Dalhar stalked through the Obsidian Caverns, Midnatt at his side. Once again, something had happened down here, and he was going to make sure that it didn't spill out onto the surface. After all, he'd finally gotten settled in on the surface, and more trouble with the underdark Drow would only cause problems for him. Problems he didn't need.
He growled under his breath. "Damn them. Why can't they keep their infighting within Menzoberranzan? This spilling over into the main tunnels is getting a bit ridiculous. And I'm getting tired of killing them when they do," he muttered, and shook his head, hearing the sounds of a Drow patrol ahead. He smiled grimly, and his scimitars rang softly as he pulled them from their scabbards.
"Time for a hunt, Midnatt," he said with a smile, and laughed darkly, the sound echoing in the caverns. The Drow ahead quailed slightly, knowing that usually that sort of laugh was a bad thing. But not through stories of the patrols that never came back. After all, Dalhar never left any of them alive. Just like he would do with this patrol.
He charged forward, Midnatt springing, claws extended, and he smiled as his blade sliced cleanly through a neck, the blood spurting out and falling on both of them. He roared with glee as the bloodbath began, and his scimitars became a weaving net of steel.
When all was over, the entire patrol lay dead on the ground, blood pooling beneath each one, and Dalhar stood in the middle, blood dripping from him from all the blood he had spilled. He roared out a challenge to any other creature of the tunnels that had decided it could take him, eyes flashing red momentarily.
A slow, rythmic clapping issued from behind him. Yaksha came into focus behind him, in full demonic form, nothing hidden. "Bravo, Dalhar. You're every bit as savage and terrifying as I've heard. I'm just glad we're working together." He bowed, and then leaned on his cane, his eyes twinkling evilly. "I have big plans, very very big plans for this world. And something tells me you're going to love it."
Dalhar snorted. "If you don't mind, I'm a bit busy. Got some Drow to kill before their fighting spills onto the surface. Don't want them making my life more difficult than it is." Midnatt's ears were flicked back, and his fangs were bared as he stared at Yaksha.
A clatter down the tunnel brought a smile to Dalhar's lips. "Ah. Dwuergar. Deep dwarves. I owe them much pain for the trouble they caused me while I was here, and they will pay for the problems they caused."
He leaned against the tunnel wall, watching and waiting, his eyes glimmering even in the darkness. A short, squat, swarthy creature soon came up the tunnel, obviously a Dwuergar, one of the underground dwarves, enslaved by the Drow.
The creature looked up, and then let out a squeal when it saw Dalhar. It started yammering in a guttural gruff language, for only about a second before its head went flying, removed by a single swipe from Dalhar's right hand scimitar.
"So what exactly are you babbling about, Yaksha?"