Etan Za'Darmondiel.
28th of Quintetas, 1492.
Spinner's Gate, Zimysta Falls. Shujen Kingdom Dark Clouds. Depth: 242,971 km.
16:59
***
It was so confining, returning to Nydorden Halls, the only place I had ever known until it wasn't. So quickly, it happened, that I had little time to compare and contrast what existed now versus what had been. Not until it smacked me in the face.
In the Halls, I felt like one often felt in a house. I could not run too fast, speak too loud, or hit too hard. In other words, everything was done with restraint. Here, in the bowels of Zimysta, it was like a prison- a dungeon- not 'like,' it was a dungeon. A foul pit of deceit and senseless slaughter. A prison of chaotic darkness. Two things that were my birthright. Two things that were my boon.
One made me like those around me- the males of House Za'Darmondiel, with the other males of his house, fighters, wizards, witches, and monks alike. Useless. Insignificant. Better off dead and thus relegated to fodder with meaningless titles, breeding stock, pleasure slaves, or worse. The other gave me fame and infamy. It made the males pour me drinks and converse in hand code about what I witnessed. It made the females eavesdrop and scheme in the hopes of learning more than their competition.
It was all so exhausting. Or, it would have been, had I not a purpose.
'I advise you all to pay close heed to him and his troupe during his time here.' I told them in our sign language. 'If possible, venture the Falls with his companions, for you shall see many amazing things. Although, even if you do not, you will certainly see something.'
"All of you, out. The High Matron summons you." The cutting voice of Ruel pierced through my ears, scrambling all males in sight. I sought to go with them, yet was cut off by her towering form looming over me. "Except you, Second Son."
The High Matron's 6th daughter was a particularly naive and aggressive one who had only left the compound to take her initial tour of G'eldantaar. She and her twin were younger than me and mine, even. If only by a year. But with their station and size, neither of those meant anything. They were almost like a drow-version of Geri. Or Blude. Only a head or so shorter, much more hostile, and a lot less dangerous, if only because of her inexperience.
Like all the other drow females, she tried to wriggle her crimson webs into my mind using fear, as she didn't yet have the perks of any class. Yet even with them, there was no hope for even a High Matron to weave their way through my mind, made so expansive by my monastic way; expanded more so by my boons.
Trying to find a thought in our minds was like searching for an island in the World Sea. Improbable, and in their eyes, impossible. It was an object of ire for them, only amusing us more. Their demands saw us immune to most of their punishments. Beatings. Torture. Mental anguish. However, that left only a few punishments available to us monks. Namely, death.
Death, and the Egging Ritual.
"Your eyes. Your hair." She traced her lithe fingers through my locks and flung them aside as she gestured to the empty room. "This arcana swirling amongst you so. You have changed, brother. How?" She demanded.
Bolder than I'd ever been, I went forth with the plan. I told her the truth. "I was shown what freedom is, then I grasped it. Now, I am infinitely free."
"And what is infinite freedom?"
"Just that," I said. "My horizons are boundless. There is nowhere above, below, inside, or outside that I cannot or will not travel."
It was clear she listened not. For the moment my words were spent, she stepped forth, nodding grimly. "In other words, you have forsaken this city, your house, your people? Your Goddess?"
"No." I shook my head with absolute certainty. "No, on all accounts." That was the truth, for I would change this city, not forsake it. I would change my house. I would free my people. And I had no Goddess to forsake.
"We shall see about that." She sneered. "Come."
She guided me to the precession without a word. Not by design, of course. No matter how much she tried to hide it, I could see the shock apparent on her face, for it was nearly on mine, despite me seeing a fraction of these things once before.
Everyone, drow from every house and commoners alike, was present to see the Champion and his companions enter the compound. Some 60,000 thirty thousand of our kind and ten times as many slaves littered the streets from the Mandibles to the Spinnerets, scattered around and above the markets to stare with wide eyes and gaping mouths at the posterior gates.
Still, I was pulled onward beyond the gates of the house. Into the realm of those who Have and onward into the realm of those who Have Not, we moved forward on our mana disk to meet with the High Matron and those like her, in the highest balconies looking out the surrounding sea.
They knew not what they saw when they turned their gaze into the chasm above. Their minds could not imagine what the gaseous cloud was. They couldn't even realize the glowing motes of golden light brought them no harm. Not even the present monks felt their ki resonating with the spatial twilight. They only saw the Nebulous Lane. They only heard the calls of the divine, and they did not compute.
Therein sat my job. Translator. Interpreter. Weaver of nebulous threads. I was a teacher, and so I was to teach. Yet I waited for the high-pitched whines and chirps, whistles, and trills to pierce every ear present before beginning.
"Blude," I called, eliciting a high squeal from a creature so large it eclipsed the ogre slaves working the gate. As I called off the rest of their names, high chirps, and whistles answered before their blubber sizzled, froze, or bubbled away to reveal their regular forms, clad in their pristine suits. "Prime Matriarchs of the Orcinus Mafia. A family of professional rogues."
"How does one become a 'professional' rogue?" Raki, Ruel's twin, asked.
"By assimilating into the businesses of the surface dwellers to run their schemes in the open. Such as having a market in a prominent town that operates as a black market in the shadows."
Feral snarls, yips, and howls stole any words from any readied mouths present. Again, their eyes craned above. Again, their minds could not compute. Red and blue. Fire and ice. Sun and Moon. Summer and Winter. Geri and Freki and their packs of seasonal wolves bounded down the walls as if they were racing. Having seen them be cursed herself, the High Matron needed no introduction for the wolves. She only watched their forms halt on the sea to freeze and then boil the waters, occluding their transformation into human forms behind a dense cloud of steam.
"The strange goblin we've heard so much about." Was one of the many calls made to the rider of a winged, bone-plated feline. "Leary, the Faithful," I told them.
"Faithful to whom?" Many asked.
"His creator, the Destroyer. He is a goblin paragon. That is to say, he has been brought to the end of the goblin species' evolutionary path, becoming the perfect goblin."
A howling roar beckoned a force never-before seen by the face of Zimysta. Light. Born from the fires of Iris' descent, the light of fire poured over the many eyes attuned to the dark, regretfully forcing their eyes away from the display of her stopping short just meters above the water to rocket toward the gates. In one fluid motion, the fires ceased from her legs to permit the mechanical talons to rotate into place while she flipped in midair and came to a landing on the wall.
I chuckled at the sight of her flapping her great wings of metal and connected to the comms. {'They think you are a harpy.'}
"Is that… a harpy?"
To answer, Iris stood on the vertical surface and gave her onlookers a cheeky smirk as her wings unnaturally rotated and peeled off, forming ribbons that disappeared into blue particles. Then her arms screwed into place in reverse fashion, giving them a two-fingered salute before she skipped down the wall.
"Interesting."
Rickley descended next, thrumming a dreadful tune as she rode the giant undying owl that was Reina, carrying what appeared to be a hairless minotaur in one claw and Wilson's undead knight in the other. The latter cradled the brooding Baby Lich in his arms, even while they were carelessly dumped into the waters.
"The human in the knight's arms is Wilson Koorb."
"The Wilson Koorb?" Ilar, versed in all things alchemy asked. "He was rumored to have gone mad. Obsessed with creating everlasting potions."
"He is mad. His obsession has expanded into something new."
"Then he has succeeded?"
"He has." I teased just as the man in question surfaced to levitate above the waters, yet I turned to the one hopping off the owl's head. "Like Leary, that halfling is a paragon. Rickey Ravenbrook, the Destroyer's Bard." Her name elicited a deep ruble that coincided with the appearing motes of light. Shells of darkness, rather, surrounded by golden light that seemed to ebb and flow off the undead owl as it shivered, decaying its form to reveal a petrified half-elf. "Reina Featherfall."
One by one, they entered the Falls unprompted. One by one, those motes behind and above them descended onto the waters and popped, expanding into boats containing the drow monks from above, some changed and some not, all rocking as they eased their way to the gate.
Including the most recent graduate.
***
Amun
28th of Quintetas, 1492.
Upper Chamber, Zimysta Falls. Shujen Kingdom Dark Sky. Depth: 243,018 km.
17:10
***
There were many things open to my senses. That had been true before my ascension. In a place like this, that only increased tenfold.
The lingering stench of death permeated the walls like water in an aquifer, and the ever-present darkness was like an ocular sea for my sorcery. Akin to that time in the lost gray dwarf stronghold, I could see all. Some 60,000 drow and 10 times as many slaves were trapped within a subterranean terrarium pitched up on an incline, sealed in by a network of three divine trees.
Even without my [Divine Sight], I could see what was so desperately kept hidden beneath the folds of their hearts. I saw it above, in the Halls of Nydorden, from the head down to the tail. So too did I see it here; a sea of hope, blotted by continental islands of chaos incarnate.
Likewise, I could sense the depths of their schemes even without the Void Devil's Eyes and Ears. Fundamentally, it was simple, their schemes. Chaos for the sake of chaos. Uncertainty, fuels uncertainty, in turn fueling chaos. A perpetual feedback loop of pointlessness.
These things, which had been noticed before had only been exacerbated by the perks of my classes. Divine Sight made their visages unignorable, for I could see their faith in me growing. The Void Devil's Ears made the thousands of whispers unignorable, for they collectively pleaded for the same, vile things. The Void Devil's Eyes often saw the need for me to cast judgment when all I wanted to do was observe. The Diadem of Empyrean Facultas gave me a taste of madness, more so than the madness I gave my warlocks.
My clerics. My priestesses. My holy symbols. Those who uttered my name. Any act of worship towards me. The Imperators. All within ten kilometers of those things were open to my senses. Sometimes indefinitely, other times, periodically. Up to a hundred sources for more whispering souls; even more with the means to Survey and Relay with the souls I've dealt with.
I could sense. From above this lake, moat, or whatever body of water existed outside the gates, I could sense much of the strange rock formations of the interior, giving me a mental map of shadows and obscurity to describe the place they called Zimysta Falls. A vertical shaft some 300 meters deep, equally expanded in width and half as much in height on a not-so-sheer slope.
In true zealous fashion, the cavern was shaped like a spider crawling up the slope to guzzle down the ever-present falls. Much like an Uma, plateaus, gorges, stalagmites, stalactites, and other features made a facsimile of the internal organs in their anatomical positions, held in place by thick bridges of web-encased stone.
The cascading waterfall that gave the place its name pooled in a basin and eventually gushed from the anus, so far below, monitored by embrasures and watchtowers in the spinnerets, making the terraces and bridges Etyl, Etan, and hundreds more drow were standing on the chelicerae.
Striated plains and mushroom meadows straddled the wide rapids pouring from the gates like mushrooms growing on trees, filling the abdomen beyond. Rothay herds and other fauna lapped at the banks of the wide ponds and streams branching off from either side, tended to or hindered by the uncountable slaves trying to catch a glance at the precession or slip in some rest while their overseers were distracted.
Indeed, it seemed they were all here before me, as the markets, workshops, farms, and other buildings on the arching plateaus above them were utterly unoccupied. Even the houses, manors, and estates carved into the walls and ceiling motionlessly flickered in the radiance of the faerie flames limning the structures below.
At 87,000 kilometers cubed, the 'abdomen' was vast indeed. Perhaps even double the space was hidden beyond those great webbed highways skirting the walls and ceiling, however, the most prominent being the massive edifices, stalactites, or tunnels placed around the eyes and legs, connecting them to the twin towers further down, the spinnerets beyond them, and here, in the Demon Spider's maw.
"I welcome you, Destroyer, to Zimysta Falls. Eldest drow-city in all of Nonus." High Matron Etyl gestured to the hundreds of drow scattered amongst the treasure-filled balcony as if she intended to offer them to me. I couldn't help but smile at the thought as I landed in a traditional Eomen salute- with the hands morbidly cradled above the chest, touching the first knuckles together.
"I am welcomed by you, High Matron Etyl of House Za'Darmondiel." I customarily replied, then gestured to the Troupe assembling behind me. "I am in your hands, as are my guests."
"As are your guests." She said, closing the formalities with regal calmness. "Come." She then said, stepping onto an intricate dais of thrones conjured by an elven slave.
I could virtually feel the desire bleeding off the matrons and their priestesses as I stepped onto their altar. Just as much as I felt their disdain for the males of both the troupe and the spectators. It was like a foul fume that bled from their lips as the one adorned in the most trinkets and jewels leaned towards me to say. "I've been told of your walk across the land, Destroyer. Never in all my years have I heard of a wake of death so broad."
"And this robe of feathers. Is this not the garb Eiriol was tasked with giving you."
"Indeed it is." I smiled at her before gesturing to my copy of the Owl's Vestiges. "Do you like it?"
Though she said nothing, that caught many side eyes and side remarks from those marching on the bridge below. Etyl either didn't hear them or more likely paid them no mind. Instead, she introduced the first woman as Barrdones Casia-Psellus, Matron of the 2nd house. Likewise, the one to inquire about the robe was an old lanky crone of a drow, Matron Khaless Noqutyl of the 3rd house.
Subsequently, the other five women on this floating throne of ours were matrons of the other eight ruling houses of Zimysta, occupying the eyes of the vast cephalothorax-cavern. Matrons Syndyrran Illistyn, Z'ryliss Hun'ana, Alauran Abaeir, Phyrryn Yril'Lysaen, and Eralyth Jusztiir.
We arrived at the pedicel shortly after they explained their stations and proudly pointed out their houses. Then, we stopped to gaze upon the great waterfall cascading into the voluminous chamber beyond. Yet it was more than a mere junction. It was a funnel born from the likes of two deeply rooted towers, each large enough to dwarf a 21st-century skyscraper or even an arcology.
On the left was Mii'etus Praesyris, the Tower of Might, a massive edifice carved with an array of balconies and catwalks to make a relief of a faerie flame-lit shield and crossed scimitars surrounded by a wreath of daggers. Opposing it was a massive glowing crystal resembling a spider's heart, held in the claw of a demonic arm that poured from the formless face of Arcanis Praesyris, the Tower of Arcana. Both were the only prospects open to the nameless drow in the abdomen. For those in the cephalothorax, it was a requirement.
While those of the ruling houses dwelled in the cavern's forward ceiling, occupying the Eyes, the eight 'lesser' houses dwelled above the branching tunnels that were the Legs, wherein slaves, soldiers, and other classless individuals worked, resided, or staged to delve deeper into the dark. In turn, that led to house-owned marketplaces on the grounds below, auspiciously placed to permit as many prying eyes on the visitors who came to trade.
Contrary to my expectations, many a gray dwarf and deep gnome could be seen wandering the streets below, albeit with a constant eye looking above.
Our precession thinned ever-more as we passed over that market. The 'lesser' matrons guided their expansive families toward their massive gates, fashioned into the overhanging peninsulas and stalactites without ever removing their eyes from me and my Troupe.
Naturally, so too did the other matriarchs guide their masses to the eyes, arranged like that of a tarantula. Houses Jusztiir and Yril'Lysaen in the radial eyes. Houses Hun'ana and Abaeir in the lower left pair; Houses Noqutyl and Illistyn in the lower left, beneath the massive spherical jewels that were Houses Casia-Psellus and the one that was our destination, House Za'Darmondiel.
"Welcome to the Queen Demon Spider's Domain, Amun of the Nox."