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"No!" In that split second, Yshania was unsure as to why she reacted as she did, and indeed as to whether she was too late, but an image of her first meeting with Thalimon coupled with the grief she had felt following her aggressive reaction towards him flashed before her. Yes these were dark times, but something was drawing others here, something beyond the comprehension of the Dark Flames. She had sensed grief, masked by a deep bubbling anger eminate from the new arrival, but no menace as yet towards the Dark Flames. In short, she had not yet confirmed her feelings towards the creature, and was trusting the intuition of her friend, Tashara. How she was hoping she was not wrong.

As the loud report echoed around the caverns, she found herself standing beside Scayde, both of her hands upon the other womans forearm, her weapon raised towards the ceiling. For a moment the two women stood mute, regarding each other, Yshania not daring to look behind her to see if the strange visitor had been hit...but the fact that no dust had fallen from the roof above them confirmed that the missile had not gone too far astray. She was equally concerned for Tashara, but Yshania knew to trust her. Slowly she turned to see both Tashara and the newcomer collapsed to the floor. Now she decided to approach, hoping she was not wrong in having left Tashara alone with the creature, and equally hoping she was not wrong in having attempted to stay Scayde's attack.

He was not *exactly* taking advantage of this sudden distraction. He was thirsty. Thirsty, he guessed, for a little bolstering before facing that which needed to be faced, it seemed. But also a little defiant, and feeling clever that he had stolen this denied liquor! Bloodstalker swiftly turned his back and took a gulp from the flask, a gulp that after a quick moment of appraisal, turned into a slower and more appreciative draught. He hardly stopped to wonder at the properties so rightfully protected by Yshania, “No wonder!” he thought! “Such sweet amber nectar!” He drained the flask, only feeling momentarily guilty. At the sound of the deafening report, and with a leery grin, he turned back to the disturbance. Bemused, his grin faded as suddenly as it had arrived on seeing the activities before him.

Scayde and Yshania appeared locked in some kind of unspoken communication…Tashara and the new arrival appeared to be sleeping in the adjacent cavern. How cute! He smiled again.

“Hi ho!...Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work we go!”

As the party of dwarves turned into the cavern behind him, he swung around “Ah! More arrivals!” he grinned, and marched solidly towards them, humming in time to their battle song. “I should introduce myself!” he thought, accommodatingly.

Hearing Bloodstalker’s out of tune hum and whistle, and seeing his gleeful expression, yet seeing no evidence of the new company he muttered about, T’lainya sighed inwardly, questioning Yshania’s wisdom. “Syrup o’ Dsney?” the priestess muttered under her breath…

A deafening retort unlike anything she had previously heard exploded about her. Dragon Wench, arrow readied, turned to meet the sound, only to see Scayde and Yshania locked in some kind of tussle, and everyone else in a state of seeming disarray. Not wanting to leave the bleeding Nova, she glanced at the small dragon, Axis, who had become a constant companion. The expression in her eyes conveyed that she was in no mood to listen to his objections, and with a sulky droop to his wings he drifted off to discover the source of the disturbance.

Too much was going on around her... and she worried for her friends. Yshania appeared white and profoundly weary; Scayde, still somewhat unsure of her surroundings, seemed wild-eyed and uncertain. And everyone else...
It had been too long since they had all enjoyed simply being together, and the innocence of celebrating life.

Confusion.... if there was one sentiment or emotion that captured all she felt... it was a sense of utter chaos. As Dragon Wench continued to absorb the impact of all she had seen in this new encounter, she struggled against the feeling of floundering in perpetual darkness. It had been this way since they had entered these caverns. Each passage seemed to twist in upon itself, or lead deep into the recesses of uncertainty. Apparent clarity became shadow, light dissolved into obscurity, seemingly tangible solids melted into nothingness.

Her eyes met those of the succubus, and she took in the shoulder that was bleeding profusely; Dragon Wench wished there was something she could do... at the very least she wished she had a healing potion... After their painful sharing of thought, feeling and memories she had come to care for the strange being that had appeared in their midst.

As she squeezed the trigger, Scayde felt someone lunge and grab at her arm causing the shot to hit off mark. She looked to see Yshania standing beside her, both hands grasping at her rifle.

"What are you doing? You could have killed them both!" Yshania asked incredulously as she broke away and started toward Dragon Wench. Scayde stood with a look of shock and amazement. What was I doing ? She thought to herself. Frightened and confused she stood helpless as Yshania headed for Dragon Wench and the creature. Feeling lost, she thought of Bloodstalker. He seemed so normal. So like the people back home. Seeking comfort of the familiar, she turned to him....

Hi ho, hi ho, it's off to work we go...skipp a dee dee, skipp a dee dah, hi ho, hi ho hi ho hi ho...

ok.......She could be wrong...

Gwalchmai spotted the succubus conversing with Dragon Wench just moments before Scayde’s shot rang out through the cavern. Cringing at the unnatural noise, he was temporarily confused. In the silence that followed, a call rang out:

“Demon! Torm’s wrath upon ye!”

Even as the succubus crumpled into Dragon Wench’s arms, Nippy began sprinting toward them, righteous fury contorting his face.

“Nippy! No!” Gwalchmai somehow intercepted Nippy and wrapped his powerful arms around the paladin. Nippy struggled against the stout druid, but Gwalchmai’s feet somehow found solid footing. “Nippy, listen!” he whispered urgently, “The winged woman did not appear to be attacking! We don’t know the situation! We can’t just rush in without thinking, demon or not.”

Nippy continued to struggle, but only half-heartedly as Gwalchmai’s words sank in.

Gwalchmai looked around the cavern in embarrassment, still holding the tall warrior. He tried to shift his grapple on Nippy into a pose that appeared a little less like two grown men dancing, and more like a macho sort of man-hug.

Finally, Nippy calmed enough to be released. “I suppose that Torm’s justice has already been meted upon the demoness, anyway.”

Gwalchmai turned to see a growing pool of blood seeping beneath the winged woman’s body. “She needs healing, and I’ve used up all my curative spells. Where are those clerics when you need them?”

T'lainya looked at Yshania and silently mouthed "Not the syrup d'Dis'ney?"
Yshania grinned sheepishly and shrugged.
T'lainya sighed and took a deep breath. She turned to see BS grinning at something she couldn't see and humming to himself. He hiccupped and turned to the priestess, leering slightly. "You want some of this? It's fanstup ummm incrasto..uh..really good." He staggered a bit and looked at the flask. "Uh oops I kind of drank it all." He leaned towards T'lainya and leered. "You know, I'd even fight the wicked witch of the west for another bottle of this. Hey why's that cat wearing boots?" He started swaying towards a stalagmite. "Hey buddy, where'd you get those boots? "
T'lainya rolled her eyes and looked at Ysh. She saw her friend staring at Tashara and the winged figure near her. The priestess put her hand on her flail and strode forward, cold anger welling up inside her.
She reached the two figures before Yshania could close the distance between them. She stopped and studied them, the bleeding succubus and her friend.
"What have you done to her demonspawn?" T'lainya's voice rang through the cavern as loud and sharp and glacial as cracking ice. The words rolled and rippled through the cavern, a frozen waterfall of power threatening to freeze the succubus in place. The holy symbol the half elf wore hurt her, sending a paralyzing cold through her limbs and membranous wings.
"Speak now or I send you back to the chaos of the abyss!" T'lainya had a grip on her holy symbol, the pendant blazing in the dim light of the cavern, matched only by the fire in her eyes.

Still unsteady, Dragon Wench turned to meet Yshania and T'Lainya. Seeing T'lainya's wrath and Yshania's concern, she quickly held up her hands.

Her voice shaking slightly, she addressed her friends. "It's okay... the Succubus intends no harm.... " Briefly, she described all the creature had shown her.

The two women gazed at her uneasily and exchanged a covert glance. Finally T'Lainya spoke, her voice carefully measured. "This could be a trick, an attempt by our enemies to separate us before they attack!"

Yshania nodded her agreement and gently placed an arm upon her friend's shoulder... "You have been through a lot..." Her voice trailed, unsure how to finish... uncertain how to ask Dragon Wench if she was positive that the angsts she had endured had not began to play tricks upon her mind.

Dragon Wench, sensitive to unuttered gestures or words, wrestled to contain her frustration, but even as she did a flicker of doubt surfaced. Yet, in her heart, she knew that the Succubus had neither engaged in distortion nor deceit. Her expression defiant, she faced the two women, her eyes flashing with anger.

"I have not lost possession of my mind, and the succubus has shown me no illusions! She also needs healing.... "

Galdervan Hurlden was a Deep Gnome on a mission. An illusionist in trade, he had an eye for magic that would rival that of the great human and elven archmagi of centuries past. Like many of his underground gnome brethren, he was much in tune with the great Earthfriend, Segojan Earthcaller. The Earthfriend was often in communication with them in dire circumstances, and so he went calling. The gentle ripples in the earth that could even be fealt in their toes meant that something was quite disturbing. propelled the deep gnomes of Bligdenstone into action, setting up patrols, and one person had to be elected into tracing the disturbance. That one, Galdervan, stepped forward without asking. Though many greater had stepped out of the city on such missions before, Galdervan thought the time for his greatest adventure had come. He had nothing to lose - no family, no great standing within the city, or anything else - and he had begun to see his fate tied to the vast areas of the unforgiving Underdark, whether he appreciated it or not. Sometimes duty called without a pleasant tone, and Galdervan Hurlden had answered.

After having been rescued from the clutches of dilectible Drow Elves, he was greatful to have his life back, along with that of those he was imprisoned with. He had wondered if this disturbance had anything to do with a prison or victim that would suffer even greater than he did. What if a demon had been unleashed underneath Faerun's surface. All of these questions were what truly enticed Galdervan further into taking on this mission for his people. He had known many beings from the surface in past - humans, dwarves, and surface gnomes above all others. If such innocent folks were to be enslaved, he would not stand for it. He may be just one being, not well trained in armed combat, but his magic would warrant a fight that would lend him significant endurance. Still, he could not help but brush a tear off of his stone gray cheek as he looked mornfully away from his beloved home for centuries. He had hopes to return, but knew that he must complete his mission, no matter the cost. And so he marched more than willfully down the ominously cold stone ground, his simple, greyish brown mage robe not making a flap as me moved with nary a sound.

The journey, if it would warrant his survival, would be more than he ever experienced yet. The tremblings seemed to never quell themselves as he continued. Segojan was more than eager to guard his soul.

Bloodstalker was simply appalled. Undoubtably, the flask had contained some mild halucenogenic. At least, he could only hope that was the case what with Gwally and Nippy apparently engaging in some kind of male bonding, Ysh grabbing Scaydes arm at the crucial point of her firing her weird weapon (At least the thing had went off, thrilling BS to no end with the loud BANG sound it made) and T obviously takeing out her frustration over not holding his attention by venting on poor DW. He suppossed he'd have to see if he couldn't get her a pair of boots like the cat had. He wondered momentarily if the cat was related to AC. No, they held their tails differently.

At least the dwarfs and the cat seemed to be unaffected by whatever madness had gripped his friends.

"What madness is this?" He spoke softly.

"Tis evil witchcraft", answered one of the dwarfs between sneezes. "Your friends are under the influence of the most vile artifact in the realms...the Han' o Bobba Rah"

"The what?"

"An evil artifact that colors reality and makes it shift into the fantasy realm. you must find it, and dispose of it before it undos you all"

"Where is it?" BS ased, intrigued. Heros got all the babes.

"Could be anywhere. It changes appearance, but is always carried on the person of one of the afflicted. You will have to search it out. But, perhaps there is a way to ease your search.....

Seek out the mouse"

"a mouse?" BS was appalled.

"Not just any mouse....the Miniature Giant Wizard Mouse...Mickey, you seek Mickey"

Galuf was more lost now than he ever was in any maze a surfacer ever knew or built. Having torn his half linen, half wool tunic into rags to cover many of his bleeding wounds, he didn't have much resources left. No weapons, no armor or spells. All he had was his mind, his remaining strength, and what clothes he had left on his body - his twillen trousers and leather hobnail boots. At this point, he cared more to find a way out than to worry on his appearance, his torso tinted with drying blood, and dust settling in his beard as he traversed the highly uneven territory. Being a dwarf - a race of subterrainean origins - his eyes were quite accustomed to the darkness around him.

As he hoofed and climbed up banks of rough stone, his mind wandered, reflecting on the events of his escape. Despite how much he thought back to what happened, anything past his capture and before being at the entrance of the Duergar citadel was unexplainable. How did he make his way out without getting killed? All he remembers is suddenly being frustrated at finding a way out, and then it was like he lost all train of thought? His head throbbed like he was clubbed over the head with a cudgel, almost vibrating with its intensity.

After climbing a sixth craggy bank, his muscles had enough. The middle-aged surface dwarf collapsed onto the hard rock below his feet. Weariness, even to a hardy dwarf, is nothing to ignore for too long.

From the corners of the craggy cliffs, various creatures looked at the seemingly unusual prey that walked into their hunting ground as a special treat. A certain swarm of Hook Horrors, chattering to themselves in their near-silent clicking sounds, seemed to be the most eager of any beasts that wished to taste such a given morsel.

Still somewhat angered at the unspoken suggestion that she had lost control of her faculties, Dragon Wench glanced about the cavern in an attempt to retrieve her bearings. The Succubus seemed secure upon her perch for the moment, while T'Lainya and Yshania appeared temporarily unsure how to respond to the surrounding madness.

Despite the gravity of the situation, Dragon Wench found herself distracted by Bloodstalker, who was exhibiting some profoundly strange behaviour. Indeed... he had found some sort of halberd in a nearby pile of debris, and seemed to be merrily humming to himself as he industriously chipped away at the cavern's rock wall.

Dragon Wench also noticed the red-headed woman, Scayde, uncertainly making her way towards them. She was carrying the long stick-like thing with trepidation, and it seemed as though it had manifested a slight amount of bluish smoke... not unlike the lingering after effects of a spell.... Sudden awareness dawned and she understood what had happened, she also realised why Scayde looked deeply uneasy. Although Dragon Wench knew nothing of Texas, she did understand what it was to be far away from home and all that was familiar. Looking directly into green, worried eyes, she smiled and motioned for Scayde to join them.

“Should we intervene?”

“No.” The word was clipped… distant. “They do not appear to be in any danger.”

She knew this time would come and she had told herself a hundred times that she would be strong, that she would let the moment pass... that she would not ask. But that was before... before she knew... before she needed to know.

“Is it hard for you... seeing her... ?” The question ended prematurely, sliding off into a silence so deep that she did not think he would answer.

“I do not begrudge the living their existence. And the last vestige of my humanity...” He paused. “I do not begrudge that part its longing.”

Now where was I...

The hard rock of the caverns seemed to throb with some unnatural energy, awakening that primal instinct for life and freedom within the very stone...

Through a vein of pain, a murky consciousness began to manifest itself. A hand instinctively reached for her aching skull, finding the fresh scabs beneath her matted hair. She forced her eyes open, squinting into the hazy darkness, then gazing blankly at the stone walls that enclosed her.

She hoisted herself to a sitting positing on the cold floor. She didn't know how long she had been here - days, weeks, years... Not that it concerned her. The entire concept of time was beyond the grasp of the disparate fragments of the shattered mind the Shadow Master had left her.

Moving to the walls, she beat her fists against them, testing their solidity. Then, she bleakly identified the iron-barred door as the most likely way out. She pushed and pulled furiously at the bars, achieving nothing but the echoing rattle of metal. As her predicament became clear, she let out a bloodcurdling howl.

*****

Skarvorn slumped malcontentedly in his chair. This was typical. Every other guard in this forsaken labyrinth had been called away to join the fun of the battle... some surface scum or other - he hadn't really been paying attention to the details, but he was sure they would have felt good on the point of his sword. But no, here he was, guarding the dungeons. Because someone had to. Skarvorn wasn't even sure there was anything left to guard - everything that still had enough flesh to decompose had been fed to that fetid heap of compost upstairs, hadn't it? Guarding empty cells, yes, that was just what he would get saddled with. Dejectedly, he raised his tankard and took another gulp of ale.

The liquid sprayed over the table as Skarvorn's eyes bulged, and he leapt to his feet, reaching for his sword. By Llolth! What was that wail that pierced the heavy silence? The torture chambers were definitely not in use, he knew that much. It sounded like a wild animal... He snorted. No beast could wander down here by accident, even if it had a mind to. He supposed he had better go and investigate - besides, it would break the tedium a little. Whatever it was, it would pay for disturbing him from his ale.

It was coming from the far end of the dungeon, the darkest, dankest cell that was reserved for the Shadow Master's most favoured guests. He trod steadily, sword at the ready, cautiously checking open doors and vacant cells, until he reached the locked door. He noted it with surprise - there was something here after all. It must be special, to have avoided... Something hurled itself against the bars with a yelp, startling him from his thoughts. Grabbing a torch, he risked drawing closer, wondering what manner of beast this was.

The flickering torchlight illuminated a snarling, savage visage. It reached through the bars towards him. It was... Wait! Skarvorn began to chuckle. Beneath the tangle of hair and grime that caked its skin, it appeared to be a human female! This was his lucky day after all...

"Enough of that infernal noise, wench!" he hissed. "Or I'll give you something to really scream about."

No glimmer of comprehension touched the hatred in her eyes, as she continued to writhe impotently at the bars of her cell. This surfacer was going to have to learn the hard way... a sneer crossed the drow's face.

Skarvorn brandished his torch at the bars, sending the woman cowering to the back of the cell. A human afraid of fire.. would wonders never cease? he wondered. He unlocked the cell and stepped inside, gagging slightly at the rotten stench... Turning to the door, he spoke a swift word of warding to secure it. This might take some time...

His sword clattered to the floor as she launched herself at his back, but her flailing attack was easily deflected, and overpowering her, he pinned her wrists against the wall. Finding herself trapped, a growl emitted from her throat, as she squirmed and kicked at him.

"I think I'm going to teach you some manners," he told her, his eyes casting over her tunic, lingering on her heaving chest... This time, she must have understood, because her eyes hardened and she spat in his face, redoubling her struggle.

"You'll pay for that, b!tch!" he promised, pinioning her arms with one hand, while the other reached for his belt...

She wildly searched for some means of escape. Her eyes alighted on the sword that glinted dangerously in the corner of the cell. That looked useful, if only she could reach it...

As she stared longingly, the sword suddenly clattered across the floor toward her. The drow looked round. "What was that?" His eyes narrowed, and he backhanded her across the face, splitting her lip. Tasting the blood, a diabolical grin spread over her face, angering Skarvorn. "I'll give you something to grin about, human bi-"

His sentence abruptly finished, a look of shock crossing his face. Looking down, he saw the point of his own blade protruding from his chest. He stared at her for a moment, bemused, before slumping unceremoniously to the ground. The familiar scent of blood drifted up to her nostrils. She inhaled sharply, and licked her lips. Her mind was overthrown, but the terrothisic had not destroyed that primal essence within... and now, she recognised the carnal instinct, and embraced it as her survival. She turned to the door.

As her hand touched the bars, a flame shot towards her from nowhere, sending her skittering to the back of the cell. Regaining composure, she tentatively tried again. This time the flame singed her cheek, and she retreated again, whimpering. Her gaze fell to the corpse on the floor, and then back to the door, the seed of an idea forming... focusing her attention on the door, she saw it slowly swing back on its rusty hinges.

With the hint of a smile on her face, she stalked out into the corridor, hunching defensively in the shadows, resembling nothing so much as a feral cat, as her fierce eyes hunted for some way out of this place... or a new prey.

Like slowly dripping water... something snaked along her spine. Involuntarily, she shivered, and reached for her sword. Scanning darkness and shadows, she searched trying to locate the source of a new unease. Nothing... Only her companions moved quietly about the cavern. Some examined wounds, others were sifting through packs, and a few huddled together... small groups finding refuge in the company of their fellows.

Cautiously, Dragon Wench glanced at the expressions of those nearby.. wondering if they too had felt it... T'Lainya, Yshania, and Scayde did not appear any more concerned than they had a few moments earlier. She wondered if perhaps she really was losing hold of her sanity... she had felt it so intensely... though what it was... she was not quite able to discern. In some ways familiar, yet in another sense... there was a dark, foreboding quality.... Dragon Wench gritted her teeth.... anxious now... increasingly certain that perhaps she was mad...
But then.. she felt Nova's gaze upon her... and it was clear that the Succubus had also sensed the presence. Nonetheless, Dragon Wench was not certain the knowledge was a comfort.

Hand clasping and unclasping her blade, Dragon Wench began to consider the magic remaining in her arsenal... hoping that the necessary focus would serve to calm her mounting fears.

Stung by Tashara's sudden aggression, Yshania dropped back mutely. Even if it was the right thing to do, as had been demanded, she could not attempt to heal the creature so far out of reach and so defensive. One glance at T'lainya's offensive demeanour had Yshania retreat to seat herself on a rocky outcrop, confused. She buried her face for a moment, trying to clear her thoughts, when she felt a familiar itching around her consciousness. It was him again? She raised her face, her eyes closed, now inviting him....