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Once he entered the central stalactite, Veldrin made a beeline for his quarters. He checked his wardrobe, looking for any stray splatters of blood from the barroom brawl that he had just been involved in. Veldrin washed his face and hands after he had confirmed that he hadn't sustained any wounds from the fracas.

The weapons master finally removed his studded leather armor, enchanted to blend flawlessly into the shadows, and changed into a form fitting black tunic embroidered with spiderweb patterns in a silver filigree. However, he still wore his enchanted metal bracers, adorned with grinning skulls and the sword belt from which his shortsword and assassin's dagger hung.

Once he had finished his change of wardrobe, Veldrin made his way to the parlor to greet his visitor. The guards posted at the door snapped off a salute as the weapons master entered the room. "Greetings, visitor," he said with a sincere looking smile. "How have you been enjoying our hospitality so far? I am Veldrin Hun'afin, weapons master and current patron of the House," the drow continued. "What is your business with us?"

Veldrin reached out picked up the sigil, holding it up for closer examination. His innate ability to detect magical auras confirmed that the item was indeed enchanted, and emitted a strong aura of divine magic.

"Do not address me as 'patron'," Veldrin said with a stern, but even, tone as he continued to appraise the relic. "Jabbuk or M'lord will be acceptable, and I hardly think our Matron would react kindly should she hear of this." Veldrin's eyes looked over Malag, observing his body language and facial expressions. The drow's vocal tone lightened as he continued, "You say you are acquainted with the art of assassination? Our house is always looking for talented spies, saboteurs and assassins to add to our ranks. Perhaps your unemployment problem can be solved if your performance in a trial mission proves satisfactory."

Tagerion rose slowly, his limbs all screaming in pain as they began to move. He was unsure what had happened, and took quick stock of his surroundings. Once again, he found himself in his slave quarters, albeit that the were slightly more comodable than the average slave. His status as the unoffical shock troop of the house gave him a bit more room for comfort, which is why he was allowed a chair and small bar in conjunction with his matted bed.

Aftering confirming he was safely in his room, the events that lead to his comotose quickly replayed in his head. He had been guarding his matron as usual just moments before her foolish demise. In his intoxicated state, which he was nearly always in, he had made the mistake of stroking one of the fine peices of art outside the matron's quarters. Given the nature of his matron it the time, it should come to no surprise that the poisons had put him into a coma.

Tagerion quickly lumbered out of his room, and headed for his closest priority. Alcohol. He had no idea how long he had been out for, but the human was already quite aware of the effects of withdrawal and soon headed off towards the parlor where Veldrin and Malag happened to be.

Giving the guards along the corriders a gruff nod, even while they keep their distance to this dangerous human, he entered the small chamber the two were in, almost taking up the chamber in his massive frame.

He quickly dropped to a knee and slammed his fist to his armored chest before Veldrin.

"My lord, please excuse my absence, but I am here to serve the Sisterhood of the web once again."

"Of Course, my Lord" he said , the words coming out of his mouth dripped with vehemence, and came out so gruffly it was like chewing on adamantium.

He stood slowly, placing his large arms across his chest in a gesture of submission to the angry assassin. The scowl that crossed his face could not even have been hidden by the ornate helmet that now rested tucked into his elbow.

The Man's worst fear had already been realized, and he knew it would not take long for the effects of withdrawal to really sink in. The pacfication and calm that alcohol gave him was one of the reasons he had survived as long as he did, and the man was already beggining to rage within himself at this great insult.

One thought crossed his mind, someone will pay for this. Tagerion held no will ill towards the assassin, but Stormhold hummed eagerly on his back, sharing the sentiments with its owner. Before the night was over, Tagerion sweared, he will share some of his anger through one of the few talents he had, the art of combat.

"Your will is mine, my lord" he said once more through gritted teeth, thoughts already coursing in his head to request a trip to the arena.

Sy rolled over in her bed. A sharp pain shot through her temple.

"Ah!" her hand clasped across her head to put pressure on the tender area. But it hardly helped.

"What happened last night...?" she asked herself as she tried to recall the night.

Then her memory ticked as she thought back to the bar she had been at last night. "Oh, that's right. I went to that bar and that bloody duegar gave me that extra strong drink! And then I... then I... I don't remember. How the hell did I get home!?"

With a groan, Sy sat up in her bed and the room began to spin. Shaking herself out of it, she staggered to her door and tore it open to look down the corridors. Holding her head with one hand she stepped over the threshold and spotted a slave walking by.

"YOU!" she shouted as she pointed at him with her other hand.

The slave looked at her with terrified eyes and completely dropped what he was doing and just stood and stared at her.

"Go get me some water."

The slave nodded his head vigorously and hurried off to fulfill his new order.

Malag accepted the parchment with a grin.

"It doesn't matter where he hides, Jabbuk. He cannot escape me. Though I may only have one eye, you know how the phrase goes: Losing one eye only makes the other sharper."

His eye gleamed in anticipation, and he bowed to the Weaponmaster, pocketing the scroll. It was impolite to read orders in front of their giver. He was confident that he would have issue with the directions.

"Is there anything else required? Retrieval of a particular object or body part? Ironic Modus Operandi? Ask, and I shall craft your will to reality, M'Lord."

Malag's grin widened. He got a very deep and true pleasure out inflicting his particular deformity on others; blinding was his calling card, and he was particularly good at optical excision.

"His eyes will still be weeping when you recieve them, Jabbuk. No one knows the pain that can be caused with an eye better than a man who is missing one. Thank you again for your hospitality, but before I go, may I leave my final gift with you?"

Malag indicated his slave, who didn't seem to notice.

"I am an adept sculptor, but my medium is not clay or marble; I pose flesh, then make it as permanent as stone. What higher art form is there than a living statue? If I may, I wish to donate a bit to the decor of your already lovely house, M'lord. It will only take a moment, and the results are truly breath-taking, I assure you."

His eye flashed at Veldrin's interest, and he proceeded happily.

"Essentially, my method of expressing art is through the pain of others, hence my profession. However, murder is such a fleeting beauty, and torture fades with time. Imagine, though, the wonder that could be obtained from preserving a subject in the height of their torment, forever... That is my art: To preserve pain for all to see for eternity. I will demonstrate now, if you'll permit me..."