Rise of the Blade - Charles Moffat [39]
No one knew where he had went.
He and his clan was Lloth's vent.
Her anger released, she was blinded,
For the Leopolds, had fled unscathed.
Above on an island,
Beyond Lloth's reaching hand,
Is the isle of Dragonspade,
Laughing at Lloth's attempts to raid.
She can't even find them.
Dragonspade, the Lost Gem.
This myth had always intrigued Draque. He had asked conjured demons about the existence of Dragonspade last year and gotten the vague answer: "The home of Luzinarth? Nay, the great dragon lies dead and so does his isle." Draque had pursued that topic but the demon had refused to answer any more questions, claiming ignorance of the issue.
Lloth's Toys
In the beginning, Lloth was a foundling.
By elves she was raised, and widely appraised.
But not for her deeds, but her killing needs.
Chaos was her weapon, filled with poison.
There is no foundation for her desire,
Only an evil core filled with black fire.
I am but one drow who ignores her flame,
Watching as she plays out her ruthless game.
We are but toys to our wretched goddess.
But even we toys are far from helpless.
We have great might and far greater power.
Enough to make even dark Lloth cower.
I gather my forces for my great strike,
To stick Lloth's head on the end of a pike.
Draque laughed inwardly at the last idea. He was still chortling when he drifted off into the meditative trance all elves call sleep.
"Where in Ao's hair is Marque Draque?" demanded Pierce, his patience at a loss since his foresight wasn't helping.
Hiram snorted and sat down across from the Doctor in the bustling cafeteria. "If he's in Ao's hair, I'd wager he's lost! Last I heard however he was quite busy in his laboratory working on that damned sword-"
Pierce had been ready to collapse into his seat and enjoy a leisurely meal with his father but instead he leapt up from the table, vaulted a table to the stunned faces of his students (who never in their lives could have guessed that a two hundred pound man weighed down with over 80 pounds of armour and weapons could have vaulted a table so easily), and ran out the doors to the south wing.
Hiram closed his jaw and scratched what little hair he had atop his shaved head. Things like this seemed to be getting quite ordinary, as far as the old boxer was concerned, but he smiled ruefully. "At least things never get boring!"
He promptly ate Pierce's pork chops.
The door slammed down under the weight of Pierce's boot and he stepped inside the now dusty room. Blinking his eyes and coughing, he realized it would have been much simpler to have just turned the knob. Perhaps it was the back of brain that had planted the idea to knock the door down. He had never liked that door anyway.
The fire faerie in its alcove to the side of the door hopped to attention, ignoring its daily meal of wax. The faerie's presence alone was reassuring for it was bonded with the mage and could never go very far from Draque. Flexing wings of blue flame, it looked up at Pierce expectantly.
"Where is Marque Draque?"
The fire faerie flashed brightly like a fire fly and dashed across the musty chamber to one of many doors bearing runes that were no doubt magical. It flew right into the lock and played with mechanism, opening it with an loud click.
The Doctor still wasn't ready to even touch the door, but he foretold no danger despite his fears and opened it hesitantly.
The loud snores relaxed the warrior more than words could tell, but in the next millisecond his defenses were back on overdrive. The pervading sense of evil emanating from the room not only became an almost tangible substance, but reached into Pierce's mind like a set of sharp daggers.
Instinctually reaching for Sidekick, Pierce entered the room and at the same time forced his thoughts to the words of a riddle, the idea springing from the open poetry book on Draque's lap:
The drow on the bow seeks no hardship
She lives her life with power and whip
Carrying chaos she imposes on slaves
Leaving behind nothing but shallow graves
Life is but a game for