Editing Ilsenhoon the Mind Flayer Ministrel (section)

===Chapter 6===
Ilsenhoon left the tower behind. He never did see the three again. In retrospect, he might have overreacted, but in the Illithid Empire, nothing goes unpunished.

Months later, Ilsenhoon found himself in one of the larger port cities on the continent. He was allowed inside, albeit reluctantly, after he gave up his weapons and spoke of his deeds, saving a town from a deranged warlock. Luckily, one of the watch had relatives in those parts, and confirmed his stories, thus allowing him entrance.

Ilsenhoon took care to hide his appearance after entering, though, purchasing a cloak and pulling the hood up to obscure his face. He wandered from tavern to tavern, looking for other bards, other stories to hear. But there were none. And they didn't care to hear his either. Ilsenhoon was downcast, wandering the streets, dejectedly strumming his guitar as he went. If this is what human cities were like, he would rather live in the towns.

He sat on a bench in the city square, watching the people as they went about their daily lives. Humans were growing on him, he had to admit. They were like velvet fungus in the Underdark. Sure, it's fungus, and it grows everywhere with no regard for order, or the regard of its betters, but during the autumn seasons, it sparkled like phosphorescent lamps on the ceiling. Truly beautiful, and a sight to see. Plus it tasted quite good, so the analogy was quite accurate.

Now feeling unwanted and homesick, Ilsenhoon stood and prepared to leave, but then something caught his eye. Some humanoid creature with pale yellow-green skin entered an alley nearby. There was something chillingly familiar about the skin tone... Ilsenhoon gripped his guitar tight, his weapons still with the guards, and followed the figure into the alley way.

The alleys twisted and turned, until Ilsenhoon finally caught up with the figure deep between the buildings, the hustle and bustle of the city left far behind.

IDENTIFY YOURSELF, Ilsenhoon's thoughts rang out.

The figure hissed horribly, slowly turning into a cacophonous laugh. It turned to face Ilsenhoon and threw back its hood. Its yellow-green face was withered, but not from age. It was naturally that way, Ilsenhoon knew. Spots dotted around its eyes and down its face.

Ilsenhoon flinched away. If he could mutter, he'd mutter ‘Gith!' under his breath. The Githyanki grinned, showing off its yellowing teeth and drew a vicious-looking serrated dagger. “My, my, my, said the spider to the fly,” it chortled, “Will you walk into my parlour?”

Another githyanki dropped down from a nearby building, this one wielding a wicked, silver longsword. “I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high. Will you rest upon my little bed? Said the spider to the fly,” the new one spouted.

Ilsenhoon backed away. Gith. The bane of illithid existence. The wretched creatures that took down the Empire. His face morphed into a look of rage and his thoughts were as steel, LEAVE NOW, OR YOU WILL JOIN YOUR ANCESTORS IN DEATH.

They both laughed and advanced, “Sweet creature! Said the spider, You're witty and you're wise. How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes! I've a little looking glass upon my parlour shelf, if you'll step in one moment dear, you shall behold yourself!” The two sang in unison.

A third githyanki dropped down, this one also wielding a dagger, and said “What they mean to say is, we're gonna show you your eyes. And your guts.” They grinned wider and kept advancing.

Ilsenhoon gulped, but began to recompose himself. So what if they outnumbered him 3 to 1. He was still an Illithid, damnit. It took their whole gith race, every last one of them, to take down the Empire... and certainly the Empire was outnumbered more than 3:1.

He gripped the neck of his guitar and gave it a quick, powerful strum, sending a wave of sound toward the first gith. The note ripped into him like a blade, shredding the cloak from his back. The three lunged, each taking a swipe. Ilsenhoon managed to avoid both the daggers, but the silver longsword cut him along the lower forearm. Purple-blue blood trailed down his hand and dripped onto the pavement below.

He didn't want to be this close, but he had no choice. Ilsenhoon reached out psychically, shouting into the first gith's head, making him reel backwards, howling in pain. The other two struck again, again dodging the dagger but the sword nicking his other arm this time. Ilsenhoon dug deep, closing his eyes momentarily, searching for something. There it was...

He grinned disgustingly, his tentacled maw spreading wide, as he opened his eyes, now red and slitted... like a dragon's. With the sorcerer's power, he gave the guitar a heavy, powerful stroke, directing it at all three of them, blasting them backwards several feet.

He didn't have long, they wouldn't be dazed for long. Gripping the guitar by the neck, he swung it at the third gith, wincing as the wood and metal broke apart on contact with the creature's skull. The first gith lay in the alley, nearly unconscious. And the second gith, the one with the silver sword stood back, glancing between Ilsenhoon and the two downed gith before backing away, leaving the alleys.

“You will enter my parlour soon, said the spider to the fly. And within my little parlour, you'll ne'er come out again,” it spoke before turning and rushing out of the alley.

Ilsenhoon tossed the ruined remnants of his guitar away before turning his attention to the live gith. I AM GOING TO ENJOY THIS.

The downed gith looked at him in fear, trying to pull itself up and run away, but all it could do is struggle against the ground. Ilsenhoon hoisted it up, wrapping his tentacles around the head of one of his people's worst enemy, and slowly feasted, making sure the gith was alive until the very end.