A much needed problem

[Anonymous]

A bum sat in a dark back alley in the bustling business portion of Arca. He was shaggy, dirty to the point where one could only guess his true skin color, and smelled like vomit that had been left to rot for days on end. He played with a bottle of alcohol, swirling the last remaining sips in the bottom of the glass in a state of drunken stupidity. So dark was the alley, mixed with such a state as he was in, that he did not notice the pitch black oval, a hint of purple flowing through the nothingness, grow large enough to allow a person to walk through in one of the back corners.

  Venorik stepped out, and as the last millimeter of his cape left the extradimensional transport, it disappeared, back into the no-existence that it was. Silently the overlord made his way toward the exit, but stopped when he heard a whimper, and his glowing red eyes settled on the huddles form against the wall, rolled in a ball. " B-B-BEAST!!" the drunken bum yelled frantically. " Itses gonna EAT MEEE!" he proclaimed, but then knew nothing of the drow, of the beast. He knew only his drink, so humble was it to his existence. Venorik didn't need to ask Qee'lakstreea about it, and with a smug look on his face, he entered the open air market. He didn't care about blending in. He knew he was a wanted man for the seige still, here in serendipity kingdom where his evil was most likely told as a horror story for brothers to scare their smaller siblings before bed. He was the Supreme Overlord of Vharzyym, in his mind the most powerful mortal in the area, on the continent. He liked to take it in his mind that his prowess extended to grasp the entire prime material, that none born to the plane could match him. One-on-one, he always reminded himself. He was not immortal. Qee'lakstreea promply reminded him before they left to this place that in this weak environment that was serendipity, he might as well be.

  As he walked, his red, gold, and black clothing flowed around him. His tunic, enchanted as to be as strong as the best of adamantine platemail, with protection against elements, clung to him as did his leggings with equal properties. His cape, large and trailing, always seeming as if it had caught a breeze underneath it, bore the huge heralding symbol of S'liston Bor'vizzmyl, the royalty of Vharzyym of which now consisted of only Kerath and himself. His other clothing also had the symbol of Vharzyym displayed openly and spectacularly all over it. No weapons could be seen on his person, for his swords were part of him, his daggers were underneath the cloth covering his wrists and ankles, and his two hand crossbows and flails were in extradimensional pockets on his belt, along with light and choking gas pellets and various other items he rarely used. His long white hair, a striking contrast, as with all drow, to his ebony skin flowed no less than his clothing. He was the epitome of visual power.

  The overlord was in this city on a mission. More than a few payments from various partners had not come in, and his spy network had told him of whispers that a small band was trying to take some of the Vharzyym underground network for themselves. Vharzyym did not share, neither did it tolerate. He, in an angered state, for he so loved his wealth, would not be as subtle as his spy network. He would find his answers brutal and quickly.

   A dorr burst open, splinters flying every which way, and Venorik stepped in to the small, inconspicuous dwelling deep in the city. He knew that this one would be able to provide him answers, especially when the look of terror crossed the human's face at the sight of the drow. He knew why Venorik had come. " I know nothing!" the man yelled on impulse, most likely hoping that someone would hear him. Venorik was going to let the man live, only use him as an informant, but lying to the overlord had sealed his fate. " We will see." the drow stated plainly, right before the mans face twisted in horror with the realization than the demon Qee'lakstreea had just punctured through his mental barrier like a knife through butter, and was stealing the knowledge from him. When the demon was done, he merely, as he described it through his extra senses in an incorpreal state of being, twisted. The man's mind was instantly destroyed, the fabric holding his metal processes together cut loose, and he fell to the floor, quite dead. Venorik had his answer, and the man had actually known more than the drow had hoped. He already knew the location of the bands nearest base, inside this city, not far from the mans pitiful hole that he called a dwelling.

 Venorik walked out, even more determined now than bloodshed was imminent.

[Anonymous]

Crouching as he was, on a roof on the other side of the street, Venorik could see sentries around the perimeter of the complex. It was still in a fairly busy area of the city, and they were disguised. He counted three, but he was on the lookout for more, for he had learned in his time here that certain surface dwellers, the assassins and mercenaries who model themselves after ideals that guide much of underdark society, should not be underestimated. One of the gaurds was disguised as a peddler, pretending to sell small wares and actually had made a sale to a tourist a couple minutes before. The mans awkward manner in making the sale had given him away easily enough. Another, positions directly on the other side of the building, a man fiddled with broken trinkets on a small stand, and nobody had even bothered asking him about sales. The third simply stood in front of the door that sat in between the others, which were apparently this ones backup if things got bad. They couldn't know that they would never answer the call that would never be sent.

  The sun was falling, and Venorik assumed that these men would be working most of the night. He would bide his time until the shadows would aid him. With a thought he enacted one of the enchantments on his House Vharzyym brooch, and his bright clothing became a form of black that easily blended with the shadows that even then were enveloping the city. Soon the whole of the area was in the protection of night. He could tell that, like most beings in their trade, the sentries became more at ease at night, also prefering the dark of night, but there were things they did not know, creatures who did not prefer the night, but thrived in it, became one with it. One such being even then came down from his perch, and made his way across the street by way of another alley. He saw a footing and silently leaped upon a roof, then sprang across to the next, now on top of the building where his prey sat waiting for him. There was no other way in though, and breaking through the wall would bring far too much attention. He would have to go through the front door, a method he highly disliked. He crept over to the ledge, looking down upon the gaurd in front of his entry. Two of his small throwing daggers came into his hands, he feeling he had missed in the recent times of inactivity. Once again looking at the positions of the others two gaurds, he jumped down, right between the gaurd's back and the door, in a manner that would make the silence of death curse him, for it had just bean beaten, and the man had no idea that he had even come. But Venorik would make use of deaths silence, too, soon enough. The two daggers plunged into his vocal chords, then tore back, nicking an artery. Then the drow's arms flew to the sides, releasing the daggers to find a hold in the necks of the two other gaurds, who similarly fell to the grounds in the smasmatic throes of their last moments of life. The living shadow then opened the door and let himself in.

          He stood in a small room, fifteen by fifteen, he supposed, and one gaurd stood there, the only door behind him. His eyes widened at the sight of Venorik, but he quickly gained composer and brought to bear his weapons. He weilded a short sword in his right hand, and a dagger in his left. Venorik smirked at the weapons, at the mans battle-ready stance. " Really now?" he asked in common, and the man gave him an odd look. The blades of Qee'lakstreea then started to poke out from the Overlord's sleeves, and came further and further out until the hilts rested easily in his grasp. The man eyes the twin swords admiringly, as well he should. Then Venorik came to him. Venorik led with a bat to his opponent's sword getting his wide. The dagger shot for his side, and he intercepted it, then continued his blade at an angle, cutting the mans forearm. The cringe was all Venorik needed, and a left-handed cut took the human's head off.

  Subtlety was gone now, and with a kick to the door, the Supreme Overlord entered the main chamber, disabling the shadow enchantment on his clothing.

[Anonymous]

High above the city of Arca something circled, dark and menacing. The dark shape paused, became smaller, then fell rapidly. Two Pinpricks of yellow were the only things visible against the dark shape, which, as it got closer, revealed itself as a huge bird. A few people screamed and ran, but even so very few saw the bird before it ducked beneath the line of rooftops and disappeared.

Kerrigan dismounted, brushing the bits of dust that clung to him away. He still wore the tunic and pants given to him by Venorik over a month ago, only now the symbols of the Vharzyym had been covered with a different emblem, a six pointed yellow sun. The symbol of his people, of the surface dark elves. Kerrigan felt that it truly set him apart from the drow, vile creatures as they were. He had little patience for drow weakness. They lived in the dirt like rats inn a hole, a weakling race forced below the earth. His was the superior of the two races, of that Kerrigan had no doubt. But still, his people were not here, so the lesser cousins of the Dunwey would have to suffice. He certainly could not undertake this task alone, the perils were sure to be great. But he was getting ahead of himself, first Venorik needed to be swayed. Kerrigan only hoped the Overlords lust for power was a strong as he thought.

Stepping from the shadows Kerrigan looked into the building that Venorik had gone into. Wood and plaster melted before his gaze, and he studied the room the drow stood in. So like Venorik not to consider all the options. The drow had chosen to go in the front way of all things. Stupid creature. Kerrigan walked, of sauntered really, for he was in no rush, over to the cart that had been commandeered by one of the guards Venorik dispatched. Clambering atop it Kerrigan crouched, then leaped into the buildings roof. The guttering began to give beneath his boot, and he moved onto the tiles.

Dropping low and using his arms for balance Kerrigan followed Venorik's movements from above. He silenced the guard in the first room, quite well for an inferior race. It was probably due to the thing that inhabited his body though, without it Kerrigan suspected he had little power at all. It was so common for weakling races to bond themselves with something stronger. To the creature Venorik was probably little more that a vessel. Pathetic.

Moving ahead of Venorik a little he came to be over the main chamber. He lifted a few tiles away, choosing tiles that were under the shadow of the next building so as not to create a revealing shaft of moonlight. Slipping inside and onto a beam Kerrigan pulled his cloak up so that it didn’t dangle. He positioned himself over the main door and studied the room. Three men stood around a table looking at something on a large sheet of paper. Kerrigan couldn’t make out what it was they were studying, reading was difficult for his race. Two guards languished in the corner, enjoying a bottle of ale. Behind him he watched Venorik stride up to the door and kick it in. Kerrigan shook his head in disgust. This man had no love of the art of killing; he only wanted the act itself.

Before Venorik had a chance to Kerrigan turned his magic on the men. White tendrils sprung from his fingers, lancing out towards the startled men. One finger of white death pierced the heart of each of them. He let them scream for a moment, and then silenced that with a twist of his magic. As the tendrils dissipated, so did the last bit of life in the last man, and all done without expending a scrap of energy, although Venorik would now be feeling the cost of the magic. Or perhaps the beast within him would supply the energy for him. Either way was good.

Kerrigan leaped off the rafter, landing a few paces in front of Venorik with his back to him. Looking over his shoulder he smirked, “Oh, you didn’t want any of them alive did you Venorik?� His tone couldn’t have been more insolent.

He turned to face the drow, tilting his head down a little to emphasise the hight advantage he had over the man. “Good to see you again Venorik, it’s been a while.� He grinned. This could get interesting. He summoned the best mental defences he could muster, manifesting his magic like a serpent coiled around his own mind, just in case the thing in Venorik attacked his mind.