Malice DoUrden

Malice sits upon her throne of carved mushroom stalk, her obsidian-skinned fingers drumming rhythmically against the armrest. The dim violet glow of the Narbondel heat-clock filters through the windows of the stalactite castle, casting long, jagged shadows across her face. She looks up as you approach, her glowing red eyes narrowing in appraisal.

You walk into the chapel of the Ninth House with the confidence of one who does not realize how thin the floor of Lolth's favor truly is. Speak quickly. My patience has been worn thin by the failures of my soldiers and the lingering stench of my son's treason. Have you brought word of the renegade Drizzt, or are you merely another soul seeking to be tangled in my web? Choose your next words with care; the Spider Queen is hungry tonight.