"Their respect, however, is genuine," said the voice.
Inthracis did not recognize the speaker by voice, but given the word on the wind outside, given the speaker's use of High Drow, Inthracis could infer the speaker's identity. He chose his next words with care.
"It is difficult to offer the proper respect when I do not know to whom I am speaking."
A chuckle. "I think you know who I am."
At that, the darkness lightened somewhat, enough that Inthracis's eyes could pierce it. Sound too returned, and the howl of the wind rose.
A masked male drow sat atop Inthracis's basalt table, legs dangling off the edge and not quite reaching the floor. Shadows alternately lightened and darkened around the drow's lithe form, swallowing parts of him in blackness for one moment before coughing them back up to visibility the next. A short sword and dagger hung from his belt, and leather armor peeked out from under his tailored, high-collared cloak. Long white hair, highlighted with red, surrounded an angular, vengeful face. He wore a haughty smile on his thin lips, but it did not reach the holes of his eyes, which were visible even through his black mask. Inthracis's eyes registered the arcane power emitted by the drow's blades, the armor, his very flesh. He recognized the avatar, and it was as he had suspected.
"Vhaeraun," he said, and was irritated that he did not quite keep the awe from his voice.
He looked upon Vhaeraun the Masked GodLolth's son and Lolth's enemy. His hearts hammered still more, and his legs felt weak though he managed not to show it. In the flitting shadows around the drow, he saw that the avatar's hand was severed at the wris t. The stump seeped blood onto the table.
Inthracis did not care to contemplate how a god might have been so wounded. He also did not care to contemplate why Vhaeraun would be manifesting in Corpsehaven. Inthracis rarely had contact with drow, living or dead, mortal or divine. Drow souls did not typically end up in the Blood Rift.
Vhaeraun hopped off the table and sniffed the air. His dark eyes narrowed.
"Even the air here stinks of spider," the god said.
To that, Inthracis said nothing. He dared not speak until he knew exactly what was happening. A dozen possibilities danced through his mind, none of them desirable.
"I require a service, yugoloth." Vhaeraun said, and the whisper of his voice went hard.
Inthracis stiffened. Not a favor, not a requesta service. It was worse than he had feared. He ran his long forked tongue over his lip ridges while he tried to formulate a suitably vague response.
The darkness swallowed Vhaeraun, and in the next heartbeat the avatar stood behind Inthracis, his breath hot in the ultroloth's upper left ear.
"Would you refuse me?" Vhaeraun asked, his soft words dripping menace.
"I would not, Masked Lord," Inthracis answered, though he would have if he could have. While yugoloths were mercenaries, even they had their limits when it came to patrons. Inthracis had no desire to get involved in whatever divine conflict Vhaeraun may have been engaged in with his mother.
The next moment Vhaeraun was no longer behind him but across the room near one of Inthracis's bookshelves. The corpses in the wall recoiled as much as their contorted forms allowed at the nearness of the god. Dead eyes stared out of the wall in horror. Even those dead whose hands and arms formed the bookshelf tried to squirm back into the wall, and a score of priceless tomes clattered to the floor. Vhaeraun eyed them and tsked.
Inthracis wondered how his corpses perceived Vhaeraun's appearance. Surely not that of a drow male. Vhaeraun looked up and said, "Listen." He cocked his head to the side and his eyes went hard. "Do you hear it?"
The wind outside rose and fell, carrying its message of Lolth's Chosen. The corpses near Vhaeraun moaned again.
Inthracis nodded. "I hear it, Masked Lord. Yor'thae. It says Yor"
Vhaeraun hissed and held up a hand, silencing Inthracis. The eyes of the corpses in the walls went wide at the demonstration of divine pique.
"Once is enough, ultroloth," said Vhaeraun. "So you hear the word, but do you know its meaning?"
Inthracis nodded slowly, fear growing in his gut, but Vhaeraun went on as though he had answered inthe negative.
"The Yor'thae is the chosen vessel of the Spider Bitch. And this, all this" With alarming suddenness, the avatar again stood behind Inthracis, hissing angrily in his ear as the fortress