Swinging open an ornate set of double doors, marked with the initials 'K.D' abpve them, you find yourself in a room of smooth gray granite, speckled with a myriad of ruby-colored crystals. Torches glowing with eerie purple flames are set at equal intervals around the room, glinting with strange lights from the gemstones in the walls. Ahead of you, shrouded by a black velvet curtain, is an archway.

Open mouthed at the sight of such wealth merely mounted as wall decoration, you are jolted from your awe by the sharp staccato of drumbeats. As you move forward to part the heavy fabric, the clashing of cymbals joining the rapid pulse of the tribal drumming, accelerating to an almost frantic pace. With a careful motion, you look beyond the threshold and are again struck by amazement.

Within an alcove, on the far side of the large room, was the source of the throbbing beats. Exuberantly pounding at a massive array of drums, tom-toms, and cymbals is a young dark elf woman. Midnight black skin glistened with sheen of sweat, the beaded droplets glimmering on the bridge of her nose and forehead. Her silver-white hair was wild and streaming as she jammed out, eyes closed in concentration and inviting lips set in a half-smile.

Pounding out a massive finale, the drow woman clicked the sticks together once and opened her eyes; they were a pure amber-gold color. Lights of secret amusement dance in the honeyed depths as she places the matched pair of ebony down and stands to leave the alcove.

You can see now that she wears a blouse of pure white silk, its neckline deep and accentuating her shapely figure. Breeches of dark leather encompass her lithe, athletic legs and flat-soled black leather cover her feet. A sash of crimson velvet encircles her tapering waist, a long curved knife bouncing at one hip, and a pouch on the other. Standing before you, she speaks, her voice sensuous and dark, like a flute that has played too late in the night, "Hail and met, darkling traveler, I see you have found your way to my chambers."

"Worry not, the stories that you may have heard about the drowish race are a bit exaggerated. We are not evil, we are just extremely violent; we like to compete, pushing ourselves to the limit and then exceeding it. Battle of any sort is popular among us, but arena fighting is my preferred field. Our above-ground, light-dwelling 'cousins' have circulated these myths of 'cruel and heartless dark elves'. I have an agreement with the Crystal Dragon; you can count yourself safe while you are visiting here."

Beginning to walk toward you, she extends her slender hand in greeting. It is obvious that the Crystal Dragon would not allow danger to befall a guest, so you move forward to accept the clasp of the drow woman. She looks impressed and allows a full smile to touch her face, introducing herself, "I am Killashandra DeKrys, the Head Drakkin Trainer here at Paragon."

You wonder, almost aloud, 'Drakkin... what's a drakkin?'

Seeing the curiosity on your face, she continues, "Drakkin means "little dragon" in drowish, and it is these creatures that I use to compete in the arena fights. They are rumored to be descendants of ancient underground dragons, but it has yet to be proven.

"It was the drow, Lord Dwahro, who first 'domesticated' the Drakkin and it is he who sells the hatchlings for pit fighting. His arena is located the dark elf city of Rileikoul. It has been many nearly four years since I purchased Nosgoth, and he has grown to a ferocious and cunning fighter. Actually, I wanted him so badly that l was willing to become a renegade from my home city... If you haven't already heard, I stole my House's crown jewels to bid for my dark one."

A cool smirk touches her maroon lips, and she gestures to another alcove that you did not see before, "That is an illusion of what I offered for Nosgoth's egg, the scroll on the table is the listing if you're interested in knowing. It is a shame, because when I wish to bid again, I'll have to find some other convenient source of funds.

Killashandra sounds like a petulant child for a moment, but then her tone shifts to a knowing one, "But don't you worry about it, I'm known for having a few tricks up my sleeve... in my boot... you get the idea. But, enough of that, I'm sure you would like to see my Drakkin."

She walks with you to a curving set of stairs that lead downward, on the way you get to know the dark elf better. You find Killashandra to be a very charismatic individual, but you can tell that there is an underlying streak of cynism and cool logic in her. She talks of her drum-playing, the fluid twin-bladed fighting style she preferred in hand-to-hand situations, and her favorite incantations for spell combat. When you reach the end of the stairs there are no more of the strange torches.

It steadily grows darker, as you continue on, but she holds your arm tightly, guiding you through the darkness which descends around the two of you. Losing count of the minutes in the dark, your guide stops. You notice a pair of golden-red points where Killashanda's eyes should be, when you feel the touch of hands on your temples, her silky voice whispering a series of arcane phrases. When she finishes, you blink and realize you can see her, plainly as if you were standing in a well-lit room.

"Drakkins require near-complete darkness to live, and they are very adverse to most forms of visible light, but this will make it easy for you to look around. I don't require it, but most visitors do." She explains, turning away.

You see that you've stopped before a wrought-iron gate and that Killashandra is reaching into her pouch, removing an ornate iron key and slipping it into place. A loud click echoes in the otherwise empty hallway as she twists it, and you hear a low grumble from within. You see her smile, and she calls something in what you assume is Drowish, and she swings the door open, gesturing for you to follow her.