"The probability that you are undead continues to increase, Chakan. And when it reaches 100%, I will kill you."

Valas has been saying much the same thing for three days in a row. The scientific detachment with which the statement is made only serves to make it that much more irritating to the person being addressed.

"You'll try, you mean. And for the hundredth time, I'M NOT UNDEAD!" As the Doomguard says this, he replaces his hat atop his jet-black hair and his piercing violet eyes narrow in irritation more than anger.

Chakan has just returned from placing the recently twice-slain Rogan in the Doomguard's room in the Armory. He is also continuing an argument that started over drinks at the Bottle and Jug. As Chakan leads the way out of his faction's headquarters, Valas follows closely behind him, continuing to press the argument. Lilah and Killraven merely exchange confused glances and follow a little ways back. As the party moves down the crumbling front steps, the magma-drow presses his logic.

"The conclusion is inescapable, Chakan. You have connection to the Negative Material which, while currently forming 17% of your body mass, is growing at a constant and easily observable rate. Additionally, you are forming external characteristics reminiscent of the only elven vampire we've seen to date. And finally, you not only drink blood, but have admitted to a desire for it. And while I do admit to being unable to detect you as undead NOW, you have registered to the necromantic motes while you were... under the influence of blood, shall we say? QED, the increasing likelihood of undeath, and ergo, my having to destroy you."

Chakan spins rapidly on his heels to face the heavily cloaked Prime. "That's it! I've had it with this. I have told you time and again that I don't know what's happening to me, and I did come to you for help when I first realized that something was happening. All I can do right now is agree with my Factol when she told me that my own personal entropy was catching up with me. Yes, I am an Undead Slayer - of far more years than you, Valas - and I do see some of the problems you've spelled out. You don't think I'm concerned? Even if my life is decaying, as my faction hopes, that doesn't mean I have to entirely approve of it. You say I'm undead, I say I'm not. We're both intelligent enough know that this kind of argument will get us nowhere. We need a third opinion."

As one, the two elves turn to look at their other companions. Killraven continues to stare coolly at the pair of them, his newly restored face not giving any indication of whether he's been following, understanding, or even caring about the conversation. Lilah's tail briefly skips a beat in its characteristic weaving. "What?" Chakan and Valas both turn away, shaking their heads. "Their unprofessional opinions would not serve to sway either side of this dispute." "My thoughts exactly." Killraven frowns. Lilah turns to him and says: "I think those berks just insulted us, Killraven."

Chakan ignores the insult. The party walks on in silence for a few blocks, as all involved think about the events that are unfolding and what it is going to mean to them. Then Chakan has the solution, which he sums up in a single word: "Tetch." Valas looks up, startled, from a random batch of motes he was studying. "What?"

"Tetch. He's a doctor and been known to conduct a few... tests in his time. We'll go to the Weary Spirit and let him settle this issue. Whatever decision he comes to, we'll BOTH abide by, all right?"

The superior intellect of Valas needed only a moment to process the request. "Agreed. Lilah. Killraven. Do you wish to accompany us?"

"No way... Oberon. That cutter gives me the creeps, he does. You two go on ahead; we'll find something else to do." Lilah finished her statement with a sly smile.

Seeing the problem settled, Killraven spoke up to drop the final word on the subject. "I will take her to my kip in the Hive. Oberon, you and Chakan can meet us there when you're done." Without waiting for an answer, Killraven turned and began to walk towards the middle of the Hive with Lilah in tow.

Chakan barely spared a glance for them. "Fine with me. Come on... Oberon. Let's go and get this issue settled once and for all."

Three figures are sitting in an office, dimly lit by a guttering oil lamp. Apart from the writing table and three chairs, the only other furniture are the bookcases which line the walls. The books on the shelves are thick tomes, their covers stained with dust, grime, and blood. An occasional scream will echo through the room, coming in around the ill-fitting door. Two of the occupants aren't bothered by sound, the third takes an odd comfort in it. A heavy silence among the three is just now being broken.

"So, what you're saying is, I'm not undead... yet? And no smug looks from you, Valas." Valas merely gives Chakan a slight shrug of the shoulders.

"Exactly." Dr. Tetch of the Bleak Cabal seems almost excited by the topic of conversation. "We've conclusively shown that your blood - and hence, you - doesn't react well to gold, holy water, or essence from the Positive Material Plane. Frankly, the gold puzzles me, but the other two show the weakness of the undead. However, the reactions weren't nearly explosive enough for positive identification. Therefore, you must be in the process of becoming undead. All quite fascinating really. If Dr. Valas does indeed kill you, I ask permission to dissect your body for further study."

Chakan ignores the comment by his friend. "If it is a process, it must be continuing one. These ill effects only seem to increase with the intake of blood. So, it might be possible to stop this process?"

The Bleaker dismissively waves his hand. "Maybe. Maybe not. Does it really matter?"

"To me it does! I like decay as much as the next Doomguard, but this is starting to worry me a little."

Valas breaks into the conversation at this point. "It is hard to say. Dr. Tetch's experiments support the conclusion I reached earlier - there is indeed something 'dark' growing within you. It seems that it is this 'darkness', which is slowly spreading through your body, that needs the blood and is the cause of the connection to the Negative Material Plane. I care not about the effects of gold - although I will mention it to Killraven if it becomes necessary. What is a mystery to me is why this dark matter should be cannibalistic."

The other doctors paused in confusion. "What do you mean, 'cannibalistic'?" Chakan asked.

Tetch's face suddenly brightened. "Yes, of course! Remember when we exposed your blood to the essence of the Negative Material Plane? It actually absorbed the essence. But only until it was in solution to one-quarter, however."

"24.9976% to precise, Dr. Tetch. But that might indicate a possible outcome to this quandary. If the sample of blood can absorb that much, might not the whole of Chakan's body do the same? Perhaps if the amount of dark matter in his form were to achieve that percentage, the process would be complete. But, would he be undead at that point?"

"Impossible to say, my dear fellow. But I'm sure the experiment would be very interesting to perform. The only problem is, I don't have enough Negative Material essence to immerse an entire person in. I mainly use the small amounts I have to destroy the infected portions of the brains of my poor barmies. So unless you know of another source, I'm afraid we'll just have to make do with blood. Chakan?"

"I don't think so. Besides, I do know another source. THE source. I know of a gate into the Negative Material Plane - at the Court of Woe."

The Bleaker blinked. "The Court? Of course, I'd forgotten all about that. Yes, that might work at that. Well, since we have the solution I'll be returning to work now. I've got a very interesting case of leg pain to look into. I think that if I remove the infected tendons, the patient should pull through. I think life at the cost of mobility should appeal to the old thing..."

It is Anti-Peak in the Hive. The worst time of night in the worst part of the Cage. Only the most addle-coved of barmies are still outside of a building. The air is filled with smog from the Lower Ward and a light drizzle from the grimy clouds. The water leaves greasy trails where it hits, like thousands of slugs oozing their way down the sides of the ruined buildings. Normally, all that would be moving are the packs of cranium rats and the inexorable growth of the razorvine. But not tonight. Through the fog, comes the sound of humanoid movement. Some one is running through the Hive. But not on the wormtrails that pass for streets, but along the crumbling and unstable rooftops of its structures.

A dark figure emerges from a patch of low-lying smog, running at an incredible speed across the broken tiles of a roof. The figure reaches the end and leaps, clearing a 30 foot gap between buildings, to land with a forward roll, spring back onto his feet, and continue running.

<I am amazed by these new abilities, but at what cost have I gained them?> thinks Chakan. <And what cost am I going to pay to slow the pace of my personal Entropy to something more manageable? Should I even try? After all, this swim in the Negative might not even help - it could accelerate the process and perhaps make it worse. I might even be destroyed. Wonder how Magic would like that?> His brow furrows as he runs, and it is obvious to any who is looking at him that he is deep in thought, running as if to get away from some mental concerns, and not a physical threat. As the Doomguard moves from rooftop to rooftop, two figures watch him. But only one doesn't know what events are about to unfold.

About two blocks behind the running figure, a large form is huddled on a floating disk, taking in what he sees. <He is changing, that much is certain. What he will become in the end I do not know...but if necessary I shall kill him, as I must the others.> The figure frowns at these thoughts, his facial expressions hidden by the large protective suit he wears. <Just like the others, power is corrupting his purpose. At least they had no choice. He does, and so far, chooses to ignore it for what he gains. That will be his undoing.> With these thoughts, Valas urges his magical transport forward to Chakan's eventual destination. <Still, the fact that he is now listening to reason and making some attempt to change those consequences shows that there may be hope after all. I do hope he doesn't disappoint me.>

Another figure runs along the rooftops of the Hive tonight. This one is also slim and graceful, like Chakan. But this new runner moves without sound. He does not jump across gaps so much as fly, his black cloak fluttering behind him like the wings of a vulture. This man cannot see the Doomguard, but he is tracking him nonetheless. In his highly trained mind, he can see the object of his hunt. A small smile touches the lips of the dark-skinned figure; a smile that reveals fangs and brings no warmth to his intense violent eyes. The man moves at twice the speed of his prey; quickly overtaking, and then passing, the grey elf. <Fool! He moves in a straight line, making such a fine target. I am disappointed to see that it is this easy.>

He quickly turns to his left, running so as to get in front of his prey. The man drops into a crouch behind the remains of a third story wall, readying a heavy crossbow. <Those weak-willed mortals were right - he did come to that charming medical establishment. I must remember to thank the doctor.> The figure ceases its distracting thoughts, and waits. Soon, the sound of running is heard once more. The figure's mental sight shows him Chakan nearing the edge of a building and leaping towards the next in line - the one the figure waits on. <As soon as he lands...>

The heavy crossbow fires, the bolt flying true and striking the landing figure full in the chest. The figure is knocked backwards towards the edge of the crumbling building...

In the writhing alleys of the Hive, a small pack of cranium rats devours a corpse the Collectors missed. It is a small pack, only a score or so, but it has enough intelligence to pay attention to its surroundings. One by one, the psionic vermin stop their feasting to scent the air. <*Many two legs come. Moving Death with. Danger. Run.*> The pack scatters to the rubble of a nearby building. As soon as the street is clear of their presence, another fills in the resulting void.

In the darkness, a score of figures move quickly and silently through the Hive. They are following a figure who floats above the wreckage of the city. The speak to each other without words, hands moving in complex and graceful patterns - patterns whose meaning is anything but. In the center of this troop strides a figure who is far different from the rest. This one walks not on two legs, but eight. Also unlike the others, this figure moves not in silence, but with a muffled series of creaks and pops, like the movement of tight leather. Its body also radiates heat like a blast furnace, allowing the raiding party to easily pick its way through the twisted streets of the Hive. The elven torso atop the spider's body carries no armor or weapons; its hands are empty of all save powerful magic. The malevolent green light of balefire burns behind a crystal lens which replaces the creature's left eye.

Its thoughts are of pure Hatred. Hatred for the living, hatred for its mistress, hatred for its own kind, hatred for itself. Tonight, that hatred has been given a purpose, a focus. It has been commanded by Lloth herself to kill one who is like it was. The Spider-Queen has decreed that Valas Banerae must die. And she has given that "honor" to it and it's brethren. The lens is focused upward, tracking the floating figure that is its target; its path to oblivion. It can wait no longer - the target is here. It is time to kill. Raising its arms, it reaches its talons into the essence of magic, and rips free handfuls of motes. Before, it would deal with them as equals; now, they are as slaves unto its undead will. It flings the twisted mockery of magic skyward, a fatal lure certain to capture the attention of the renegade magma-drow.

Chakan runs towards the gap in the roofline which marks the littered street below. He can barely make out the building across the way that he intends to jump to. <Looks like I may have to push this one...> He accelerates at the last moment and leaps across the void. His feet strike the other rooftop first, causing the tiles to crumble away. Having no time to jump, Chakan falls forward into a roll. As he comes to his feet, he can hear the roof falling away behind him.

Suddenly, he is thrown backward towards the collapsed section by a massive impact to his chest. He lands with his head unsupported, hanging over the new edge of the roofline some three stories above a pile of broken timbers and shattered rocks. Stunned by the blow, he tries to focus his mind and react to the situation. As he rolls awkwardly away from the gap, Chakan's mind quickly begins to make some sense of the situation.

<That was a crossbow. I heard the strings. Fucking point-blank range, too!> He looks around to see who shot him, feeling for the bolt with his hand. <Odd, there's just a bruise - no wound or bolt.> Risking a look down, he sees the shaft of a quarrel lying next to him, shards of pottery on his clothes and at his feet. <A dummy bolt? Why...? AARRRGGHH!!>

Pain shoots through his chest, his face, his arms and hands as the smell of burning flesh reaches his nostrils. He looks closer at his hands to see a light bluish oil burning into them like acid. <Acid? Wrong smell. Wait... Holy Water! ... who?> Before he can take any action, another bolt slams into his body. This time, the pain is immediate. Chakan tumbles back towards the hole again as the bolt imbeds itself in the meat of his shoulder. After the initial pain, there is still a burning sensation. <Damn! What is this?>

Chakan grabs the bolt with both hands, pulling it out from his shoulder. As he does, he comes to the realization that this was a ripper bolt, as he experiences more pain from the removal. As he falls to his knees, the bolt falls from his hands, and he sees that the head is made from solid gold. <Someone knows all my weaknesses... I need to leave... Now.> Chakan tries to suppress the pain to gather his mind and activate the Mobius ring on his finger, but the combination of the gold and the holy water is nearly too much. As he attempts to clear his mind, he sees motion out of the corner of his eyes and he hears a voice... an all too familiar voice.

"HOLD, my son."

Valas stops the disk, hovering over the streets of the Hive, and turns his attention to an area several buildings ahead of him. The mage-priest's train of thought is interrupted by a flare that has arced up from the streets and passed in front of him. He knows that it was neither fire nor an attack - he could quite easily see the weave of motes which made up the magical creation. But the pattern is unlike anything he'd ever seen yet somehow familiar.

1: I can perceive no evidence of Chakan's passing. Perhaps he simply encountered an unstable structure. I did warn him of that. Hmmm? What was that?

2:  Subject's trajectory:  linear
    Subject's velocity:  8 ft/sec
    Subject's acceleration:  0 ft/sec^2
    Time delta since last contact:  619.3 seconds
    Subject's displacement:  4954.4 ft
    Doomguard Entropy sigma:  +/- 37.9 ft

    Perceptual data:
	18 dB creak  -  89% probability of foundation stress
			       11% probability of thief
	23.2 dB squeak  -  73% probability of cranium rats
				     27% probability of subject known as "Rat Man"
	4.3 candle flare - 99% probability of magical origins
				     1% probability of planar entity
				 - further investigation warranted.

3. Investigate extent of entropic philosophy into multivariant realms of existance, concentrating on personal relationships, business relationships, and entropic philosophy itself. Investigate extent of entropy degradation. An endpoint indicates ceasation of entropy. Paradox of possible use. Dweomercraft pattern of skewed dodecahedrons reminiscent of Klarath of House Godeep, practitioner of the 5th sphere. Current status?

4: Most of Chakan's shattered corpse lies at the foot of the sneering Cambion. His head, however, is in the fiend's hands, grizzly proof of a fulfilled contract. A swirling dance of SpiritMotes, frightening and alluring. Hidden deep in the dance lie visions of magical battle, fallen brethren tearing at weary brethren with vast Arts.

Chakan tries to turn his head to look, but is immobilized. He knows who it is. It's Syon, his father, and there Chakan sits, wounded, held, and completely at the mercy of this bastard who preys on the living. He can't even talk.

"Now, now. Such bitter thoughts of a son for his father. Don't you realize that everything you have is because of me? You should be thankful." With this, Chakan's field of vision changes as he is kicked to the ground. His head faces upward, and he can see the malevolent violet eyes of Syon looking down at him from within a darkened cloak. He holds a large crossbow in one hand, and is playing with another gold ripper bolt with the other.

"I see you have the weaknesses to gold and holy water, as I suspected... a pity, that. But then, no one is immune to everything." He takes the bolt and loads it into the crossbow, leveling it at Chakan's chest. "Let's see...your heart should be about there, wouldn't it? Now with a Gold head and a wood shaft, this bolt would kill any fledgling vampire, and most definitely kill you." He grins evilly.

"But that is not my point. I like what I see in you, my son. Yes, that's right, 'son'. I am your true father, not that pathetic excuse for a lich." The vampire's eyes narrow as he studies Chakan's. "A see a distinct lack of surprise in you, Toris. Can it be that you've figured this out on your own?"

Chakan resists the urge to think about HOW he discovered this information. He knows that the vampire is reading his thoughts, so he continues to try and flood them with hatred and defiance.

"Hmm... yes. I am disappointed that I couldn't surprise you with that. I suppose you won't be surprised when I tell you that the creature you thought was your father wasn't such a guardian of goodness and light, either? I'm sure you already know that he and I were - at least initially - working together to bring down that fool of an emperor and his Citadel."

In spite of himself, Chakan's thoughts of darkness are interrupted by utter surprise at this revelation.

"You DIDN'T know! Well, it is as they say: 'never trust the undead'. Thus, you can't trust me, your ex-father, or even yourself. Because we're all undead aren't we? Don't deny it! You're becoming more powerful, darker, and I think you enjoy the changes that are taking place in you. In fact, I KNOW you enjoy the changes...can't you feel the power of the blood coursing through your veins? The incredible force that wells within you when it touches your lips? You're becoming like me, Toris - undead, vampire. And you like it."

Syon raises the crossbow, walks away a little, and then turns back to face the magically bound elf.

"Now, I know you're thinking some terrible thoughts about killing me, or driving a stake through my heart, or some other such nonsense. I tell you this, little one..." Syon's eyes grow bright red, "DON'T EVEN TRY!", with this, a psionic wave of pain shoots through Chakan, and even though he is immobilized, his body quivers as sheets of pain flow through his mind and body.

"I am far more powerful than you, and more experienced, and I know your weaknesses. Look at how easily I took you down. I could kill you now, but I feel you could be far more useful once you've gained more experience with your new abilities..."

Syon once again closes the distance between them. He kneels down, looking Chakan directly in the face from no more than a handspan away. The crossbow is pointed at the Doomguard's temple, just inside his peripheral vision. "But you did foul my plans at the Citadel AND stole my books. And for that, you must pay a price." The vampire's voice drops to a whisper, and he speaks to Chakan in a voice that is both cheery and full of menace. "What shall it be, eh? A hand perhaps? No, you seem to have already lost and replaced a finger, so that wouldn't be very debilitating. Your eyes? But no; you have your father's eyes. I much prefer you to be reminded of that whenever you look in a mirror - or at least as long as such things are of any use to you. Perhaps your... No. I want to be a grandfather some day. I just don't know. Do you have any suggestions?"

Chakan's only response is to send more waves of hatred at his tormentor.

Suddenly, Syon snaps his fingers as at a flash of insight. "I know! I shall destroy your friends and loved ones. I started with your adopted father, why not continue the trend? Oh no, do not worry, I wouldn't give any of your friends the HONOR of becoming a vampire...but I would watch them suffer and perish. Right now, in fact, a party of Drow are hunting your mage friend and have plans to capture him for Lloth. Being a drow, this act serves the double purpose of serving her AND punishing you. Perfect, isn't it? So while you sit here for the next couple of minutes, you can think of the pain your friend will be suffering, as he is all alone and defenseless."

Syon starts to walk away, turning into mist as he fades into the fog. "And remember, little one, I know where you are, and where you live, and you are powerless to stop me. You WILL become my servant, or I will dispose of you at my whim. Oh... and Valas will do as payment for the books. As for the Citadel... how's Fairven these days?" With that, his image fades as laughter fills the air.

Underneath his insulating helmet, Valas' brow furrows as he is caught in indecision forced by his curiousity clashing with concern for his friend. His ears perk to a slight sound emanating from below.

1: Chakan is capable, and has the means of contacting me in an emergency. However, that flare is causing me a slight stress of unknown origin. Hmmm. Sounds like dweomercraft.

2.  Chance of encounter in area designated "Hive":  43.9%
    Percentage of encounters considered hostile:   95.3%
    Percentage of potentially dangerous encounters:  81.0%
    Survivability of Subject "Chakan" in dangerous encounter:  89.7%
    Breakdown of highest probability fatal encounters involving Subject:
	    - Cambion assassin
	    - Minion of Charin
	    - Minion of Syon
	    - Syon

     Perceptual data:
	 37 dB chant - 78% priestly mote invocation    #### WARNING
		       13% wizardly mote incantation
		       9%  random "barmy"

3. Entropic extent preliminary results: High probability of "entropic decay" in Chakan's relationship with the community known as the "Fivers". Evident in outbursts, rudeness, and general curlishness perceived lately. Confrontation suggested. Investigate most successful approach to delay further ####### WARNING ######### Status of Klarath analyzed. Undead Magma Drow. Combined with the high probability of priestly chance, there is a 98.9% chance of eminent Drow attack. Evasive maneuvers on all levels!

4. Black entropy bites and snarls at the group, ripping and tearing it apart. One cure. Death of a friend. Images of Deepfire and the deaths of other friends. Images of friends screaming, decaying, dessicating. All surrounded by the vile chanting of the priestesses. Chanting. Chanting.

Chanting snaps Valas out of his contemplation. Months of denial and avoidance crumble. His past has caught up to him. Confirmation is in the form of an intense heat source near the edge of a crumbling building, crawling towards him on eight hideous legs.

<Dammit dammit dammit DAMMIT!!!> Chakan tries in vain to shake off the HOLD, but he can't. Instead, he is forced to resort to using his psionic powers. Chakan sends forth his Contact Harbinger - a skeletal vulture - to try and reach Valas' mind; but it weels around his mental landscape, unsuccessful in fulfilling the Doomguard's desire. <Where is he? There's got to be some kind of interference. Syon's not doing it as he's gone. So what're the other possibilities?> As he asks himself that question, he suddenly remembers some of the vampire's parting words: "...a party of Drow are hunting your mage friend and have plans to capture him for Lloth". <Oh shit!>

Quickly, he runs a mental scan through the 95 undead magma-drow that exist in his mind, and he finds that one of them IS in Sigil. <Arrgh! How can I save him if I can't reach him?>

Sudden silence is the only warning as a Drow Priestess unleashes harshly screaming Motes straight at Valas. The terror of the situation locks Valas into position, leaving only his interconnection with the Great Spirit-Pattern to help him.

It's enough. His tightly woven personal pattern with its reinforcing MetaPattern threads forces the enslaved and twisted motes to slide off his body like lava off a red dragon. Recognizing the need for distraction, Valas rips off his belt of specially prepared flasks, and slings them towards the glowing mass of Drow forms. Simultaneously, he directs his slow-moving disk up and over the nearest building. <Perhaps an investigation into a speedier method of travel is warranted>.

The Hive is momentarily awoken by a shaking blast and brilliant flash.. A few fingers of fire scorch the air around Valas as he huddles onto his disk. <No screams; I lack the accuracy of Lilah. At least their visual acuity will be temporarily reduced>.

The distance to the building is barely covered when the first onslaught of Drow bolts slice through the air. The building absorbs the majority, most of the rest arc into the night sky. Two, hit their mark, however. One glances off Valas' helmet, tearing a gash in the fine mesh of the faceplate. The other lodges painfully into his shoulder.

In the flickering firelight, Valas notes the slight green of Drow poison left by the bolt's passing as his disks glides the last few feet to the roof of the building. <I believe my thermal condition is sufficient to ward off the majority of the sleep poison's effects. Still, I should prepare myself for a slight reduction in response time.>

His pain causes him to forgo a graceful landing, instead simply dropping onto the root, and then rolling behind the remains of a chimney. Just as he lands, he hears a quick chanting in a low, ominous voice, and the fires left by the explosion flicker out, leaving a sudden, silent darkness.

The quiet sets his nerves on edge. Deep in his mind he sees old images of viscious Drow sentries prowling within a hairs breadth of their unknowing prey, bone-white, wicked smiles reflecting the growing excitement at an eminent kill. Straining, Valas can detect nothing of the Drow he knows now move to surround him...

Chakan can feel his fingers and toes begin to tingle, signifying the end of his magical restraint. As the spell melts away, he rolls to his feet and gets his bearings. Estimating the location of Valas, he takes only enough time to load his Doomspark before taking off at an mentally-enhanced run. As he closes, a large, fiery explosion roars to life only a couple blocks away, letting him know where Valas is <-please let it be *is*-> precisely. The burning buildings left by the firestorm light the air, allowing him to see a hail of small streaks arc into the top of one building. He can also see the target of the streaks, a heavily cloaked body, sliding off a floating disk and onto the rooftop.

"Noooo!!!" Chakan cries his rage as he draws Velvedren and charges into battle....

Realizing the Drow know precisely where *he* is, Valas chants the simple call to the Healing Motes around him. They coalesce on his shoulder and quickly stitch close his wound. Statistics creep up from a different portion of his mind; Analysis of the evidence attempting to estimate the quantity and quality of his foes. Approximately ten Drow, not including the Abomination. Perhaps two or three are priestesses of that Bitch. His brethren, Klarath, had attained rank of Mage shortly before the Fall. It is doubtful that he would have retained all of his power after his transformation, but Valas estimates he is proficient in at least the third sphere, possibly the fourth. <Even accompanied by all my comrades, this situation is ranked extremely dangerous. Alone it is decidedly terminal.>

The air is splintered by the enraged cry of Chakan. Valas looks up in time to see the hurtling figure of his comrade thump onto the roof and tumble next to him. "Let's show these bastards the sort of Entropy Magic can do." Chakan quickly glances around the roof, peers over the edge to the street below, seeing and hearing nothing. "So where the fuck are they?!?"

"Seeking to surround us through stealth or preparing some variety of checkmate situation are my current top ranking hypotheses. Let us take this pause to better prepare ourselves. My path selections this morning were of a more rudimentary variety, however, I believe this dweomer will aid us." Valas harshly stutters a few strange syllables, peers through his lens at his outstretched hand, chokes out a bit more strained language, and then clasps his fist and looks at Chakan.

Chakan feels at vital force strike him, forcing its way through his flesh and into his soul. Adreneline pumps as he feels his entire body filled with vibrant energy.

Valas appraises his dweomercraft, "Not quite the heartiness of Killraven, but it will suffice. Now, quickly, reposition us to the tactically superior layout of the building adjoining this one on its Sigillian radially clockwise face."

Chakan, takes a moment to decipher his friend's odd statement, and then leaps the short distance to the next building. Valas steps onto his disk, and softly floats over the gap between the two buildings.

Once next to Chakan, Valas steps lightly off the disk, then allows the a tiny portion of his mind to cease concentration, causing the disk to wink out of existence.

Scanning the layout of the roof, Chakan notes that it is not the proper roof of the building. Apparently some time in the recent past the entire top floor, or floors, was violently removed from the building. Now the "roof" is actually an interior floor with the majority of walls and all of the ceiling absent. There were several positions that they could defend that would allow them to see almost all of the "roof" but that were only approachable from one or two locations. Well, two or three if you included dropping in from above.

"Nice. Amazing how Entropy can be so beneficial at times...", Chakan commented, momentarily lost in thought. "Well, philosophical pondering is for later. What are we up against?"

"Perhaps ten of my kind, two or three are priestesses. The Magma Drider is perhaps twice my power," Valas explains as they move to the far side of the building. Their discussion is interupted by a short, harsh word emanating from the shadows of the rooftop they just left.

Once again, Chakan feels his limbs tighten and become rigid. <Shit! I need to get one of those sodding rings Lilah keeps babbling about.> Valas, however, instinctively reacts to the Drow word "hold", mental processes kicking in and preventing the foul spell from taking root in his physical system.

He then grabs Chakan and yanks with all his strength, pulling his inert form behind the chimney. The move allows two Drow to find their mark on Valas' back, their bolts slamming into him with shocking force. With a cry, Valas crumples next to his friend. Concentrating fiercely, he refocuses the pain into white-hot rage, which he then funnels through a magical net to strike the spell paralyzing Chakan, shattering it.

"I hate that spell" grunts Chakan as he tumbles away from the chimney, coming up with his Doomspark. Finding the sleek target of a Drow Priestess gracefully leaping to their building, he unloads with a thunderous belching of fire. The female forms stutters in mid-air, it's head harshly violated by the Doomguard weapon.

Squinting through the smoke, Chakan only sees three dark forms, quickly and silently closing on him and his comrade. "I only see three males. Where in the Abyss are the rest?"

Valas pokes above the chimney, utters a short bark of a word, and two flaming missiles shriek out to strike one of the forms in the face. "Unknown. If they persist with such disperse groupings, our probability of survival increases significantly, although it is still disturbing on an absolute scale. Dispatching these three within a small time delta will further enhance that rating. My meager tactical knowledge suggests my continued magical bombardment while you decrease combat distance to more personal levels."

"Like I have a choice" notes Chakan slyly as the two standing Drow leap in front of Chakan, a viscious dagger in each hand. Chakan's short swords whip out, parrying a dagger from each dark elf. He twists out of the way of a third dagger, but the fourth slashes into his side, ripping away leather and flesh. Chakan grits his teeth, ignoring the pain, and manages to get one of his swords through the guard of a dark elf. Painful practice at the Gymnasium proves itself as Chakan skillfully finds a gap in the Drow's fine weave of adamantium armor, gashing open the coal-black skin underneath.

The grimace of pain on the Drow's face is violently masked by a burst of magical fire. Chakan and the other drow step back from the heat, as the scarred body drops to the decayed wood of the rooftop.

The other Drow recovers instantly and strikes at Chakan like a black whip. Chakan's reflexive twist prevents him from being disemboweled. Still, two more red slashes appear. Chakan uses the momentum from the Drow's attack to step back a few paces, allowing him to bring his swords back into position in time to meet the Drow's press. The two exchange swirling attacks and parries until Chakan is able to open a small hole in his opponents defenses, which he quickly fills will a swift kick to Drow's face. The Drow flips over backward, landing on harshly on his back.

Realizing the speed of the Drow and predicting its move, Chakan lunges at a spot just above where the Drow lies. The Drow obliges him by leaping to his feet in time to receive both swords deep in his chest, his grimace of rage replaced by surprise. Then, to the amazement of Chakan, the Drow grabs each sword by its blade, lurches forward on the blades, spits in Chakan's face, then slumps over, dead. <Damn. I forgot what tough bastard's these berks were.>

Remembering Valas, Chakan feels a surge of panic and glances over in time to see Valas throw two shurikens at the remaining Drow. One flies over the Drow's shoulder to strike the remains of a wall, the other strikes the Drow in the chest. Both burst into a oozing, green puddle, one disolving wood, the other flesh. With mild amusement, Chakan watches the Drow's chest slowly disintegrate even as he shambles a few more steps towards Valas, finally collapsing in a gurgling heap.

Glancing around, seeing nothing and hearing nothing, Chakan removes his swords from the the corpse at his feet. "What do you have left, Valas?"

"Inadequate armament for more than one assault of that intensity. Your status?"

"Dismal. I wasn't in full Planewalking gear." Chakan tensely surveys the top of the buildings. No Drow are in sight. Glancing at the body lying crumpled at his feet, Chakan quickly reaches down and plucks the Drow dagger from it's limp hand. Quickly appraising it, Chakan verifies that it is Drow Adamantium. "Nice." He tucks the dagger in his belt, then looks back around at the still empty rooftops.

"Where in Baator are they?!?" Chakan's tension shows through his voice.

Valas scans the analytical portion of his mind. "There has been sufficient time to surround us. You have a more tactically trained mind, what approach would you use to maximize surprise?"

Chakan, glances around, brow furrowed in concentration. "I'd do something violent and shocking, something like - " Awful comprehension slams into him as he looks to his feet, "like take out the roof."

Screaming obsentities, Chakan launches himself at Valas, whose mind has registered Chakan's meaning, but lacks the combat training to react.

Chakan reaches Valas just as a muted explosion is heard below their feet and the roof bows violents outward, magical fire streaming through the holes and cracks. The two are tossed upward like dolls, colliding in mid-air. As they begin to fall back down, the inferno explosively escapes the confines of the roof's decaying structure, engulfing the two falling forms in flame. Valas is unaffected, but Chakan's flesh chars and his clothing ignites.

They continue to plummet past the now-disintegrated roof, through the crumbling floor beneath it, and strike the next level with a harsh crunch. Above them burns the portion of the building that remained intact, around them burns the portion that didn't.

Barely conscious, Valas hears a familiar, harsh language above the crackling of the fires. Peering toward the source of the sounds, he is greeted with the horrible visage of his old school-mate, its bloated body going through the gestures of a casting. The distant, analytical portion of his mind registers the spell, and even acknowledges that the pattern is well weaved. When the fires flare out of existance, he is unsurprised. He is also unsurprised when sleek Drow forms leap through the external windows and doors into the building and lightly pad their way toward the two inert figures.

"Game Over," croaks Chakan as his hands grope weakly around him, searching for his swords. His left hand finds the tip of one, but is unable to move it. Looking over to see what is holding it down, he finds the legs of a Drow. Rolling his head back, he is greeted by the unnerving sight of a Priestess glaring down at him.

A wicked smile forms on her face as she begins to chant. Just as she reaches the climax of her prayer, her voice is overwhelmed by an deep groaning. The floor around Chakan and Valas, weakened by the recent events, suddenly gives out, sending Chakan, Valas, and the priestess on a bone-jarring trip to the next floor.

The priestess, her spell halted, lands badly on her arm, and she cries out as the bones splinter. Chakan tumbles in mid-air, and lands lightly between the priestess and Valas. Valas, unable to react appropriately, lands worse than the priestess, his leg snapping underneath him, the shin-bone jutting through his flesh.

Ignoring his cries of pain, Chakan grabs Valas, and lurches through several doorways into a back room. Setting him down, Chakan retrieves a vial and forces the contents down Valas' throat. The healing magics are enough to help Valas become coherent.

Concentrating fiercely, Valas immediately calls upon the Great Pattern-Spirit, and feels the Pattern shift, sending a group of Healing Motes into his leg. The bone knits enough to allow the pain to subside.

The dark form of the priestess suddenly appears, shrieking at a dead run towards Valas, an insane light in her eyes. Chakan quickly and calmly draws his Doomspark and unloads with the remaining shell. "Pike it, bitch."

The slug impacts the female at point-blank range, leaving only a smoking hole in place of her stomach. The body slumps to the ground.

Valas scrapes himself over to the dead body. Intoning a few words in Drow, he grasps an amulet lying around her neck and yanks it off. Glancing up at Chakan, Valas simply states, "I've been seeking to acquire one of these."

Chakan briefly smiles, then glances around the room. The layout is bad. There are two other doors that lead out of the room, neither lead outside. The Drow have realized this and Chakan can hear them maneuvering, preparing to strike simultaneously.

A dry chuckle escapes Chakan's lips as he realizes the door they entered through is a portal. "An exit with no key," he mumbles wryly. "Don't worry, though, I brought my own exit." He holds up his hand and twists the ring on one of the fingers.

"Hmm? A portal? Which one?" Valas is sitting up now, Chakan's revelation seemingly spurring a sudden intense mental analysis.

Chakan points to the door, "No key Valas. No good. I'll just d-door us out."

"Klarath, the drider, was an advanced student of dimensional magic. He will encounter no difficulty following us." Valas states matter-of-factly. "A diversionary tactic is essential." With that, Valas holds up his lens, and starts chanting.

Chakan looks quizzically at his friend, "what can you cast that will bother your friend?" Valas, enveloped in his casting doesn't answer. Chakan, having been around Valas, and magic in general, long enough, is able to divine the answer himself by watching Valas' gestures.

A cold pit forms in his gut. "You barmy mother-f*#&@er!", he cries. Realizing they have *no* time, Chakan concentrates on his ring. A distant part of his mind recognizes the sound of another chanting, in the voice of the Drider.

Seconds later a black disk forms just behind Chakan. At the same moment, Valas finishes his spell. The only apparent effect is a piece of cable that untwines from somewhere inside Valas' robe and winds towards the door.

Chakan grabs Valas and falls through the disk just as the cable reaches the door and shoots upward inside of it, forming an extradimensional space inside the portal.

Klarath, in the midst of his spell, stops, recognizing the collision that just occurred. <Valas is again victorious>

Valas and Chakan hit the ground on the other side of the disk, just in time to feel the Hive heave. Turning around they see the portion of the Hive they just left seemingly collapse on itself briefly. Then, beginning with a single point of blinding light, it explodes. The entire building is instantly consumed in magical fury. From their position two hundred yards away, they are knocked over by the shockwave. The night is engulfed by a roaring white-noise, as if the Universe was screaming in pain.

Then, the explosion and noise simply cease. The silence of the night flows back in around them.

Chakan blinks twice, turns to Valas and states, "You get to explain this one to the Lady."

Chakan sits down on the bare floor with a pained groan. He instinctively reaches down to tighten the bandages on his left leg, which of course, causes more pain and another groan. The speed at which they traveled here did nothing to help the wounds the pair of elves had received during their recent encounter with the Drow of Valas' homeworld. The Doomguard glances across the way to where his friend sits in pained meditation on his magical disk. "I told you I wouldn't let you die."

Valas makes no attempt to sit upright - it would be too painful. Instead, he replies from his reclined position: "That is a correct statement. However, I sincerely wish you had made and kept a promise about not letting me suffer pain. I am seeing stars that have no presence in Sigil other than in my fevered imagination."

Chakan chuckles in spite of Valas' torment. "Sorry, but you did choose a Doomguard to protect you for the evening. You can't really expect to get off completely unaffected by Entropy, can you?"

"I suppose not. To take my mind off the uncomfortable state of my physical body, tell me again where we are going... I assume that this place cannot truly be our final destination." The mage-priest weakly gestures with his left hand at the building they are currently taking refuge in.

It is nothing more than four walls around a bare, marble floor. The majority of the roof has long since fallen away and the rubble has been stolen by the barmies of the Hive to build their futile hovels. Although the building has obviously been long abandoned, the floor is clear of dirt and grime. It's cracked surface is fairly intact and the engraving of a set of scales is still faintly visible. Chakan is sitting on the edge of a dais which fills one end of the rectangular hall. The dais sits under the an archway which supports the only surviving section of the roof.

"Right. This place is actually the 'foyer' to the Court of Woe. The Court is jointly run by the Dustmen and the Guvners. I guess it serves as a court of last resort. I haven't had the pleasure of attending or being served. The only thing that really interests us is the fact that the court is a small pocket of survivability in the Negative Material Plane. I'm sure you'd love to know how they maintain such a place in what is probably the most inhospitable place in the multiverse."

"Indeed I would. And I also conclude that you have more than just a passing interest in this place given your choice of the Doomguard for a faction. But are we not as rested as we are going to be? Shall we not enter via whatever portal is in this place and be done with your experiment?"

"Yes, we're as rested as we're going get. However, I don't have the key to this portal. We'll have to wait for one to show up."

The oddity of that last statement forces Valas to raise his head and look at his friend. "How do you mean, 'wait for one to show up'?" Chakan merely smiles and replies: "Wait. You'll see." Valas recognizes that tone and is resigned to wait - Chakan will give up no information when he's in that mood.

Fortunately for all involved, the wait is not a long one. Within a score of minutes after Chakan's enigmatic statement, the sound of something approaching can be heard. It is a soft rattling or knocking that a Prime would describe as being similar to tree branches waving in the wind. But even the most Clueless leatherhead knows that there are neither trees nor wind in the Cage. The sound, while obviously coming closer to the building, does not show an appreciable rise in volume. Soon, a heavily cloaked figure escorted by ten skeletons enters the chamber - a Dustman. The figure and its entourage stops upon sighting the two wounded elves. After a moment, the being raises its arms and lifts the cowl from off its head, revealing the wan features of a female human. The pallor of her skin and the obvious emaciation of her features show that she is quite far along the path to True Death. When she speaks, it is with the low, passionless, monotone that marks most high-ups of the Dead. "What do you seek here?"

Chakan takes the painful effort to stand up and give a respectful nod in her direction. "We mean no offense or harm to you, Factotum of the Dustmen. We merely wish to visit the Court of Woe as well as indulge in exposure to the baneful energies of the Negative Material Plane. I give you my word of honor, as a Doomguard that I will cause no disturbances to the proceedings. My companion is an Athar and thus also will cause no problems for you and your kind."

The Dustman glances slowly between Chakan and Valas. "I have heard of a Doomguard who visited the Court under his own will and stepped into the Plane. I assume this to be you. My superiors in the upper Circles have not forbidden any repeats. Thus, because of the good relations between our factions, I will allow you to accompany us to the Court. Stand close and follow the Dead through the portal to the Court of Woe."

Chakan doesn't even look at Valas as he nods again to the Dustman. "Understood. Please lead the way."

The female Dustman replaces the cowl over her face and turns to walk towards the one surviving arch under which Chakan has been sitting. Chakan and Valas fall into line behind the last of the skeletons. It is quickly apparent that the Dustman (or something she carries) is the key to the portal; for as she breaks the plane of the archway, it activates as a portal. So far, Valas has not seen a portal activate the same as any other and this one does not disappoint his intellectual curiosity. The effect is similar to glass breaking from the impact of a sling stone, with the Dustman as the stone. Pure black 'cracks' radiate outward from the point in space where the member of the Dead crossed the arch, quickly spreading and multiplying until the whole of the space is filled with a spider's web of lines. Then, the pieces of 'glass' (being the view of the Cage beyond the arch) 'fall' away, leaving only a lightless void in front of the group. As they pass through the portal, Chakan and Valas experience a slight shiver - akin to the feeling which has earned the description of 'some one walking over your grave'.

Beyond the portal, the group's destination manages to surprise the intellectually unexpecting Valas. It is as if they have stepped into a vast cocoon. The chamber, which is dimly lit by torches, is generally oval in shape, with a high echoing dome overhead. The walls, while a pale, sickly white similar to a cocoon, are most definitely not made of anything even close to silk. Instead, all of the surfaces of the chamber (floor included) are formed from the calcified, twisted, remains of uncountable beings. Most seem to be humanoid mortals, but here and there are the shapes of creatures that could only have been modrons or fiends. Chakan and Valas stand at the rear of the vast chamber, before an archway formed of massive tusks. Stretching before them is a large gallery of benches, arranged to provide a good view of the proceedings at the front of the chamber. The pair notice that the majority of the spectators are either Dustmen or Undead. Their guide continues with her escort towards the front of the Court.

Chakan ignores the rest of the room and begins to drag Valas towards the rear corner of the chamber. "This way, Valas. The door outside is over here." Valas lets himself be carried as his attention is captivated by the case in progress at the front of the courtroom.

The judge which presides over the proceedings is most definitely unexpected. A towering, bloated form combining the worst features of man and boar looms in a throne made from bones. It's tiny wings flap lazily in the gloom. Valas has seen a similar creature before - it looks almost exactly like the Tanar'ri consort to Red Shroud. The barrister who is currently presenting a case seems equally ill-suited for his job. He looks to be an elf, dressed in garish green robes. There are five small objects of varying geometrical shapes orbiting his head - ioun stones. Based on the man's speech pattern, it would appear as if he is both defending and accusing the client. It is also obvious that the elf is a Xaositech.

"Judge Gabberslug, it is painfully obvious that my client could not have committed the crime of which he is accused as the price of Arborean tea was ten percent lower on that day as well as the fact that there were only forty- two skirmishes of the Blood War recorded on that day. Furthermore, presence crime at the facts while the loot point to his hands clearly of the scene with in, the wore he that white sportcoat and a pink crustacean..."

Valas is saved from a splitting headache at this miscarriage of logic by Chakan physically turning him away from the sight. "Yo, target. Remember me?" The magma-drow shakes himself and forces his focus on Chakan. "This is the door out of the Court and into the Negative Plane. I need you to stand here and hold onto the end of my chain in case I need help getting back in. Got it?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I'm not as scatter-brained as young Nim-Karlina-Gavin-Dimesh is. I will be able to perform such a simple task of hand-eye coordination as to affect your retrieval should dire circumstances arise within the specified time parameters." The mage-priest sounds distinctly peeved.

"Sheesh. A simple 'yes' would have done it, Oberon. Here." With that, he hands one end of his chain to the Athar and ties the other around his waist. Drawing a deep breath, the Doomguard steels himself, and then jumps into the Plane which embodies his faction's ideal of the goal of the multiverse.

Valas watches Chakan hang motionless in the void. To the unaided eye, it appears as if he is merely suspended against a flat, inky blackness which absorbs all else. If one didn't personally know how tall Chakan really was, it would be impossible to tell how far away the figure was. While nothing visible is occurring, Valas' lens reveals a much different story.

<Intriguing. The 'void' of the Negative Plane appears to be made of swarms of voracious motes. I surmise they could be likened unto raw necromantic motes, but that is too simplified a proposal.> The motes which Valas observes are in the process of latching onto and destroying everything they come in contact with. Everything, except for the walls of the Court of Woe and Chakan. The walls are ignored. Chakan seems to be acting as a sponge. Through his lens, he can see the motes move to 'attack' the physical form of Chakan, but instead are drawn into his body once they touch the skin. This 'reversal affect' has been going on ever since Chakan jumped into the plane nearly ten minutes ago. <If Dr. Tetch's hypothesis is correct, there should be a mere 80 heartbeats to pass before the effect is complete and the motes are able to begin the process of devouring him. I wonder if he will dissolve in a similar manner to this chain?>

Valas continues to wait in silent observation for the calculated time to pass. Fortunately for his sanity, the vigil he keeps is intellectually stimulating enough to allow him to ignore the continued rantings of the Chaosman lawyer at the front of the courtroom. He is broken out of his reverie by a gasp of pain on the 81st heartbeat. <Perfect. Exactly as I predicted.> The mage-priest refocuses his sight into the physical realm to Chakan starting to pull his way back to the Courtroom along the chain link lifeline. Valas considers aiding the Doomguard by pulling on the chain, but discards the idea. He will let Chakan do this on his own. <Besides, it gives me a rare opportunity to witness someone's essence being eaten away by what some would call Entropy. I do hope Chakan is savoring this experience.>

After another pair of minutes, Chakan pulls himself within reach of the courtroom door just as the chain collapses into a line of dust which quickly dissipates into the nothingness of the Negative Plane. He kneels, gasping, on the floor. His clothing hangs in tatters and the wounds received in the fight with the drow have reopened. "You could have help me by pulling on the chain, Oberon."

"True. But, given the weakened state of the object, my added force would only have served to sever our tenuous link much earlier and you might have been lost in the depths of the plane. Although, given your faction's beliefs, you might have enjoyed that death."

"Maybe, but not today. I've got too many things left unfinished to allow myself the luxury of uniting with the true fate of the multiverse."

Now that his equilibrium has returned, Chakan slowly stands up to look directly into the face of the friend who would kill him. Valas can see one lasting change from the immersion into the plane. Chakan's eyes were a piercing violet prior to the trip. Now, they are a muted shade of iris with large flecks of amber. "What do your lens and motes tell you about me?" The tone used is at once anxious and challenging.

Valas takes a moment longer to contemplate the change in his friend's eyes before lifting his lens and calling upon the motes of divination to reveal the truth about Chakan. Once the motes are finished in their task, the mage-priest exhales a long-held breath.

"You are not undead, my friend. You do have a strong connection to the Negative Plane - as expected - as well as radiating strongly of magic in general. In short, you appear to be as much a magical construct as Rogan. How do you feel?"

Chakan releases a breath of his own. His shoulders sag in relief as he runs his hand through his jet black hair. "Alive," he smiles, "... and tired and in a heck of a lot of pain." Then the smile fades as something occurs to the Doomguard.

"Dammit. I lost my hat again."