matron. The door swung open and Slalre fled. Before she could reach the second door, a horrible pain struck her in the back.
An instrument of murder had struck her back. The weapon impaled her, the point of the object protruding between her breasts. Slalre coughed up blood and collapsed the magical weapon vanishing as her life left her.

The matrons where exhausted when they returned to the ritual chamber to end the rite. Before the last syllable was uttered, each matron was dead. Killed by their goddess her self who had killed them as they had allowed a worshiper of her daughter to go unchecked. Such is the way of the drow…