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A male. I still can't believe it.

Ironic, really. Personally I think I've adapted fairly well to this new world where humans rule, the Underdark does not exist, strange gods lurk quietly in the background, and magic has been superseded by incredible science and technology. Hells above, I'm even using a PC to type these musings up.

And yet I simply cannot believe that the most powerful person in this world and the bearer of my goddess' mark is... a man. Who thought one could be so capable?

Poor old Priestess Allythus. She simply wouldn't be able to comprehend this place. Just the thought of a world where Lolth held no sway would make her tie someone down and whip them until she was damp in the leggings before she calmed down.

I almost miss the sadistic old bitch. Almost.

The hag always thought I was her pet, her trained attack lizard to be kept chained up until it was time to unleash it on the bitch's enemies. A loyal slave...

She forgot something: I am drow. We do not submit. We wait.

I intended to drive this point home with her, specifically through her fifth and sixth ribs, shortly after my latest mission. The setup could not have been sweeter: Allythus was so convinced of her control over me that she let me sleep in a tiny antechamber of her quarters, leaving me full access to both my blades and her supple, undefended arteries. With the old bitch out of the way my co-conspirator, a subordinate priestess named Eresthika, could formally seize control of the temple. The look on her face, when her mistress' supposedly mute killer stole into her quarters one night and eloquently offered her a golden deal, will be a joy that will last until my dying breath.

From there Eresthika would extend diplomatic entreaties with several houses Allythus had quarreled with in the past who were likely plotting to retaliate against the temple. She would offer those houses the temple's support in their other dealings, with the reminder that Allythus' secret weapon (being myself, of course) could either be pointed at them or their enemies. Obviously, they would choose wisely. Thus Eresthika would solidify my initial power base, which would continue to grow until a supposedly simple girl born of common lineage would control the greatest dynasty the Underdark had ever seen.

At least, that was the plan.

The mission was so simple: border patrols had reported sightings of a group of strange human spellcasters holed up in several caverns between us and the illithids' territory. The fact that these patrols often returned with casualties made it clear these humans could be a problem, and when problems arise, that's when people come to me.

After setting out and reaching the spellcasters' camp, I admit even I was taken aback by their appearance. They dressed like savages, barely covering themselves with straw, wood, feathers, and paint. Even more surprising was the number of undead minions they had at their beck and call, doing all the gruntwork around the camp. Of course, zombies are mindless and possess subpar senses, so it was rather easy to sneak past the perimeter sentries unseen. From there I intended to find a good spot to listen in on the humans' plans and ascertain their motives before beginning the murder.

As I infiltrated the camp I noticed a bright, flickering light coming from a side passage, so using the shadows and a spiderwalk spell I traversed the cavern ceiling undetected to investigate. There I beheld a great, shimmering white portal, through which undead minions emerged from, carrying supplies.

This just made the situation more intolerable. Portals were always bad news, like that yugoloth-summoning fool Sy'vaniel who used them last century. It now did not matter what these humans were planning, I intended to stop it. Brutally, if at all possible.

I was just about to find the right spot to begin killing when something new came through the portal. At first, it looked like a great wooden shield floating in the air on a pinkish aura of magic. Squinting at it revealed it to be a mask, carved with the love and precision only a savage can muster, depicting an amused face with hollow, empty eyes. Hollow, empty eyes that were locked with my own.

Knowing my cover had been blown I moved to flee, but suddenly my mind was filled with a presence that was not my own. I gasped; psionics! The Forgotten Art, that which has not been seen in the Underdark in five drow lifetimes. By the cruel whim of Lolth, it was likely the one thing Mother never prepared me for.

My mind detached from the real world, I hardly felt myself detach from the ceiling and hit the ground. My thoughts were flooded with the grandest of my personal fantasies, only taken to levels my imagination could only dream of. Complete rule of the Underdark, my name permanently etched into the flesh of history, my mother's veneration as a hero of the drow people, and my ascendance to demi-goddess among the gods. Totally glorious... totally rotheshit. The mask creature clearly delighted in filling my head with these dreams and then ripping them away, waiting just long enough to let the anguish sink in before starting over. Left helpless, I was quickly bound and blindfolded by the humans before being taken through the portal.

When I finally came to I found myself chained to what had to be a stone sacrificial altar. One of the shamans stood over me, and in a butchered, bastardized version of drow explained my purpose here. Apparently the dark gods his little band worshipped had grown fat on human souls, so I was to provide a little variety in their "diet". I did not give the wretch the satisfaction of a response, instead vowing to give these supposed dark gods a wicked case of indigestion.

The ritual got underway and for my own amusement I heckled the cultists, yawning at their dramatic speeches and laughing mockingly. One tried to gag me, but that just cost him a finger. Then the mask creature entered the room and I fell into unwilling compliancy.

As the ritual resumed, however, there came great sounds of violence and crashing from somewhere in the building. The cultists scrambled to escape, but the door was reduced to splinters by what looked like a female ogre. It was huge and heavily muscled with a shock of wild, untamed hair. Upon its dynamic entrance it leaped at the mask creature and with a moment's effort snapped it in to two inert chunks of wood.

Soon enough the ogre had taken care of the cultists and came over to me. Being able to get a good look at her finally I was shocked to see she was human; there's no mistaking that moronic, naïve smile some of them have.

I feigned fear and helplessness in order to foster sympathy with the overgrown human, and in no time the gullible dolt had snapped my chains. I smiled and nodded my thanks before lunging left, snatching up a knife dropped in the fight, and flinging it straight for the woman's head. I was not about to be in the debt of some human freak, after all.

I was already sprinting for the door when I heard the knife clatter to the floor instead of the meaty thunk of a body hitting the ground. Still, it had given me time to escape the room and start navigating the strange hallways with their long-abandoned furniture. Finally I spotted a door that looked like an exit and raced for it, shouldering it open...

... only to feel the full wrath of that giant ball of gasses the surface races love so much. That wasn't the main issue: Mother had made me train heavily under the accursed sun so while it was unpleasant, it was manageable. No, what really struck me was the assault on my other senses: the roar of car traffic, the thudding of helicopter rotors, the smell and the taste of air pollution, all the little things the natives ignored were overloading my senses worse than the mask creature did. Thus, I passed out under the sun's cruel, unrelenting gaze.

When I awoke I was indoors again, except with harsh artificial light pouring down on me. I was restrained and seated at a table, and across from me was her.

The Axe of Dawn. Darkscourge. Fist of the Self-Righteous. These are some of the names my people have given to the human paladin Kala Dawnslight, a pox on Drow-kind and whose axe, it is said, has cut the flesh of Lolth herself. And now she was staring down at me. I'd rather have an irate deep dragon fix me with its gaze than hers.

Darkscourge spoke with another human, keeping her eyes on me at all times. From what little I could glean from the conversation it seemed as if they weren't sure what to do with me and had brought Darkscourge in for her oh-so-unbiased opinion.

She waved the little man off and gazed even more intently through me. Then, in perfect, accentless Drow, she spoke to me.

"I have heard tales of some of your kind redeeming themselves to walk the path of light, dark elf. I can tell by looking at you that you are not one of these cases."

Darkscourge then rose and came around the table to me, pulling aside the rough cotton jumpsuit the humans had me wear in a brusque examination of me. When she was done she returned to her chair and locked eyes with me again.

"No house emblem tattoos. I take it you are just a lowly commoner, then?" she asked with a voice thickly laden with disgust. I wanted dearly to answer the human's insult by leaping across that table and ripping her throat out with my bare, "lowly" hands, but I restrained myself. Mother taught me better than to make a blatant open assault like that.

"A shame, really," Darkscourge babbled on, "I have known several commoner Drow who, after being used and abused by the houses, realized what a joke your aristocracy is and sought refuge on the surface. But judging from the gear brought along with you by the Banished Pantheon, and reviewing footage of your attack on Ms. Hitdoll, you appear to have looked up at the petty power struggles of the houses and wanted to carve yourself a piece of it."

There was a silence, only broken by a guard coughing.

"You can correct me if I'm judging you inaccurately," Darkscourge offered pretentiously. I refused to give her an answer. The disgust on the human's face turned from disgust to something worse: pity.

"Very well. Hopefully in time you will realize that your new home has different rules than your old one, and adapt yourself accordingly."

Just as she got up to leave, I made my move.

"Crow Wing Pass," I whispered.

Darkscourge froze and looked at me.

"You fought Arisanthee Widowfang there. She was my mother," I smirked, savoring the moment before making the killing stroke, "You cost her both legs, Darkscourge."

I waited for the remorse, the dread, and the shock to settle onto her smug, pale-skinned face. I waited in vain.

"Do you want me to apologize for it?" she asked simply.

"I want you to die for it," I answered back simply.

At that, she just smiled smugly and gave a quiet, arrogant chuckle, then looked me dead in the eyes.

"Who do you think gave her the amulet of regeneration that let those legs grow back?"

I knew it had to be a lie, but I was still taken aback. Thinking about it, Mother always had a tingle of admiration in her voice when she spoke of Dawnslight, and she never gave me a straight answer as to how she obtained that amulet of hers... no. Mother never lied to me. She trusted me, just as I trusted her. The bitch was lying.

"You should leave lying to professionals, paladin," I sneered back, "Your attempt at it is feeble, at best."

"Yes, I suppose that isn't much of a falsehood now is it?" she said slyly with an insufferable wink. She let that hang in the air a moment before continuing.

"As I said, Taltha Widowfang, you are in a new world with a new culture that is completely different than what you are accustomed to. Since returning home is not likely an option, you had best learn to fit in. I am hopeful, but not expectant, that you will do so."

And at that she left, taunting me by turning her back to me as the guards dragged me away.

I quickly discovered I could claim a moral victory over Darkscourge, however: the "culture" in prison was much like that back home, and I wasted no time asserting myself. It was soon after mastering the humans' blunt, clumsy tongue that I learned of Arachnos.

Even now I still have to marvel at it: the rivvin here had somehow created an excellent (though inferior, naturally) facsimile of drow culture, right down to the veneration of spiders. I marvel, but I also suspect: this is too perfect a copy to be accidental. Thus, I have an overreaching goal above all others here on Earth: the investigation of Lord Recluse. Is he a pretender to Lolth, or a possible threat to her? Could he simply be a guise Lolth uses in this world to exert her will? Hells above, he may even be a potential mate for the Demon Queen if these rumors of demi-godhood are to be believed. The possibilities are vast in number and the truth bears being sought out. Thus, I am prepared to work my way through Arachnos, one slashed throat at a time, until the day I can look Recluse in his human eyes and find the truth for myself. From there, things are bound to get even more interesting.

There is one nagging thing in the back of my mind, however, that gives me... concern. Yes, nothing weak like doubt or worry, simply cautious concern.

... how did Kala Dawnslight know my first name?

Description
A male. I still can't believe it.

Ironic, really. Personally I think I've adapted fairly well to this new world where humans rule, the Underdark does not exist, strange gods lurk quietly in the background, and magic has been superseded by incredible science and technology. Hells above, I'm even using a PC to type these musings up.

And yet I simply cannot believe that the most powerful person in this world and the bearer of my goddess' mark is... a man. Who thought one could be so capable?

Poor old Priestess Allythus. She simply wouldn't be able to comprehend this place. Just the thought of a world where Lolth held no sway would make her tie someone down and whip them until she was damp in the leggings before she calmed down.

I almost miss the sadistic old bitch. Almost.

The hag always thought I was her pet, her trained attack lizard to be kept chained up until it was time to unleash it on the bitch's enemies. A loyal slave...

She forgot something: I am drow. We do not submit. We wait.

I intended to drive this point home with her, specifically through her fifth and sixth ribs, shortly after my latest mission. The setup could not have been sweeter: Allythus was so convinced of her control over me that she let me sleep in a tiny antechamber of her quarters, leaving me full access to both my blades and her supple, undefended arteries. With the old bitch out of the way my co-conspirator, a subordinate priestess named Eresthika, could formally seize control of the temple. The look on her face, when her mistress' supposedly mute killer stole into her quarters one night and eloquently offered her a golden deal, will be a joy that will last until my dying breath.

From there Eresthika would extend diplomatic entreaties with several houses Allythus had quarreled with in the past who were likely plotting to retaliate against the temple. She would offer those houses the temple's support in their other dealings, with the reminder that Allythus' secret weapon (being myself, of course) could either be pointed at them or their enemies. Obviously, they would choose wisely. Thus Eresthika would solidify my initial power base, which would continue to grow until a supposedly simple girl born of common lineage would control the greatest dynasty the Underdark had ever seen.

At least, that was the plan.

The mission was so simple: border patrols had reported sightings of a group of strange human spellcasters holed up in several caverns between us and the illithids' territory. The fact that these patrols often returned with casualties made it clear these humans could be a problem, and when problems arise, that's when people come to me.

After setting out and reaching the spellcasters' camp, I admit even I was taken aback by their appearance. They dressed like savages, barely covering themselves with straw, wood, feathers, and paint. Even more surprising was the number of undead minions they had at their beck and call, doing all the gruntwork around the camp. Of course, zombies are mindless and possess subpar senses, so it was rather easy to sneak past the perimeter sentries unseen. From there I intended to find a good spot to listen in on the humans' plans and ascertain their motives before beginning the murder.

As I infiltrated the camp I noticed a bright, flickering light coming from a side passage, so using the shadows and a spiderwalk spell I traversed the cavern ceiling undetected to investigate. There I beheld a great, shimmering white portal, through which undead minions emerged from, carrying supplies.

This just made the situation more intolerable. Portals were always bad news, like that yugoloth-summoning fool Sy'vaniel who used them last century. It now did not matter what these humans were planning, I intended to stop it. Brutally, if at all possible.

I was just about to find the right spot to begin killing when something new came through the portal. At first, it looked like a great wooden shield floating in the air on a pinkish aura of magic. Squinting at it revealed it to be a mask, carved with the love and precision only a savage can muster, depicting an amused face with hollow, empty eyes. Hollow, empty eyes that were locked with my own.

Knowing my cover had been blown I moved to flee, but suddenly my mind was filled with a presence that was not my own. I gasped; psionics! The Forgotten Art, that which has not been seen in the Underdark in five drow lifetimes. By the cruel whim of Lolth, it was likely the one thing Mother never prepared me for.

My mind detached from the real world, I hardly felt myself detach from the ceiling and hit the ground. My thoughts were flooded with the grandest of my personal fantasies, only taken to levels my imagination could only dream of. Complete rule of the Underdark, my name permanently etched into the flesh of history, my mother's veneration as a hero of the drow people, and my ascendance to demi-goddess among the gods. Totally glorious... totally rotheshit. The mask creature clearly delighted in filling my head with these dreams and then ripping them away, waiting just long enough to let the anguish sink in before starting over. Left helpless, I was quickly bound and blindfolded by the humans before being taken through the portal.

When I finally came to I found myself chained to what had to be a stone sacrificial altar. One of the shamans stood over me, and in a butchered, bastardized version of drow explained my purpose here. Apparently the dark gods his little band worshipped had grown fat on human souls, so I was to provide a little variety in their "diet". I did not give the wretch the satisfaction of a response, instead vowing to give these supposed dark gods a wicked case of indigestion.

The ritual got underway and for my own amusement I heckled the cultists, yawning at their dramatic speeches and laughing mockingly. One tried to gag me, but that just cost him a finger. Then the mask creature entered the room and I fell into unwilling compliancy.

As the ritual resumed, however, there came great sounds of violence and crashing from somewhere in the building. The cultists scrambled to escape, but the door was reduced to splinters by what looked like a female ogre. It was huge and heavily muscled with a shock of wild, untamed hair. Upon its dynamic entrance it leaped at the mask creature and with a moment's effort snapped it in to two inert chunks of wood.

Soon enough the ogre had taken care of the cultists and came over to me. Being able to get a good look at her finally I was shocked to see she was human; there's no mistaking that moronic, naïve smile some of them have.

I feigned fear and helplessness in order to foster sympathy with the overgrown human, and in no time the gullible dolt had snapped my chains. I smiled and nodded my thanks before lunging left, snatching up a knife dropped in the fight, and flinging it straight for the woman's head. I was not about to be in the debt of some human freak, after all.

I was already sprinting for the door when I heard the knife clatter to the floor instead of the meaty thunk of a body hitting the ground. Still, it had given me time to escape the room and start navigating the strange hallways with their long-abandoned furniture. Finally I spotted a door that looked like an exit and raced for it, shouldering it open...

... only to feel the full wrath of that giant ball of gasses the surface races love so much. That wasn't the main issue: Mother had made me train heavily under the accursed sun so while it was unpleasant, it was manageable. No, what really struck me was the assault on my other senses: the roar of car traffic, the thudding of helicopter rotors, the smell and the taste of air pollution, all the little things the natives ignored were overloading my senses worse than the mask creature did. Thus, I passed out under the sun's cruel, unrelenting gaze.

When I awoke I was indoors again, except with harsh artificial light pouring down on me. I was restrained and seated at a table, and across from me was her.

The Axe of Dawn. Darkscourge. Fist of the Self-Righteous. These are some of the names my people have given to the human paladin Kala Dawnslight, a pox on Drow-kind and whose axe, it is said, has cut the flesh of Lolth herself. And now she was staring down at me. I'd rather have an irate deep dragon fix me with its gaze than hers.

Darkscourge spoke with another human, keeping her eyes on me at all times. From what little I could glean from the conversation it seemed as if they weren't sure what to do with me and had brought Darkscourge in for her oh-so-unbiased opinion.

She waved the little man off and gazed even more intently through me. Then, in perfect, accentless Drow, she spoke to me.

"I have heard tales of some of your kind redeeming themselves to walk the path of light, dark elf. I can tell by looking at you that you are not one of these cases."

Darkscourge then rose and came around the table to me, pulling aside the rough cotton jumpsuit the humans had me wear in a brusque examination of me. When she was done she returned to her chair and locked eyes with me again.

"No house emblem tattoos. I take it you are just a lowly commoner, then?" she asked with a voice thickly laden with disgust. I wanted dearly to answer the human's insult by leaping across that table and ripping her throat out with my bare, "lowly" hands, but I restrained myself. Mother taught me better than to make a blatant open assault like that.

"A shame, really," Darkscourge babbled on, "I have known several commoner Drow who, after being used and abused by the houses, realized what a joke your aristocracy is and sought refuge on the surface. But judging from the gear brought along with you by the Banished Pantheon, and reviewing footage of your attack on Ms. Hitdoll, you appear to have looked up at the petty power struggles of the houses and wanted to carve yourself a piece of it."

There was a silence, only broken by a guard coughing.

"You can correct me if I'm judging you inaccurately," Darkscourge offered pretentiously. I refused to give her an answer. The disgust on the human's face turned from disgust to something worse: pity.

"Very well. Hopefully in time you will realize that your new home has different rules than your old one, and adapt yourself accordingly."

Just as she got up to leave, I made my move.

"Crow Wing Pass," I whispered.

Darkscourge froze and looked at me.

"You fought Arisanthee Widowfang there. She was my mother," I smirked, savoring the moment before making the killing stroke, "You cost her both legs, Darkscourge."

I waited for the remorse, the dread, and the shock to settle onto her smug, pale-skinned face. I waited in vain.

"Do you want me to apologize for it?" she asked simply.

"I want you to die for it," I answered back simply.

At that, she just smiled smugly and gave a quiet, arrogant chuckle, then looked me dead in the eyes.

"Who do you think gave her the amulet of regeneration that let those legs grow back?"

I knew it had to be a lie, but I was still taken aback. Thinking about it, Mother always had a tingle of admiration in her voice when she spoke of Dawnslight, and she never gave me a straight answer as to how she obtained that amulet of hers... no. Mother never lied to me. She trusted me, just as I trusted her. The bitch was lying.

"You should leave lying to professionals, paladin," I sneered back, "Your attempt at it is feeble, at best."

"Yes, I suppose that isn't much of a falsehood now is it?" she said slyly with an insufferable wink. She let that hang in the air a moment before continuing.

"As I said, Taltha Widowfang, you are in a new world with a new culture that is completely different than what you are accustomed to. Since returning home is not likely an option, you had best learn to fit in. I am hopeful, but not expectant, that you will do so."

And at that she left, taunting me by turning her back to me as the guards dragged me away.

I quickly discovered I could claim a moral victory over Darkscourge, however: the "culture" in prison was much like that back home, and I wasted no time asserting myself. It was soon after mastering the humans' blunt, clumsy tongue that I learned of Arachnos.

Even now I still have to marvel at it: the rivvin here had somehow created an excellent (though inferior, naturally) facsimile of drow culture, right down to the veneration of spiders. I marvel, but I also suspect: this is too perfect a copy to be accidental. Thus, I have an overreaching goal above all others here on Earth: the investigation of Lord Recluse. Is he a pretender to Lolth, or a possible threat to her? Could he simply be a guise Lolth uses in this world to exert her will? Hells above, he may even be a potential mate for the Demon Queen if these rumors of demi-godhood are to be believed. The possibilities are vast in number and the truth bears being sought out. Thus, I am prepared to work my way through Arachnos, one slashed throat at a time, until the day I can look Recluse in his human eyes and find the truth for myself. From there, things are bound to get even more interesting.

There is one nagging thing in the back of my mind, however, that gives me... concern. Yes, nothing weak like doubt or worry, simply cautious concern.

... how did Kala Dawnslight know my first name?