The Tome Of Drow Lore.pdf - RoseRed

That was then, however. That was when he was younger. Poison or no, he was at the end of his
life now, his sight failing, his limbs weakening with the onset of age. He needed no network of
spies to tell him death was inevitable. Better it come at his own hands, on his own terms, than
come to him when he was reduced to a mindless fool quivering in his bed, or even that it come
to him on the tip of an apprentice’s dagger. His dimming vision told him the remnants of the
poison had settled to the bottom of the phial, even as what he had drunk had settled within his
body, working swiftly now. Yes, death was inevitable. Replacement was inevitable. Brezthal
was an excellent replacement, though, and Drem knew the Seekers would continue to thrive
under his leadership.
He heard the softest of footfalls outside his door, and with great effort turned to look. The door
handle jiggled slightly, and there was a sudden gasp. Moments later came gurgling, choking
noises, then the drumming of anguished heels on the floor.
‘So goes Smurgan,’ Drem thought with satisfaction. The poison he had painted on the door
handle was a far less pleasant way to die than the slow sleepiness he had chosen for himself.
He had known Brezthal would not be foolish enough to be the first to try his door. He smiled,
thinking again of how his legacy would endure, how the Seekers would pave the way for the
vengeance of the drow, and closed his eyes for the last time.
* * *
Brezthal na’Orrn stepped over the body of the fool Smurgan, already black and bloated, and
entered the study of Drem na’Koth, the lord of the Hidden Blades. He was silent and invisible,
clutching a dagger in one hand as he prepared to end the life of the man who had taught him
everything he knew. He slipped towards the figure in the chair, drawing ever closer, until he
noticed the unnatural stillness of the form. His first thoughts were of an illusion, or even a mere
stuffed dummy, but he dismissed those.
He saw the nearly empty phial on the desk, saw the parchment under the old and withered hand,
saw the smile on Drem na’Koth’s face, and knew the truth. His old master had outsmarted him
one last time. Looking at the parchment, his gaze fell on the last few words: ‘Lead us to our
vengeance.’
Brezthal nodded to Drem’s corpse in an uncharacteristic gesture of respect, then threw back his
head and laughed. He was never sure why.
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