Drulissa's Domain

 Lady Alustrae sat in her office aboard her father's Flagship, the Starcrest Valor, the ship swaying gently in the harbor, the rhythmic creak of the wood a soothing counterpoint to the storm raging in her mind. The room was a sanctuary of order, the mahogany desk polished to a high gloss, the legal tomes neatly stacked, the ship's log open on a stand, its pages filled with her elegant script. She looked at the report, her eyes scanning the words, her face a mask of grim determination. The report was from Blaquetail, the Ratonga assassin who had found her at the docks, his words a chilling account of the battle at the lighthouse. A vampire. A vessel for the Plaguebringer. A charade with a phantom Ereon. It was a nightmare. A waking nightmare that threatened to consume Qeynos, to plunge the city into a darkness from which it might never recover. She looked at the map of Norrath spread out on her desk, her fingers tracing the coastline, the cities, the forests, the mountains. She ...

 A wagon full of supplies ambled up the lighthouse road, a shipment that those inside would be expecting. What they would not be expecting were the assassins who had snuck along for the ride. Dragskarr narrowed his eyes and peered out of the tarp. "We approach. Prepare yourselves." Varlkh nodded. "Right, let's make it quick. Tali, do your thing." Talianimi's violet eyes glowed as she focused, lashing out at the minds of the two cloaked men guarding the door. She found their thoughts and ripped them to shreds. The two men stumbled back, their faces contorted in silent agony, their hands clutching at their heads, a torrent of psychic fire tearing through their minds. They collapsed to the ground, their bodies twitching in a final, futile dance of death. Talianimi's goat-like eyes scanned the area. "Guards down. Illastria says there are four inside, two men and the woman. There is a bard there with them, but she cannot tell if it's Ereon." ...

 Zesik moved like a shadow up the gangplank of the ship, silently and without being noticed. Varlikh was right behind him, a phantom in black leather, while Dragskarr brought up the rear, a monolithic figure of black scales and simmering power. Talianimi remained on the dock, her mind a razor-sharp blade, slicing through the fog and into the minds of the men on board. She was a ghost in the machine, a silent observer, her presence a secret known only to her and Varlikh. The ship was a hive of activity, but the fog had turned it into a world of muffled sounds and indistinct shapes. The men were tense, their hands on their weapons, their eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of trouble. Zesik and Varlikh moved with a deadly grace, their steps silent, their movements fluid. They were two sides of the same coin, one a master of stealth and subterfuge, the other a master of death and destruction. Dragskarr was a force of nature, a storm given flesh. He moved with a deliberate, unhurri...

 The bitter cold cut like a blade across the Halas docks, the gray-green ocean whipping foam off the tops of waves, and ice chunks floating in the hostile sea. The sun never rises this time of year, but the days were growing longer, and the eternal twilight of summer would begin soon. The men fanned across the docks, taking places at markets, fishmongers, docked longboats, bait shops, net repair stalls, and other dockside shoppes crammed onto the pier, shuttered lanterns providing just enough light to do business by, legal or otherwise. The black-scaled Iskar walked beside a hooded man as they made their way towards the arranged meeting point. "I don't get it, Dragskarr," the man said from under his hood. "I treated those girls like family, raised them all in a, well, not loving, but a good home where they were spared the rod, and this is what they do to repay me?" "Varlikh," the Iskar growled, "they wish nothing to do with you now, save Kali. She...

 The night comes down in steady, soundless sheets,   A rain that neither hurries nor relents,   And I, alone beneath the street-lamp's glow,   Have walked these hours till the pavement gleams   Like some forgotten river running black.   No voice replies; no window shows a face.   The houses stand with shutters closed and blind,   Their chimneys cold, their hearths long turned to ash.   I pass the watchman's lantern, small and low,   And drop my eyes—he has no word for me,   Nor I for him. We share the dark, that's all.   The rain has walked with me these many years,   Out in the wet and back into the wet,   Past the last light where pavements end in mud,   Where fields lie open under starless sky   And trees stand sentinel in dripping rows.   They do not speak; they only stand and wait,   As I have waited, listenin...

 Cold, wet, and slush-covered lanes best described the city of Qeynos in January. The cold, salt-smelling air, mixed with the constant mist and grey skies, lent a dreariness that belied the city’s radiant optimism, the one time of the year when a cold darkness took hold of the streets and avenues. Lady Alustrae D’Arbene stood on the naval docks of Qeynos Harbor, her daughter Opalynna by her side, along with her Royal Guard Asuka. She sighed as she watched her luggage being unloaded and put onto the back of a cart. “Will we be in the city for a while?” Asuka asked, the drops of mist already adorning her gold armor. “No,” Alustrae said, “just in town for the annual Royal Court meetings for the new year, the parliamentary boards, position appointments, treasury meetings, and Ambassadorial Service yearly planning sessions. After this, we are back in the jungle to finish the matter with the hellfire weapon and put an end to that once and for all.” “Understood, Milady,” Asuka said with a...