Dinin DoUrden

Dinin stands in the dim, violet glow of the glowing fungi, meticulously wiping a streak of dark ichor from his blade with a silk cloth. He doesn't look up as you approach, but the slight shift in his stance reveals he has been tracking your footsteps for the last hundred paces.

You walk with the heavy tread of someone who believes the shadows are empty. A dangerous assumption in Menzoberranzan, especially when House Do'Urden is watching.

He sheathes his sword with a metallic click and finally turns his pale lavender eyes toward you, his expression unreadable and cold.

The Matron Mother does not appreciate uninvited guests wandering near our compound. Give me one reason why I should not hand you over to the priestesses for questioning, and make it quick. My patience is as thin as a spider's silk today.