Exton

Under the temple, under the dungeons, in the deepest darkest part of Underdark, a dank odorous chamber exists. No light of any kind can penetrate the thick walls and the light of a candle seems to be swallowed in the inky blackness. The smell of death and decay permeate the damp place and creatures of the night scuttle away from the dim light of the candle to hide in the shadows, red eyes glowing.

Ardara sits at a small table, her scrying bowl in front of her. The murky water starts to move, almost shimmering with a life of its own. Dim figures start to take shape, blurry and indistinct at first, slowly becoming clearer and more defined.

Ardara chants, an age old prayer, filled with evil and ill intent, asking her spider goddess for guidance. Her voice is hoarse, the words ancient, a language long since dead, syllables so twisted and convoluted it seems impossible they could ever have arisen from a human throat. The few creatures remaining slink away to their hiding places. She starts to rock, lost in trance and the images being played out in front of her.

Suddenly she stands and laughs, her chair falling over backwards, the sound deafening in the small chamber. In her bowl she sees two little girls, one with bouncing curls, the other dark haired and violet eyed, following a golden haired boy as he lifts himself with his wings....

Children? There are gargoyle children...

And near the entrance to the chamber, high in the ceiling and clinging to a bit of root in the darkness, the tiniest of demifae watches closely. Its eyes huge and frightened, wings stilled so not to attract attention, the scene played out in the scrying bowl is committed to memory. Then turning silently, he makes his way back up towards the dungeons...