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[dingosatemybaby]

<OOC NOTE: You can find the Drow translations at: http://www.grey-comp......r/index.cgi>

Shadows do not exist without the light first giving them birth. But like a sputtering torch burning alone in the dark, light must always fail and eventually surrender to darkness. Sages and Astrologers alike agree that even the cursed yellow ball of fire in the sky must one day consume itself, and with it, all life.

At least, all life on the surface.

For as light fails at the end of each day on the surface, shadows linger above and below, waiting for darkness' reign to begin. And, as the sky's painful brilliance fades and is swallowed by blackness, the heavens come alive with stars.

In Udos Dro'Xun, open aggression among the houses must be done slyly, so no witnesses survive to reveal the game of thrones that the houses constantly play. In Udos Dro'Xun, there are no stars. Only the Matron Mothers, and their yathrinen, who are the living embodiment of the Spider Queen's will. They are the stars that burn white-hot in the cloudless sky of that treacherous place.

But on the surface, the stars that twinkle into being in the evening sky are in truth L' malla elghinyrr. The honored dead. Our ancestors, looking down from the dark heavens upon us and our enemies. The stars bear witness to all, to courage, cowardice, lust, greed, revenge, submission and dominance.

They watch.

They judge.

They wait for our eventual return to the surface, for the darkening of the skies and the fall of the pinkskins. They whisper what they see to the Spider Queen's minions when one of us ventures from our home to prowl among the humanoid infestation living on what was once our home.

"Jal klezn z'klaen el" my people say. All things must die. Here, out beneath the stars, it is no different.

Hours earlier, I scaled the wall surrounding the Elven outpost easily. The shadows are my brothers, and I cloaked myself in them. The sharp eyed Ranger patrols saw nothing, though I passed within yards of them. Had they been unfortunate enough to turn my way at precisely the wrong moment, all they would have seen was a piece of the night drop off the wall and engulf them.

Evasion. Misdirection. Cunning. Patience. Those are the tools of the Ilythiiri as much as the weapons we carry, and we are masters of them all. I did not dare risk raising the alarm, so patience was my armor this night; control my weapon. There were many hours until the sun would begin to chase the shadows away for another day. I hid. I listened. I waited.

And when opportunity presented itself, I moved.

The outpost itself was nestled deep within the Elven realm, in the heart of the training grounds so many newly made Rangers cut their teeth at. As I expected, patrols were casual and light. Infiltration this deep in the "mighty" Elven nation was unthinkable, especially for one of my kind.

If I had let my pride overcome my wits and killed any of the patrols, then surely I would have fallen before I reached my quarry and their beliefs would have been correct. A lone blade slinking into the Outpost was madness. But a lone messenger...well that was a bit easier.

Tonight, at least, that's what I had been. I had been charged with delivering a message. And a lesson.

My orders had come down through one of the yathrinen, and I did not question. I am loyal and obedient as any good male should be. But I have lived longer than most, and that alone shows that I am no one's fool. I have spies of my own both in Udos Dro'Xun and without.

There is a ranger here named Mormont who has been selling information to my sisters' informants for nearly a year. Troop movements. Garrison strengths and positions. Names of ranking officers...and the locations of their families. Greed is colorblind, and the pinkskin's tongues wag just as freely as any when you wave gold and platinum beneath their noses.

The right pinkskin, anyway. My spies tell me that this Mormont has a gambling problem, and owes nearly all his family's wealth three times over to the Thieves' Guild in one of the human cities. In addition to the gold, part of his payment is "protection" and silence from the Guild, but of course, some of them work for my sisters as well. Gold flows freely, and with the information we buy, a few more pinkskins die; a few more villages go unprotected.

A few more forests burn.

Mormont was my target this night. I could not find out details, but it would seem his business arrangements with my sister have turned sour. Perhaps he has second thoughts. He is weak; all pinkskins are. Weak and overconfident.

I went in right in the midst of them, and left as quickly and quietly when I was finished. Outside the walls of the outpost, I paused long enough to open the large oilskin sack that contained my bloody prize. I held the sack up for the stars to see, so that they might bear witness to my success this night.

I had hours before sunrise when my deed would be noticed, but I was thousands of leagues from home. A magical totem I was given brought me back to Udos Dro'Xun in an instant. There would be no hope of pursuit this night.

I am home.

I drag the sack behind me, weary of the night's events. It is heavy, and leaves a crimson smear on the cavern floor as I follow the twists and turns of the passages leading to our house encampment. As I approach the main tunnels, I wrap it in my cloak to prevent a trail any might follow. The bloodstain ends at the center of a four way intersection.

I move east, down a tunnel never used, towards a mammoth wooden barricade blocking the passage. A warning has been magically burned into the wood. The letters glow a dim purple in the darkness, just enough to be seen by Ilythiiri nightsight.

It reads: L' Elghinyrr Yah's Uln'hyrr.

I look for the hidden latch in the barricade, cleverly built to appear as if it were many boards nailed into vertical columns flanking the entrance to the cave. Its the warning that truly serves to ward off the curious...The Dead God's Lair. I press the latch, and pull the entire barricade open just enough to get myself and my bloody package through.

Nearly an hour later, I stand finally at the mouth of The Pit. A great maw in the earth, I truly do not know what lurks down in the darkness, barely visible even to my eyes. But there, in an inky blackness that no light can penetrate, magical or otherwise, something lingers.

Ever since I was blooded and given a blade to carry out my house's vengeance, I brought my victims here. No witnesses. No remains to raise. No bones to summon spirits and put them to the question. Whatever is tossed down in The Pit is consumed....gone forever. As if it never happened.

It is our way.

I kneel down and unwrap the dead thing bundled in an oilsack. My ears are sharp, and I think I hear something skittering far below, making a sucking-clicking noise that I can only describe as...hunger.

Standing, I gaze down at the bloody corpse of Mormont's son. He can be no more than seven human years. His pinkskin was mottled, dark and blood filled, purple bruises and splotches from when I strangled him. The blood came from his ear, which I sliced off after he was dead and left on the pillow in the child's room. Mormont still has uses, it seems...at least to my sisters.

But to me, I was charged only with delivering a message. And a lesson.

Jal klezn z'klaen el.

I kick the sack into The Pit and head towards home.

~ Targaryan Reriethra'viel