Dalia had had enough of pretending. She had been forced to, in order to keep those women of hers in line, in order to draw them in, earn their loyalty. It was wearing on her, all this goody goody crap. She was an astounding actress, though, if she did say so herself. The only one that had any inkling to what she was capable of was Chiana, and Dalia was sure she had her under control.

She headed out to hunt, to really hunt, and to feed. Something innocent, something pure.

An idea struck her, a way to kill two birds with one stone, perhaps? Feed on an innocent, one that was searching for help, and frame Bellora for it! A thrill of pleasure, of pride at her own genius.

Dalia dressed, leather pants, black top, boots. She chose these with care, hoping to appear to any witnesses like Bellora. With smirk in place, shades slid over her eyes, she headed out into the night.

Dalia took more public roads, heading straight for the Scathachian Sanctuary. She bumped into several people, cursing them and flipping them off to establish herself in their memory. With several eyewitnesses lined up, Dalia slid off into the shadows.

Those in true need, those frightened for their lives would never talk such a path to what they hoped would be their salvation. Woman, cowering and dressed to blend, frightened of abusive husbands, fathers, or sons would lurk, shrink, and hurry through the back alleys that led to the Sanctuary. It was here that Dalia would find her amusement, her dinner, and her revenge.

A glamour thrown over herself, she appeared taller, more athletic to those that dared meet her gaze. The glasses would hide the fact that she did not have those piercing, solid onyx eyes. She was powerful in her own right, and held herself with the stature of Bellora, confident and unafraid. Muggers were sent on their way with a brief push in their thoughts, instead of dispatching them, as Bellora would have. The pondered laying waste to them as well, but then thought better. If Bellora were on a mission, nothing would come between her and her prey. Dalia smiled to herself, rather enjoying trying to get into the mind of her foe.

Whispers met her acute hearing, fluttering breaths and soft crying. Ah, here comes dinner, now. Dalia stepped from the shadows, expression stern, smooth, and cold as ice, much like Bellora?s. She watched the young woman pass, stumbling in the dark because of a horrendous limp, arm in a sling, and one eye swollen shut. Yes, prime candidate for the Scathachian do-gooder tramps.

Dalia shifted into step behind the woman, the whisper of leather and the soft thunk of her boot soles alerting her prey to her presence. She saw the girl?s back go ramrod straight, despite the pain it must have caused her. Her gait quickened, and so did Dalia?s. A whimper carried on the gentle breeze, as well as the ashy, musky scent of fear and unwashed woman. She chose then to speak, lengthening her stride to catch up the girl.

?You seek help, yes?? Taking the woman by her good arm and leading her down an alley, seemingly leading her closer to the Sanctuary. The girl was visibly relieved, relaxing into Dalia?s grip. ?Yes. Yes, I need help. He will kill me! He nearly did so, today!? Nodding, Dalia smiled quickly, an attempt to reassure the woman. Something in her grin must have made her nervous again, for the woman tensed, ?You are not a Scathachian, are you?? She must have scented predator on Dalia, some of these weak prey humans had an uncanny sense for this kind of thing.

Drawing her into a doorway, Dalia peered into the wide, fear filled eyes. She used that voice of hers, that special voice reserved for ?suggestions?, and with the removal of her glasses, the woman would see Bellora. ?I am Vendetta. You have been accusing him falsely, and you will pay. Do you think the others would have believed you??

Chuckling madly, she pinned the woman to the rough brick wall, holding her with ease. She drank in the fear, the sheer terror, and confusion, drawing power from it. She bent close, head dipped, face near that of the woman?s. With lips so close, like that of a lover, she smiled, baring those pearly fangs. Hissing, she listened as the woman swore her innocence, swore to the truth of her accusations. Dalia saw in her mind the beatings, the rape, the torture her husband put her through daily, and she fed from that, as well. ?No! I do not lie! He is evil, and he will kill me! Please! You must believe me!?

?You beat yourself, or you have your lover do it for you, to back up your story. You are a snake in the garden, Paula. Yes, I know your name, I see all. Bellora Vendetta sees all!? Sinking her fangs into the woman?s throat, she drank, bleeding her nearly dry in moments. Delicious, that fear and pain.

Once dead, Dalia smiled and licked her lips. Now, for the fun part.

She slung the body over her shoulder, carrying her to an empty, but popular spot in the daytime. Quickly cutting out the tongue of the woman, she nailed it to the post in which she lashed the body. Slitting the woman?s nose, much like the Native American?s did to adulterous woman on Earth, a symbol of women?s genitalia. She then plucked a scalpel from her pocket, surgical sharp, much like Bellora uses. She then carved upon the body, a large ?A? on the woman?s naked torso, it shone brilliant red, dripping what little blood was left in her body, gravity doing it?s work. She would portray this one to be a liar, an adulterous, scheming woman.

Dalia hurried now, daylight approaching soon. She pinned a note to the woman?s tongue, bearing these words:

?Vendetta has found me, and shown me the error of my ways. I had intended on seeking sanctuary from the Scathachians, and would beg them to kill my husband. He, innocent in all this, would have been accused of rape, torture, and abuse. I am sorry for my sins, and Bellora Vendetta has made me pay for them in whole. I am a liar, a whore, and an adulterer.

Paula Thorne?

She had many names, this female harbinger of slaughter and sorrow....many names which supplemented a variety of starkly dissimilar duties.

She had been born Giminicka Orcand, one of two frightfully rebellious daughters......formerly besowed with the title of ?Eris?, blessed warrior of Mother Scathach?s hallowed bosom.......indeed a short lived exercise in flagrant futility. Soon aborted from that ?womb of justice?, she was ferociously thrust back into chaotic darkness....and now, after a violent baptism of blood of ash, this warlord was known simply as ?Nocent?. Thus, with this demonically sanctified initiation came her highly placed position amongst Lord Bhaal?s evil priestesses at Temple Letum......forever obligated in unholy and sadistic service to the Crimson Ram and his ruthless conquests.

The colossal Anti-Scathachian moved through the shadowy streets like a rapacious shark coasting towards its helpless, flailing prey. Her dark crimson hood was pulled low over her face, so that to look upon the visage of this Amazonian titan would yield only the vision of a lilted crimson triangle anchored at its bottom by a very strong chin..... one that hosted a razor-slit of a smirk.

Truly a vindictive grin that was tinged with bountiful calamity.

As this gliding monster, swathed in blood red, responded to the mental calling of the kindred mage, Dracina Hemdagg, Nocent inhaled the aromatic scents of fell death which brutally hovered in this region of the city. Everyone clung so tightly to their deeply webbed secrets here. No, not mere secrets of heartfelt loves of the soul....nor secrets of joy and surprise generosity. No.......these were the spidery, clandestine whispers of raw lust.......caustic addictions......and of course, sheer, loathsome murder. The Priestess of Bhaal's gauntleted fists powerfully clenched as she seemingly snapped an invisible vertebral column between her vicious hands. The black beast within her roared its inhuman battle shriek as she drew ever closer to her ever-loyal vampiric ally.

As Nocent traversed the short blocks to join her voluptuous undead collaborator, she was flanked on her left by the psychotic "Clown Princess of Rhydin" Carnal, and on her right by the villainous Drowish warrior, Micar'shalee......one a treacherous Joker's wet dream of homicide and apocalyptic insanity, the other a black-skinned executioner who deftly commanded the powers of vile sorcery as easily as she slashed foes with her cursed blades. Three of Hell's face cards had now joined with a fourth....the undead Queen of Spades....Lady Dracina Hemdagg.

As she stopped next to the impressive vampire, the Fallen Sister averted her poisonous emerald green eyes from the listless crowd of the damned, who solemnly wandered throughout the damp streets as if lost in their own inequities and fears. Instead, Nocent focused her gaze upon the ominous sign at the onyx-colored door which boldly and
luridly read: 'Dalia's Dark Side'

The sharp scents of mysterious incense smoothly flooded forth from the seemingly ?peaceful? structure which was forged from rich brick and solid wood. Nocent spoke to her three gathered allies in hushed tones; ones that were shaded with her usual taint of seductive murder, "The smells.......so calming.....the decor here so inviting........passively soothing to the ignorant soul.........mere lures to this inner Palace of Torment and Death........."

A deliberate inhale as she steadily blinked her narrowed eyes before looking to Dracina once again. "Very well done my love.......now let us now embrace this Palace's Mistress....let us empathize and commune with her most abominable ?dark side?."

With that....a heavy crimson gauntlet, etched with sinful runes, slowly knocked on the extraordinarily crafted door of Daliah Blackthorne's exotic store.

Humming softly, basking in the warm, squishy...oh who are we kidding, the man was gloating about his recent conquest, Chiana.

Gloating and sated, as well as shirtless, Ash was pouring himself a glass of whiskey as the young fae literally fell into the store. He had not heard the prior knocking, nor, oddly, had he felt anyone's presence at the door.

"My my. The prodigal daughter returns, eh? A bit worse for...oh, dear. Not on the floor. She'll make me clean it up." He moved to pick the girl up, now noticing the women outside. Smiling galantly, turning up the wattage of his charming smile, he inquired, "I assume you are not bearing home this one. Here to see Dalia?

Heaving the slight girl over his shoulder, he smirked faintly, recognizing the signs of withdrawl immediately. It seemed Dalia had more secrets around here than he had first imagined. Nodding to them, he motioned for them to come inside, cranking the store lights up a bit, shedding more warm light on the room. "I will get her. Please, come in and make yourselves at home. Bar's in the corner, help yourselves to a drink."

Adjusting the weight of the girl on his shoulder and silently cursing her if she should vomit on him, Ash Avarice headed up the stairs to seek out his new partner.

Dracina had smiled as her companions came to her side. They were to soon discover if these series of events would lead them to a potential ally or someone to simply slaughter for the sheer enjoyment of it. Her gaze shifted over Nocent, Micar'Shalee, and Carnal each just before the poor, sickly girl had arrived and opened the way into the shop for them.

After the man within had beckoned everyone in and began carrying the nauseated female away, Dracina fought to keep herself from bursting into laughter. She recognized what ailed the girl, knowing fully that it could be nothing but the Blood Bond. The suffering female was experiencing withdrawal from imbibing vampiric vitae. This clearly meant that there were Kindred afoot.

She smiled as the drow ran through her short diatribe about the establishment. Such predictable animosity from one such of her breed. Micar'Shalee would undoubtedly burn this entire building down if either Nocent or herself had given the order. Her blue eyes studied the quaint store, gaze lining the shelves that stocked various sorts of magical supplies and equipment.

"I can assure you, Micar'Shalee, there's something more than what meets the eye here," she said in a calm, soothing voice. "However, if I'm wrong... you have every freedom to bring Lolth's fury onto this place."

Dalia felt the girl's call, felt the women enter her abode, and a snarl erupted from perfectly painted lips.

She'd been sitting before her dressing table, playing "Mirror Mirror" with an amusingly enchanted hand mirror.

Annoyed to have been duped, angered to have found herself tricked by Lyric, she lashed out at the girl with her mind, searing the image of her own disembowled body to Lyric's core.

Chuckling, thinking of how much fun torturing the teen and terrorizing her was going to be, she was almost pleased the girl had found a way to run away. She had been SO bored, lately.

Meeting Ash in the hallway, she directed him to take Lyric into the basement, into her "playroom".

"Shackle her to a table, but strip that foul smelling dress off her first. It reeks of that goody goody boy she was screwing." Pert little nose wrinkled in disgust and disdain, Dalia patted her messily pinned hair, and padded barefoot down the stairs behind Ash and her toy. She had guests to tend to.

Reaching the store front, Dalia smiled her most charming smile, but was unable to hide the slight waver in her hand, or the tremble in her voice as she spoke to these women. She sensed a power and an evil that she had thought of only in her most orgasmic dreams; what she would do to possess it!

"Welcome to my home. I am Dalia Blackthorne. It is an honor and a privelege, to be sure, to have you here. Even if it is to simply wipe me off the face of this stinking planet." A smile, more of a smirk, perhaps? She knew they could annihilate her and her "family" with a thought. It thrilled her to test her standing with them; after all, what had she to lose?

The four women had entered the seemingly harmless occult store without a single word from their ranks......they had watched as the unstable woman fell hard onto the cold floor......they had observed the gothic gentleman scoop her up and carry her off with a sinful smirk upon his gaunt face.

Even as Micar?shalee began to express her dangerous discontent with the present surroundings and with the spectacle put on by young Lyric, the High Priestess of Bhaal remained stoically soundless. Nonetheless, this is not what Giminicka had come to feast her loathsome eyes upon. This journey deep into the city was for one sole purpose and for one "special" individual......the powerful undead owner of this establishment, Dalia Blackthorne.

The imagery of the wicked necromancer had been shown to both Giminicka and Dracina by the myriad of tortured hell-spawned faces forever imposed upon the facade of the Red Wall, deep within the labyrinthine bowels of The IronHelm Flats. This monstrous vampiress had spread a celebrated scourge of destruction and depraved villainy during her first reign of terror here upon the Prime Material Plane. Then, sadly, she met her sudden, unpredicted destruction. However, just as death itself could not finish her nor stop her from rising as an impressive kindred to prey on the living......neither could oblivion contain her within the confines of the indiscriminate subatomic levels.

Through Dalia's fitting re-embodiment by the intervening hands of a rather ?mysterious demon ?, she had been witness to certain....?forces? of the universe which are oft reserved for the minds and spirits of the truly passed on individuals. Yet this event could not possibly have been foreseen. In the twirling reconfiguration and ultimate balance of spiritual energies, Dalia was allowed a malevolent passage back to this unsuspecting world. And....perhaps even unbeknownst to her.....she had seen and held on to essential slices of forbidden and lost information within her gifted Fae mind. Information that the Fangs of Bhaal had come to partake in. Partake in, and fiercely protect.

At last...Dalia Blackthorne, the dark and imposing dominatrix, made her way down the stairs. Emerging from the shadows and into the storefront on strong bare feet; she padded softly as she moved.....more like an awe-inspiring, phantasmal entity rather than a blood-ravenous predator. As she entered, Giminicka could feel a change in the very air itself.

The colossal Anti-Scathachian turned, more analogous to the movement of an animated statue, to look upon the stunning vampiress. Giminicka then slowly removed her crimson hood in order to expose her face to the undead female who was already, unknowingly, their newest ally. Her languid voice was tinged with the sweet venom which her associates had come to know quite well, ?Mistress Blackthorne......I thank you my friend for seeing us......on such brief notice. Time, as you know, is such a fleeting venture to certain designs. You see mistress....I and those I closely associate with have been longtime aficionados of your remarkable work. In particular.....your most recently donated piece. Surely you remember the heartbreaking muse who was eventually destined for Scathachian eyes, but never quite made it to the bliss of their safe haven?"

The High Priestess allowed her cruel smirk to slice a thin line across her tanned visage as she continued on, ?I do believe, Mistress Blackthorne, that your poetry flowed something like ?Vendetta has found me, and shown me the error of my ways. I had intended on seeking sanctuary from the Scathachians, and would beg them to kill my husband. He, innocent in all this, would have been accused of rape, torture, and abuse. I am sorry for my sins, and Bellora Vendetta has made me pay for them in whole. I am a liar, a whore, and an adulterer.? "

Even then, outside of the occult shop, the diabolical force of ?Chaos? slowly passed by in ghostlike silence to notably observe, and by doing so further invigorated the aura of evil that was congregating in this scandalous part of the city. Nocent still continued to speak and move herself closer to the exotic kindred, ?This is why we have come Dalia......your ?writing and art?, like this Paula Thorne exhibit, should be showcased across this entire land....and far, far beyond. We are well aware that you have many, many enemies.....one in particular is a particularly vile energy of nature.....silently lurking in the shadows and waiting for the opportune time to, as you say, wipe you off of the face of this stinking planet. She desires nothing more than to snare you and then extinguish your being within her forceful hands."

"I have been told that her sinful name is indeed Bellora....and I do know that she is ruthlessly attempting to swing the balance of the universe back onto the pathetic laps of those who would see us all destroyed. It is a true pity that they have all over-estimated their own skills and perceived self importance....?

Nocent?s emerald green eyes sharply met the kindred?s seductive orbs of aquamarine. The Beast within was lusting after the succulent powers of this talented witch of necromancy standing before them.....and thus Nocent?s voice sounded a bit ?off?....even noticeably different, as she spoke once more, ?Your staggering abilities to literally cheat death have garnished you more than mere foes my love. It has granted you the forbidden knowledge that we need to commence with an unholy crusade of genocide....the likes of which the architects of the Apocalypse would deem dutifully executed. Together Mistress Blackthorne.....we could rewrite the very destiny of the unsighted gods themselves....."

Nocent?s serpentlike tongue smoothly stroked the borders of her full lips as she methodically flexed the long fingers of her armored hands. There was a deliberate glance to Dracina, Carnal, and Micar'shalee.

?There is so much more. Shall I go on Mistress??

Lyric awoke sometime later in Dalia's playroom beneath the womens' feet, the ache in her stomach and head near unbearable. Her muscles were sore from retching, from falling, and her palms burned from superficial scratches, from being rubbed raw on the stone floors of the shop as she fell.

A moan escaped her, and the flickering light of the few candles pierced her, needles jabbing straight to the back of her skull. She was dry in the mouth, and she noticed her body trembling violently. She was not cold, however; a thin sheen of sweat covered her naked, young body. Her fake fairy wings were hung in her line of sight, thus reminding her once again of her failure as a Fae Princess.

She sobbed quietly, still not having discovered that she was bound to the table beneath her. Her memories of her few days with her mother were haunting her, and her mind screamed for the drug she had no idea she was addicted to. Pain wracked her body as another violent retching fit washed over her. Her head turned to the side, unable to sit up, and it was now that panic gripped her throat like a vice.

Lyric screamed at the top of her lungs, the sound reverberating the stones around and above her. Those with preternatural hearing would hear it as well as sense the vibration, even through their boots. She was a teenager after all, and what was more fitting than a dramatic, loud, temper tantrum?

The Underdark screams of hidden treasures, some figurative and some literal. At this moment, Micar'shalee was giving silent thanks to the treasure of her unparalleled hearing. The pitch blackness of the world under the cities of the land afforded the Drow, over the centuries, to hone their alternate senses. Their eyes became unaccustomed to light, though their ears grew in ability to pick up even the calmest heartbeat of one who was not welcomed in their lair. Micar'shalee could almost feel the pulsing of the screams being wrenched from the poor girl down below in one of Dalia's "Playrooms."

Her ebony lips parted, she drank in the shrill hidden pain of the girl. To her, it was as delicious as the rawest flesh, the ripest meat, the warmest blood. The Drow had fancied herself something of a connoisseur when it came to torture; an aficionado she had once been hailed. Creative, gory and violent methods of extracting information or simply enjoyment for herself were a source of severe pride. So it was when her ear picked up the unheard sounds of torture and agony below, Micar'shalee's razor sharp gaze shrieked toward Dalia Blackthorne. There was a swelling of longing and an intense impression. This kindred, of whom if truth be told the Drow were never fond, had found a way to completely sway the suspicions of Micar'shalee.

A smile, like a crack along a dry desert floor, emerged against her black skin. Slowly at first, though its spread would not be denied. Though she would never stray from her hellish allies' sides, Micar'shalee listened only fleetingly to the conversation in the room; her ears were basking in the triumph of terror taking place downstairs.