Prologue
“Mama!” the child cried, reaching out with her pudgy arms.
The mother scooped the child into her arms, glancing back over her shoulder constantly. The woman's eyes were a vibrant gold, but at the moment they were wide with fear. Both the mother and child were Drow, black-skiinned and white of hair. The mother pressed the child closer to her shoulder, running as fast as she could, her rough brown garment whipping in the air behind her. The child had no idea what was going on, and opened her mouth to speak. The mother pressed a finger to the child's lips and continued to run.
Footsteps clattered behind them, the sound of horsemen. The woman sped up her steps, but it was in vain. The horsemen blocked her way from all sides. A man in black armor appeared in front of them, and the woman's lips curled in a contemptuous snarl.
“Shed thy robes, Zha'Raki,” the armored figure intoned.
The woman was cast into the sky. When she fell down, her robes fell away. She became ethereally beautiful, different and exotic. She wore red armor that seemed to cast a glow all around her. She landed on the ground and instantly grabbed her child, cradling it in her arms.
“How sweet,” the black-clad man cackled. She snarled and held her baby protectively.
“Take me, Rha” she said in a strong voice. “Leave the child.”
Rha smirked. “Oh, really. I know the child has more latent power than you will ever have. Do you think me a fool?”
“Yes.” She closed her eyes and wove a spell, twisting her hands in intricate movements. A golden aura surrounded the child, who instantly disappeared.
Rha screamed in anguish. “Damned woman!”
Zha'Raki smiled. “You've damned me countless times in the last aeons.” She removed her neckplate, exposing her slender throat. “My child will avenge my death.”
Rha was only too glad to see the woman's blood stain the ground. He knelt, and ran his fingers through the still-warm liquid.
“And so dies a goddess,” he muttered, rubbing the bloody fingers together. He cautiously licked one finger. “But the blood tastes of victory. No matter,” he said, louder. The horsemen stood at attention. “Come,” he commanded, “Battle awaits you.” The horsemen lowered their visors and rode full-tilt throught the woods, blood staining the hoods of their horses. Rha waited behind, and wiped the blood off on his nightblack helm.
“This is far from over, child,” he said quietly.

A breeze blew over the body of the dead goddess. “You may have killed me,” a voice seemed to say, “but I live on. My people shall keep me alive.”
In the Drow village of Zra'Thani, a small, blanketed figure appeared in the center of the street.
“Hey!” a little boy cried. He poked the figure. “Momma, it's a baby!”
The mother rolled her eyes, and grabbed her child. “Poor thing, must have the plague. Oh, well, leave it there.”
“But it's a baby!” the child insisted, poking it with his pudgy finger.
His mother sighed. “Fine. Drop it by the silk mills. They'll find a job for it there.”
He nodded and picked up the tiny baby, running as fast as his short legs could carry him. The silk mill was not far, and giggling, he left the baby inside the open door.
After the child had gone, the baby yawned sleepily and opened her eyes. They were a sparkling, pure gold.