R. Salvatore - Archmage

The six blades in her hands moved in a mesmerizing dance. Malagdorl’s entourage fanned out around him, three on either side. To a drow, they understood the formidability of this fiend they faced, but these were Barrison Del’Armgo’s elite warriors.

They knew no fear.

With a nod from Malagdorl to left and right, the weapons master led the way. The noble drow warriors stalked in slowly, the commoners in the room all backing to the farthest corners, and Marilith smiling, her snake tail twitching, eager for the fight.

Too eager, Malagdorl thought. He and his entourage were elite warriors, veterans, and they had fought side by side for decades. Surely the demon in front of them knew this. Surely the beast was aware of the reputation of House Barrison Del’Armgo. The weapons master glanced around, expecting other demons-minions of Marilith-to leap from the shadows or crash through the walls.

When he noted nothing, Malagdorl leaped into the fray, stabbing his great trident ahead with a powerful thrust.

In from the sides came his entourage, six drow, twelve swords, rushing and circling, skipping ahead to strike, falling back with great agility.

Marilith’s arms were a blur of motion, her weapons ringing against drow blades, parrying almost every strike. The khopesh swept three swords aside with a single parry, and the rapier darted in behind to drive the nearest foe back. Almost every strike was parried, and those few that got through did little damage against the demonic creature. From the waist up, Marilith appeared as a naked human woman, though gigantic. But her skin was surely that of a major fiend, and even the fine edges of masterfully crafted drow blades could barely dig in.

Her center arms on each side came together in a crossing motion, turning aside Malagdorl’s powerful stab. Back out they went, nearly tearing the trident from the mighty drow’s grasp. He staggered backward a few steps to regroup and secure his grip on the weapon.

And to let his lesser companions bear the brunt of the demon’s initial surge.

Both lines of three became a weave, the drow leaping to and fro, swerving around each other, constantly changing positions and attack angles.

Marilith’s blades worked furiously to keep up, and the ring of weaponagainst-weapon became a continuous metallic screech.

Her tail swept out around her left flank, and the three dark elves leaped straight up and tucked their legs-one, two, three-dodging perfectly, and then again as the serpent tail rushed back and swept all the way around to the right.

The three dark elves on that side similarly began their evasion, but Marilith stopped and swung around, bringing all six of her blades to bear on the three now slightly off-balance on her right side, six swords meeting six, though with the strength of a major demon behind the attacking blades.

Her tail snapped the other way, whipping across, and up went the drow again. This time, though, the demon lashed out at them with a spell. She grabbed a huge table from across the room with magical telekinesis and hurled it at the agile trio.

Normally, they would have easily dodged, but now they were up in the air as the table hurtled at them, their twisting and turning less effective.

One got clipped and was sent spinning aside. A second caught the table under the arm and was taken with it across the room to smash into the far wall. The third, though, landed easily out of a spin and leaped right back in at the demon, his momentum carrying his sword hard into Marilith’s lower side.

Malagdorl marked that soldier’s name-Turven’di-for a later salute.

The demon shrieked and jerked about frantically, all of her swords coming to bear on Turven’di, overwhelming him and slashing him in short order, driving him back like a pathetic field mouse in front of a hungry fox. To his credit, the drow warrior did manage to parry the khopesh and another blade with his right-hand sword, neatly picked off a third blade with his left-hand sword, and partially deflected a fourth, turning the angle of attack so that it merely stung him as it grazed past.

But the fifth, an underhand cut, got him deep in the thigh, and with his lurch, he had no defense at all against the sixth.

An overhead chop from Marilith’s top right arm brought that last weapon, a short, wide-bladed sword straight down into the hollow between Turven’di’s neck and left shoulder. The weight and bite of the blow dropped him to his knees, but there he jolted, caught upright long enough for Marilith to sink the sword deeper and deeper, through flesh and bone, through his lung, tearing the side of his heart. A fountain of blood erupted as the blade disappeared into doomed Turven’di. The wound was mortal, but even worse, the poor doomed drow realized, his eyes going wide, this was an Abyssal blade, a soul-capturing weapon. Marilith let go and the sword transformed into a swirl of blackness that engulfed the dying drow, chasing him down to the floor even as the magic ushered his soul to the hopelessness of the Abyss.

It had all happened in a few blinks of an eye, but in the momentary distraction, the remaining elite guards went right back in. Marilith accepted their first strikes, but then met them, three arms sweeping back to engage those from her right, a fourth going at the warrior who had been clipped by the table, as she swung fully around.

Still back a few strides, Malagdorl saw his opening and in he charged, batting aside Marilith’s last-moment attempted parry and driving his trident in hard between the demon’s breasts. With strength beyond that of any other drow in Menzoberranzan, the nephew of Uthegental crouched forward and bore in, pressing and twisting.

Magical rage burst from the demon-every burning sconce in the room exploded in wild pyrotechnics, more objects came flying in from every angle-and the enraged Marilith sent her swords into purely offensive routines, giving hits to the dark elves around her and accepting strikes without apparent concern. Her tail lashed out left and right, then came forward to snap at Malagdorl, to wrap around him and lift him away.

The coils tightened around him. He felt his bones bending and crunching, but he tightened his great muscles and growled through it, watching his warriors leaping all around the demon, and seeing his trident still stuck deeply into Marilith’s chest.

In a great exhale, Marilith unwound her tail, hurling Malagdorl across the room, where he shattered a table and chairs and crashed through the mushroom-stalk planking of the wall. All the other dark elves flew from her as well, her physical shrug accompanied by a burst of telekinesis and a wild sweep of tail and weapons.

Everything seemed to pause for many heartbeats, with Marilith slowly rotating to look at Malagdorl.

“Does it hurt, son of Barrison Del’Armgo?” she asked, blood pouring from her mouth with every determined word.

“You are banished, demon,” Malagdorl replied, his voice pained. Every breath sent fire through his surely broken ribs. “A hundred years. .”

“Not so long,” the demon roared, and she laughed wickedly and simply melted away, the great trident of Malagdorl falling flat to the floor with a metallic clang .

“I will be waiting for you,” Malagdorl threatened, and the voice of Marilith, the demonic spirit still hovering about the room, responded, “I know,” and laughed again.

Six drow limped out of the common room and onto the Stenchstreets, dragging dead Turven’di to strap him across the back of his lizard mount. They were all bloody, some with serious wounds, Malagdorl so twisted and broken that he could barely hold himself in his saddle.

But he did, and he managed to straighten a bit with every lizard stride back across the city, his pride overruling his pain.