By the time that she had spoke the single word of 'Enough' and had moved to return her gaze to his form, he would no longer be standing there for her to look at. At most she might catch a slight blur caused by his incredible movements, fading away as he raced into the distance, as silent as the night wind whispering back at the surface. He had decided to take his leave when she was not looking, for he did not want her to follow him. She was down here for her own reasons, of course, but he did not want her to have any inkling of what he was doing. First, she would most likely object, and even if she did not, he wanted it to be a surprise for her. Tonight was a night where he would flex proverbial muscles in the world of true darkness that he had not used in the longest time.

Looking about the area, already a good distance away from where Chelta was, he stopped in his tracks, shutting his mind off completely from her after letting her know it would be open only in the dire case of an emergency. He did not want her to know at all what was going on. And as he stood there, almost as a prophetic vision, images of the events to happen by his hand came to pass in his mind and a grin passed over his face. With the twisting of his lips in the darkness with that look, though none would see for the aforementioned lack of illumination, came the lost gleam of his sharp and waiting ivory fangs. Should there have been light brought forth at that instant, they would have been able to read the thirst that was apparent in his countenance, as well as in the depth of his eyes. But it was not simply for blood. Oh no. He wanted so much more tonight, and so much more he would get. That he knew for certain.

Tilting his head back and closing his mercurial eyes, he took a careful sniff at the air. There was a multitude of scents that he had to get around, but in the end, there was one that registered in his brain as being what he wanted. Actually, it was one specific scent followed by the mingling of half a hundred other fainter ones. The main scent was the common incense and a few additives used during ceremonies to the Spider Goddess, Lloth. The other scents, those were to be his payment by the end of the night.

That thought again put a smile on his face, if such a pernicious look could be called anything so remotely happy sounding.

With his eyes closed, he relied on his acute sense of smell, blocking out everything other than the smell of the incense. He followed it easily, hiding himself from the view of any that might be watching as he came through the darkness to a different part of the city than where Chelta was heading. She headed towards her old house, not that he knew that, and he headed towards a newer part of the city, where advancements had been made for a new house that had came into power. It was the House Malnin, one he had had dealings with some time before. The memories came back and his eyes flashed open as he traveled through the welcoming darkness.

He had been traversing through the city on his way to meet with the other darkling one, the one he had met awhile before he ever came across Chelta. He had came past this house and felt a tugging at the demon that was bound to his long-since-defunct heart. And while the tugging was nowhere near powerful enough to pull one such as him to bend knee to the Matron that called, he decided it might be amusing to see what this was all about.

They had wanted to seek out the divine assistance of Lloth and one of her servants, and offered up some of their own young as well as an assortment of magical weapons, armor, and general items to the great Spider Goddess. He had decided to take them up on their offer, they thinking him one of the servants of their dark Goddess, and he left with the riches and lives that they offered. In the end, it was not hard work for him to remove from life some of the key members of an opposing house, allowing the House Malnin to move up a rung on the ladder. Since then, he had returned once or twice to do some trivial service that benefited him and took the offerings that they gave, working some of their own members under his will. Way back then, what seemed like decades ago, he had begun the setting up of that what must happen this night.

As he continued along the path he had walked many times before, he came nearer and nearer to the residence of the House Malnin, his senses prickling with the tugging he felt. They sought, of course, to call upon him once more, and to seek his aid. They did not realize that tonight's ritual would go as he wanted it to, as opposed to them usually bribing him with powerful items and artifacts if they could get their hands on one.

The closer he came to the house, the more he felt the pull at the desecrated core of his existence from the ritual of summoning that the drow were performing. Tonight, they would be privy to a new sort of ritual, one that they never would have thought of, even with their perverse and demented ways of torture and pain.

Closing his eyes once more, he concentrated his stygian powers and snapped open an infernal portal to the pedestal where he would be expected to appear. As he stepped through the portal that was brimmed in green fire, balefire of the lower nether regions of Hell, he pulled upon his blood to cloak himself in writhing masses of shadow, giving him no true appearance. Instead, he just had a hint of a humanly body with the shadow of an eight-legged figure. None would be able to see him for the apparently mortal and human male that he was. Instead, it would be the shadowy dark form that hinted at a humanoid shape, with a few shadows acting as if they could be another few sets of spindly arms.

"Why have you bothered to call me forth?" spoke his androgynous whisper from the shadows of the room as he came to existence on the pedestal, looking about the room to see the gathered masses. He saw every inhabitant of the house, the numbers a few above fifty, gathered here for the mass ritual. Slaves, guards, soldiers, and drowesses alike had gathered here to complete this ritual for Lloth's utmost satisfaction. It must be important indeed, he thought, as his hidden volatile silver eyes looked over the gathered darkling ones. He could smell the favored incense of the Spider Goddess, and could see the smearing of the slaves' blood and the mingling of a few bodies here and there as they donated their pleasure to the deity.

"We need your help, O Powerful and Beloved Chaotic one. The House Despana has upset and disrespected us. I wish your service in taking out their Matron and Weapons Master so that we may have an easier time in removing their house from existence," came the haughty reply from the Matron, a lardy old biddy who had to force males into her bed to procreate. She looked upon the form of Regan as he stood there, hovering a few inches from the top of the pedestal in all his shadowed glory, waiting to hear what she had to offer.

She signaled then to the nearest male who drew back a sheet of black silk from the table before the Matron's throne, revealed a blade that many nearby drow hissed at the site of. Regan leaned over, the pedestal being on the other side of the table, as if to inspect the blade closer. With a whistle in his mind he observed the blade and the ancient runes that were engraved exquisitely on the blade, a smirk passing over his hidden face. They must have had some trouble wrenching this from the hands of some demigod like adventurer, and feared even its presence. He straightened himself back to look at the Matron, though it was indiscernible where his gaze lay. She, though, would be able to feel it boring into her, and even started to squirm about as his silence grew on.

"Is the offering not good enough? If it is not, I will even give you any number of the male slaves, if you would only help us!" squealed the desperate Matron.

"Quiet, sow. I come to tell you that Lloth has rejected your request for help, for she despises your lack of ability to do anything on your own. You, and your pitiful house, are sentenced to death. Tonight. Now. Damned forever."

The Matron hissed a few moments later, the words sinking down into her head through the layers of fat from laziness and complacency to let others, namely Regan, do her bidding. She called for the guards to arm themselves, for she sought to strike down this servant of Lloth where it stood. But he would have none of that. As the guards made way for the single set of double doors that lead from the chamber, they shut themselves and sealed with an ungodly light. They would never open again, short of Regan's wanting or a cataclysm of heavenly proportions.

He let his shadowy illusion drop and a series of fifty plus hisses could be heard as all the eyes in the room turned to his pale form. Leaning forward, he wrapped his hand about the hilt of the artifact that lay on the table, his other hand moving for the sheath. While it was a beautiful weapon, it was not what he wanted to use for the business he would conduct tonight. Sheathing the blade, he slid it the harness of the sheath over his back, so it would rest there. From within the cloak that he wore, he drew out two elongated kris, brandishing one in each hand. The blades looked sinister with the way that the blades were curved, though that was not the only oddness about them. As Regan held to them, they seemed to draw in the faint magical lights of the room, and each and every one of the present drow felt a small part of their soul lost to the blades. But they would soon lose much more to the twin kris once he got to work.

"Vengono qui il daemon ed il serv. Il daemon qui venuto ed è limitato. Il daemon qui venuto e fa la mia offerta. Venuto qui, daemon, a questo posto di sofferenza ed anima-rovesciato. Ottiene, il daemon Kie'ki-ree ed ha un corpo ancora una volta le mie mani e si dà al mio animale domestico. Venuto, il daemon ed è limitato," came the baritone chant from Regan's lips as he watched the horrified and scattering drow before him. The words, though in a different language completely than that of the drow, sounded all too familiar to the Matron. Though she did not have time to linger on the meaning of what was going on before the pale man leaped atop her and bore her to the ground, the blades digging in. One pierced through her breastbone, the dagger-point finding a home in her heart, the other pushing completely through her skull, finding warmth in her grey matter.