...and finds a new crisis brewing

El'keth led them through familiar cave sections, scuttling wordlessly onward in agitation. With a start, Teysa realized where they were going. They were heading towards the west entrance hall-- the site of the battle, the place where she had lost her humanity.

The driders had not been idle. Most of the hall had been cleared, leaving only a few random scraps of metal detritus. Teysa hadn't wanted to ask what they had done with the bodies. The floor had been planed smooth, with only a few fading stains to show where the fallen had lain. There was a faint smell in the air, an cocktail of sweat and blood and fear, so faded that Teysa could barely discern it.

That wasn't what caught her attention, though. Her eyes were drawn magnetically across the cavern to the passage on the far side that led out into the Underneath. A ring of armed driders surrounded the entrance, and penned in between them was a great huddled mass of people. Most of them were drow, but Teysa could see the occasional human or dwarf. They were dressed in everything from tattered rags to fine silks, but all of them looked haggard, scared, and exhausted.

This wasn't an invasion ****. These were refugees.

"What is happening?" she asked as they approached the guards. "Who are these people?"

"They're from the City," El'keth said. "They say... they say... just ask them! I don't know what to do! Where's my mother?"

<Where is the Matron?> Teysa snapped at the closest guard. She turned and gave the new arrivals a long, languid look. Teysa couldn't bring her name to mind, but she had seen this drider around. She was usually armed and armored. A soldier drone, Teysa remembered thinking. Like in an anthill.

<She has been told>, the drone replied. <She will come when she wills it.>

<Let me talk to the people,> Teysa demanded. For a moment, she thought the guard would try to block her, but she shrugged and stepped back.

Teysa waved her hands in the air for attention and cupped them around her mouth. Once again, she was acutely aware of how her still-wet shirt clung to her skin, and wished she had had time to change. "People!" she shouted. "Who are you? Why are you here?"

Her answer was a cacophany of yells, sobs, and cries. She caught a few words here and there: "exile" and "threat," "takeover," and most ominously of all, "Lockh." The voices overlapped and drowned each other out. She could feel the pressure mounting in her skull. "Quiet, please!" she shouted. "Who speaks for you? Send forward an ambassador!"

There was a murmur of voices from the middle of the thicket of people, then the crowd parted and a drow Teysa didn't recognize stepped forward. "I am Lit'vi Riiv," she said, bowing. Her accent was aristocratic, and despite her obvious exhaustion she carried herself with grace and poise. The dress she was wearing, though torn and stained, had obviously once been very fine. "Please, we come seeking shelter. There's been... there's been a coup in the City. A drow lord has declared himself Emperor. He said he was purging the noble families. We had to flee or be killed. I thought... that is, I hoped... we might..."

Teysa felt a pressure on one of her rear legs. She recoiled, and Lil'esh marched past her, disbelief etched into the lines of her face. "Lit'vi?" she asked. "Lit'vi, what's happening?"

"Lil'esh!" Lit'vi didn't seem surprised. "It's Lord Lockh! He moved against the Quorum, the Church is schisming..."

"Hold on!" Teysa cried. "You two know each other?"

Lit'vi drew herself up regally, despite the stress evident on her face. "I should!" she declared. "Lil'esh is my sister!"