Part One: The Gathering Storm

Guldor looked at Jerell, and his countenance shifted somehow. Suddenly he was right up in Jerell's face, too quick to see, and he said, voice suddenly clear of that telltale drug-induced slur, "Look, mate, you didn't know who I was a minute ago, so I'm sure as shit that you don't know who my suppliers are. Don't think that you can intimidate me with your false bravado and lofty ideals."

Suddenly he was two steps away, with Jerell's sword in his hand.

"I think I might hang on to this one, for a little bit. It's got a good weight to it.

What you're wondering about is the Idol, known only as Fracture. His sculpture has entranced a bunch of workers and the guards around the Works have their hands full trying to get anyone to actually do any work. Not sure how or why, or where the Idol is, but something's going on, and when something's going on around here you can bet your arse that it's got something to do with the aelfir."

Guldor looked at Kyorlin, who he had almost forgotten was there. He then looked around and realized that some other people had seen him holding a sword to bar regulars and were starting to stand up.

"Well, then, it seems that I have worn out my welcome at this fine establishment."

He dropped the sword. It clanged in the tense silence. A moment later he turned around and walked out the door.

Mal wonders over with a stein and dumps it on the table unceremoniously.

"Look, Cuz, I said I don't mind you guys plotting in the corner here, but who the hell was that guy? What was his deal?"

Jerell picks up his sword, looks at Kyorlin sheepishly and says,"You're right, that could have gone better..." After taking another sip from his ale he says,"And thanks for the timely intervention, a knight without his sword isn't much of a knight. What do you suppose we should do about that idol though?"

Mal grunted once as the pair left the establishment.

As they descended the stairs to the Works the air began to thicken with black smoke. The final turn displayed the machine in all its glory for one moment before the suffocating closeness and dankness closed in. The Works was a massive, churning array of machines and warehouses that took the will of the drow and ground it to a paste that kept the whole tower running. Factories, forges, assemblies. Nothing but people working for what seemed like miles.

Except they weren't working. Some were, but Kyorlin and Jerell had been here before and seen the writhing masses of indentured drow slaving away to make the gears spin, but that's not what it was like today. Factories seemed half manned, warehouses had boxes laying about unpacked. The first real evidence they found was a handful of guards pushing against a group of drow, telling them to get back to their jobs. You could see the fear in their eyes, too. You could tell that they knew that their jobs, if not their lives, were on the line if they couldn't find a way to get these drow to work.

The drow, though, were unfazed. Half of them were sitting down, faces blank, and the other half were pleading with the guards to let them leave to go see "it" again.