Fantasy & Sci-Fi
Albinor Chronicles Chapter 12
"The Altar of Lolth"
By Marcus Pan
March 19, 003"
Corellon awoke. He was lieing on a straw pallet in a dark
room. Against the far wall was a large, iron-bound, oaken door. The polished
stone blocks of the walls glistened with water and moss, basked in the
flickering light of a torch that came through a barred window on the door.
Footsteps rang ominously in the echoing hall outside his cell, blending
together with the low shaking of chains on an armored man. An occasional
whimper of some unnamed soul of a man reached his ears, resonating in the
corridor and adding a ghostly effect with the steps and chains.
The room he was in was a 20' X 20' cell with walls formed of
polished, stone blocks roughly one foot square. The stones were cracked and
broken in spots. Moss grew thickly in the corners. It was very damp and water
slowly streaked the walls giving off a strong smell of decay. The Elven King
lay on the pallet of straw and thought of many things. Is Barrazzo still alive?
What's happening back in Alfeim? And, most importantly, what was all the
excitement about a little over two weeks ago, the drows running about in
turmoil and the sounds of battle filtering through the walls from above? Was it
his men in the battle? Or were the battle cries simply a figment of his
delirious imagination? His thoughts were shattered as the door flew open and
slammed hard against the inside wall. Standing in the doorway were three,
black-robed, drow elven men Ragwulf Calds, Erric Vangroom and Orduin Grimoire.
Orduin and Erric entered with chains and shackles. Not wanting to fight and not
having the energy to do so, Corellon gave in easily and allowed them to lock
the shackles about his ankles and wrists. He was lead out of the room and down
a long corridor lined with doorways. The four of them went down a stairwell and
emerged in a wider hallway. This level of the dungeon was more preserved and
well-maintained than the one he had just came from.
They walked through a large doorway into a large room. The
floor had a path of black, polished marble through the middle. The rest of the
floor was white marble. The walls were hung with tapestries depicting drow
elves cavorting with huge, black spiders. The largest tapestry, on the north
wall, showed a pentagram surrounded by various, archaic symbols. A half-naked
man, obviously of high-elven stock, was tied, arms and legs spread-eagle, on a
large, black, marble block of stone at the far end of the room. His head had
been shaved. Corellon was lead in this direction. Against the far wall another
high elf was chained. He was ragged and dressed in a similar fashion a worn,
dirty cloak like Corellon. Corellon was shackled against the wall beside him.
The man rose his head and Corellon recognized him. It was his captain, Barrazzo
Before they could say a few words to each other, some of the
torches on the walls were doused. Three black-robed figures strode into the
room holding candles. All had strange, spider-shaped markings threaded into
their robes. The man tied to the altar began shaking his head violently in a
state of delirium. Grimoire stood before the altar, his back to the Elven King.
The other three clerics knelt before the altar holding the candles. Grimoire
rose his hands and began speaking in a strange language. "Ia Lothla," he began.
"Ia Lothla symbolica." The three others rose to their feet, circling the stone
in a strange pattern while dripping wax onto the floor. "Lothla symbolica
nethrud, symbolica porat. Lothla destra enem. Symbolica porat." The three
clerics knelt and the shape they had traced on the marble floor with the wax
took shape. It was a five pointed star, a pentagram, surrounding the altar
stone. There was a bright flash of light. The three clerics began a low-key
humming that menacingly echoed off the stone walls sending chills running the
length of Corellon's spine. Orduin lowered an ornately-carved dagger to the
man's chest and pricked him. The man's eyes closed, his head swaying back and
forth. Orduin lowered the dagger again to the man's chest and began tracing a
pattern in his flesh. "Lothla destra enem, symbolica porat." said the evil
cleric. Raising the knife above his head, Corellon saw the bloody outline of a
pentagram carved into the elf's flesh. "Ia Lothla porat de Ordra!" There was
another bright flash and the bloodied man screamed. The humming of the clerics
increased, seemingly coming from the walls themselves. The pentagram outline on
the floor burst into flame, giving off a searing heat. The chest of the
screaming, elven man rippled. A long, black leg pierced through. Rivulets of
blood poured down the altar-stone. Explosions, like thunder, rocked the room.
The man's chest exploded outward in a shower of blood and flesh and a large,
black spider emerged. Flashes of light surrounded Orduin and he turned to the
Elven King, the bloodied knife still in his right hand and pieces of flesh from
the man's chest sliding down his cheek. "Meet your doom, high elf!" he yelled
at Corellon. "The doom of all high elves. Feel the power the drow have
harnessed. 'Tis the Spikra, spawn of Lolth!" He laughed maniacally, drunk with
power. Then Corellon blacked out.
The above item may have been edited by the author
since its first appearance in Legends No. 28.