The Tome Of Drow Lore.pdf - RoseRed

12
The last few undrunk drops of oily poison oozed their way slowly down the long, fluted
neck of the crystal phial. His hand shaking with age and the onset of the poison, Drem
na’Koth laid down his quill and capped his inkwell for the final time. He nodded with
satisfaction. His work was done.
They were coming to kill him tonight, he knew that all too well. Knowing was the one great
advantage he had had these last few centuries, since that moment of clarity, sweating in the
darkness of a fetid cave in the days following the Sundering. For him, Drem na’Koth, the man
who founded the Hidden Blades, the Seekers of na’Koth, there were few happenings amongst
the drow that escaped his attention.
Smiling, Drem thought back on the passing of the years since that fateful day, since he came to
understand that there was no sword, no spell, no force at all mightier than knowledge. Lack of
knowledge was what cost the drow victory, what nearly cost them their very existence. In turn,
possession of knowledge would lead to the ultimate victory, to the time when the drow boiled
forth again from this exile beneath the world, when all the betrayers of the surface would be
put to such torments they would beg for the sword before it at last came. It had taken many
years, and it had required great care, but now, his Hidden Blades were growing in strength and
number, spread throughout the lands of the drow. They were the eyes and the ears, the Seekers
of na’Koth, learning and hunting for knowledge, ferreting out the deepest secrets. Already, the
reputation of the Seekers was growing, already the drow nobles paid immense sums of money
to learn the hidden truths of their rivals.
Drem coughed, a terrible rasping sound as the poison began to take its toll on his lungs. Yes,
there were few things indeed he did not know, though Brezthal na’Orrn no doubt thought his
planned assassination this night was one of them. It did not bother Drem, Brezthal was an apt
pupil and an ambitious drow, and would make a fine replacement as the leader of Seekers. The
only thing that annoyed Drem was the certainty that Brezthal would be bringing his hapless
lackey Smurgan along with him. Of course, that was taken care of already.
He could feel the poison working faster now. By the time Brezthal arrived, Drem would likely
be gone. That seemed a shame, but it was the only way, as much as he might like to see the
look on the young drow’s face when he realised his plans had been seen and circumvented.
This was hardly the first assassination attempt on Drem’s life, and as he had foiled all others,
he was hardly about to let his streak end in failure. In earlier years, he had dealt harshly with
those foolish enough to try to topple him, or those even greater fools outside the Seekers who
thought to end his life. Male or female, noble or commoner, he had seen all those who sought
to end his life die screaming, or had them broken into witless, whimpering slaves who thought
only of ways to avoid the lash.