Before we begin this chapter, I wanted to add a small trigger warning. There are some pretty unsettling things to some people in this chapter, as well as it being a pivotal part in Arachne's life. If this chapter is too much for you, I strongly implore you to stop reading this, as worse things are coming up ahead.
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Arachne was nose deep in a book, as she always was, despite the disturbing news of a raid against the Fifth House of Abburth, House Caddath. Or what remained of it, as House Eilservs had taken their position overnight at their successful raid against the seemingly secure House.
That night, the remains of House Caddath would be destroyed. From the architecture of their beautiful, ornate, home, to the children that remained. Some priestesses, not descended from Matron Angaste Caddath, would be admitted to House Eilservs, perhaps even lower or higher Houses should the tide of luck allow it to be.
As such, she was admitted into the room she was now, her only guard being the Elderboy of the House, Bemril, a warrior holding much honor and strength (and second hand to K'yornl, the leader of the forces of House Coborial and Head Teacher at the warrior school of Slaekmia), who Matron Aunerae had put in charge of her firstborn daughter's protection as she and the army destroyed the remains of House Caddath.
Despite Bemril being much older than her, he understood his place as below her in the grace of Lolth and their Matron, and as such more important than he ever could be despite his age. Although, the two had a structured relationship in which they entertained each other in basic swordplay, as it happened quite frequently in the time that Arachne had to be watched, and in turn, Bemril's responsibility to protect her.
A triumphant feeling it was, as the two sat down, holding in laughter they knew, if heard, they would be chastised for, it would be dangerous for both of them. Bemril for sacrifice, and Arachne for another week of discipline in the underground caverns below the House, meant to torture and strike fear in the hearts of females.
Setting her wooden sparring stick to the ground, that acted as a bastard sword or rapier, her smile faded, realizing how inappropriate this was should they have been caught. Bemril did the same, instead sheathing his own bastard sword.
"By chance, would you be hungry, dear sister?" Bemril inquired, rubbing his wrists from the long session. While she wasn't too good, Arachne, it was long and hard work to hold back even just a little bit.
Settling back into her seemingly superior state, Arachne sat back in her cushioned chair, "Yes, I would be." she replied simply, watching as her brother opened a parcel of food, of which seemed to contain mushrooms. She had to convince herself not to cheer in joy, and instead nod in approval, as mushrooms were her favorite food. Especially those from just outside the city.
Handing the fine silken handkerchief (embroidered with the pattern of a spider's web, as all things in the Underdark were) to her, she politely ate despite her craving for the soft vegetable. Ignoring the urge to shove each mound into her mouth, she ate one bite at a time, her front teeth breaking into the soft cushiony skin of the vegetable, that, curiously enough, they [the drow] and the surfacers shared.
"How is the book?" Bemril asked between her next mushrooms, sitting up straight on his rigid chair, opposite to her own cushioned one. It was a question he asked frequently, seeing as whenever she wasn't with her tutor, Elarra, she was in the library studying ancient text, history, religious lore, and even the few fiction books the library possessed. Arachne couldn't possibly wait until she could go to the library in Gloufmarth and read their even more varying archives, although more catered to spells, they had more histories and lore on the surface, that of which she was the most interested at the moment.
"Quite interesting, actually. It describes how we liberated ourselves from the elves and, in turn, found our way to the original city Telantiwar, and follows as the four main cities were created. Abburth, Aleval, Rilauven, and Fanaedar were all founded by Houses that were long since snuffed out by the passage of time." Tapping her chin for a moment, Arachne continued, "We liberated ourselves almost two million years ago!"
"Interesting. Did you know our Spider Queen has two children?" Bemril asked, a look of anticipation adorning his face. Raising a brow in confusement, she shook her head, urging him to speak further. "Now, Her son is named Vhaeraun, God of Thievery and a devout servant to Lolth."
"How strange." Arachne admitted, shrugging, "How much chaos that would cause is unbearable if we did worship Him!" He almost let loose a chuckle, instead being snuffed out by anticipation in interest.
"And Lolth's daughter is named Eilistraee, Goddess of the Moon and Music."
"Moon? What's that?"
"Something the surfacers have, a glowing ball in the sky that shimmers silver in the light of the night, and, like the candlelight of Mystérieuse when it is lit. Although it marks the surface light hours, the light that is emitted by the flame in the day is of a similar gleam of their moon in the night." Bemril explained to her, eyes wide and twinkling with joy.
"But why don't we learn about Eilistraee, then, if She has the domain of two of the most wonderful things?" Arachne inquired, picking at her cuticles in confusion.
"As most rebel drow worship her." Her brother replied, warranting a nod from the young dusky skinned girl, who held her chin tall.
"How curious. Why would She turn away Lol–" Her sentence was cut off by a sudden feeling of her muscles tightening up as she spoke, mouth caught agape.
Fear shot through her body, the scenerios of murder flashing through her head faster than she could speak, if she could even fathom such a task in her current state. Was it Chadra?, she thought, as her sister reveled in her skill with poisons and was proud of already being forgiven for her Original Sin, as she had killed a drow elf with her spider-headed whip that they had both been gifted at age six. But she wouldn't yet dare, as Arachne was one of the most guarded children in the House, due to her importance and status.
So it had to just be Bemril, acting alone...
Watching as Bemril approached her, a culpable frown on his face, he ran his hands down her cheek, crimson eyes looking into her lavender ones for a moment before opening his mouth to speak his final words to her, in which she felt ring inside her head longer than any words she thought would.
"And those who turn Lolth away are heroes to all of us, followers of Eilistraee. And they will find us at the other side of this damned cavern." Bemril cooed, and as he pressed a gentle kiss to the top of her stark white hair, her dearest brother took out a burlap sack from within one of the many hidden pockets within his pitch black cloak, embroidered with the House Crest in glistening silver strings on the back; eight symmetrical eyes hidden inside a diamond-shaped gem, most likely a ruby of some sort.
Unclipping the cloak from his collarbone, he wrapped it around her, skillfully tying it so as to ensure she remained both fettered and bound by the hands, and, she hoped, to keep her somewhat warm in whatever journey he was about to traverse on with her, albeit involuntarily.
With some difficulty, he lifted her in the sack, whispering arrays of apologies and assurances that did not aid in Arachne's worry and fear, reassuring her that all would be safe once they "escaped." Whatever that may have meant, it seemed more impossible than it was safe, as he tried to tell her it was. Even escaping the House would be near impossible...
But everyone else is gone due to the eradication, except for Chadra and Xarann. Arachne realized, her already widened eyes increasing their size. Today was the best time to try this; as the only people outside of the House were those under Bemril's command who knew not of his obligations to protect his sister, and would just assume he wasn't at the eradication ceremony at the central plaza simply because Matron Aunerae commanded it, and therefore would not even dare to question him.
From Arachne's position, she saw as the sack was tied shut, and what humans would call darkness, she had just experienced. Not even her darkvision could spare her from the enclosing darkness that surrounded her as she felt Bemril begin his walking, the up and down sequence becoming rhythmic before he ceased walking and began to talk in an empowered tone.
We're at the door already...
"Step aside, Matron Aunerae wished me to complete some business for her." Bemril stated, and Arachne almost prayed that the guards wouldn't fall for his deceit and smooth words, but instead stop him or ask what was inside the sack. Realistically, though, she understood that no one would wish to cross him, as he could have them killed.
"Yes sir!" The two drow elves spoke in unison, no hesitation weighing down their tone. Arachne wished, at that moment, that she could scream for help, order the guards to set her free so she need not fear.
Bemril began to walk again, and after what seemed like an eternity of anticipation and fear, he began to run, darting past what Arachne recognized as the sounds of her House, or perhaps she was falling asleep. She couldn't tell, not in the darkness she was encased within.
~
When Aunerae arrived at the Coborial House, a swarm of guards and priestesses behind her, protecting her flank, she felt as if a strange predicament was amok. It was strange, as nothing could have possibly gone wrong, as the eradication had gone smoothly, seeing as all children, soldiers, and family members of House Caddath had been killed, as per the procedure.
But, yet, she could not shake the feeling that something was amiss. As if something was going on without her knowledge, and Lolth was warning her. Narrowing her eyes, she turned to Elarra, her right hand for the time being until Arachne and Chadra came of age, who returned her gaze the moment she felt it set upon her.
"I sense as if something is not quite right." She began, her voice lowered to a small whisper, "We will be going through the guards who stayed here immediately." Aunerae ordered, warranting a nod from her subordinate before she stepped forward to open the large, spider encrusted, metal double-doors of the House, that were further guarded by a black ivory gate that stood the tests of time by about ten thousand years.
Almost at the exact juncture of the last drow being pulled into the House, Aunerae had disappeared with Elarra, marching their way towards the back doors of the House for a report. No one would question her paranoia, as it was normal to be as such when your next in line daughters were only seven years of age, and could barely defend themselves from the predators that lurked within the shadows of the Underdark. Always.
When they had come to the back door, not as glorious as the front, as it was meant as a discreet military escapeway, Aunerae towered over the two meager males standing below her. She could tell on their face, and it brought her much satisfaction, that they were attempting to hold strong despite their indisputable fear.
"Matron Aunerae, for your knowledge, Ser Bemril has just recently headed out on the business you wished him to complete." One said, a deep and strong voice wavered from below her gaze and glorious beauty; silky white hair tied back into a helmet that framed her face, whilst she wore glimmering plate mail made to worship her Queen with all of her might and power.
"I sent him on no such business. What did he have with him?" Aunerae hissed through clenched teeth, as she found herself hoping that her fears were incorrect and he simply just went to get Arachne the mushrooms she so cherished; but either way he would be harmed severely and tortured accordingly, although if he had done something else, sacrifice was the only liable option.
"A sack, Matron Mother." The second stated, bowing his head.
"Was it filled with something?" She inquired curtly.
"Yes, Matron Aunerae. It appeared lumpy and heavy, as Ser Bemril's stride was slowed. I have seen him walk many times, and it was at a much faster pace than he had been moving." The second soldier replied, standing up tall as he looked up at his Matron Mother with certainty adorning his features, coupled with a swell of pride, as he understood his contribution to the House.
"Then show us where he went." Aunerae demanded, narrowing her ruby-like eyes.
~
Arachne had felt the movement cease quite a time ago, as Bemril hummed small songs that sounded as if they were hymns from a far off place. When they had originally stopped, her brother had been panting, desperately needing air to enter his lungs, so, she supposed, he took a break, tucked away in a secluded corner of the city.
Most likely near Lowtown, Arachne figured, as the bustle of the Other Races were noticeable from just a ways off, as they always did in the lower parts of the city, in which the lower, weaker, Houses and Other Races dwelled. Bugbears howled and brawled amongst themselves for their women or for their dinner, whilst Duergar hammers hit against anvils as a sign of power and dominance. Strangely enough, it was an unfamiliar environment that she knew so much about, it was startling.
Arachne still could not move, although, unlike how she had at the beginning, could blink and open and close her mouth, despite the fact that her tongue and vocal cords remained still and unmoving. It brought some comfort, despite the fact that she still hadn't the faintest idea of what Bemril intended to do with her. There were indications of a few things, yes, but she had always been taught to not make sudden assumptions unless they would save her life. Elarra was still teaching her such things, although from her own reading exploits she had developed some sort of inner voice directing her to the understanding of complex things.
The assumptions Arachne had already acquired were rather simple, and she refused to believe that her eldest brother could stop to those lows of meager plans. Most were plans of her own demise, but one idea stuck out to her like a hidden gem amongst the black cobblestone that surrounded her whenever she prayed to the Spider Goddess. That of which regarding the last word her brother had uttered to her. About followers of Lolth's rejected daughter, Eilistraee.
"And those who turn Lolth away are heroes to all of us, followers of Eilistraee. And they will find us at the other side of this damned cavern."
The use of the pronoun "us" suggested the unthinkable, that of which Arachne couldn't fathom. That of the crime of blasphemy, which was an even more major offense than anything else in the Underdark, as the society was heavily driven by their devotion to Lolth and her ways. Anyone found to be guilty of such an unspeakable offense was then, after their gruesome sacrifice, considered to never-be-named again, as their disgrace against their House and blood was something that no one wished to restate in words.
If she could move, she would have been shaking. Arachne couldn't even wrap her head around the almost impossible idea that Bemril, someone so devout to Lolth that he had gone to a meditative retreat to strengthen his connection with Her, would do such a thing. But then again, with his previous statement fresh in her own mind, he could have used that as a facade to worship the other Goddess he spoke of– Eilistraee.
Arachne, caught out from her thoughtful spell, was lifted out of her fabricated prison by her brother, who looked down at her with softened red eyes, a look of which was foreign to her. All she saw was a hardened glare that asserted fear in the hearts of the weak, and even possessed such a look herself; either that or a look of petrifying fear before the victim's airways were severed from their very being.
Her numbed legs naturally laid themselves out so Bemril's knee was similar to the like of a chair, as her arms splayed outwards to be adjusted by her brother's own hands to wrap around his neck. Arachne had never been so close to anyone before physically, (although Bemril took the award for the person she was closest to emotionally as well) as such contact was almost unheard of in the violent society, and as such, the closest she had ever been to anyone was being cradled by her mother's arms as a babe for feeding.
"You're scared, aren't you?" Bemril inquired, knowing full well he would not receive an answer back, "Don't worry, Arachne, you don't need to hide it here. Not anymore. Where we're headed, you can be whoever you want, you don't even need to be a priestess. You could be a scholar of the highest esteem and learn all about the surface world and the truths of this one. Or perhaps you could be a musician. I've seen your eyes light up as music played in the arena before the bloody finale." Chuckling, he stroked her hair with affection that she had yet to understand. "Eilistraee judges no one, dear sister."
It was a confirmation of her worst fear. Bemril was, indeed, a blasphemer, a martyr, and a traitor to Lolth and the family bloodline. There was no doubt that if they were caught, he would be brutally sacrificed in front of no one but Matron Aunerae and Arachne, who would be forced to participate in it as she was the one who suffered from it and would be expected to harbor disdain.
"And perhaps when we reach the surface, we can live in harmony with the surfacers, as brother and sister. They can respect that, right?" Bemril was absentmindedly speaking, as if he had forgotten the severity of which the surfacers despised their race for the constant pillaging and murdering. Not to mention the hatred that the elves nursed for them, due to the corruption of the elven name.
Arachne so badly wanted to correct him, but she also found herself wishing for these same things. Peace and harmony, where she could live in an equal society with anyone who she crossed paths with that was not the same gender as she, without the worry of a flogging should she deny the need to assert her power and strike fear in the hearts of her lowers.
As she closed her eyes, accepting her fate, almost anticipating the whiff of freedom that may be given to her if they even made it out of time, Arachne heard the undeniable voice of her mother splitting her train of thought and whispering into her mind as if she was directly adjacent to her.
"Arachne, where are you? Where is Bemril? What is he doing? Did he leave you? Can you leave where you are? Respond back immediately." The voice of her mother demanded, the imprint of her voice lingering in Arachne's own head as if it was pending a response.
Willing herself to do so, Arachne used what little archaic power she knew how to manipulate to respond to her Matron Mother's questions, deciding her response to be brief, to mimic Matron Aunerae's message, as she didn't know the limitations to whatever spell she hoped was cast. "Border of Lowtown, I think. He's with me, and is saying he's going to take me somewhere out of Abburth. No, I'm unable to leave."
Due to the strange anomaly, Arachne wondered if it was because of the use of a clerical spell that she had seen in the use of books, for the distribution of military orders. Or perhaps it was in desperation that she was hearing the voice of one of the only people who was in the power of saving her and bringing her home, as any of the Other Races could take her away, but there was no guarantee that she would be brought home. The Houseless were unreliable and selfish, as were the Lower Houses of Abburth, who may just kill her to hinder Matron Aunerae's strength. So, in truth, her mother and the people in her House, mainly a select few, were the only people who could save her and guarantee her safety.
Hoping that it was, indeed, something that she could foresee all Arachnecould do was lean into the warmth of her brother's arms and accept the foreign feeling of what she believed to be platonic affection (as described in her books of religious rules, and how platonic affection as well as romantic ones (although also forbidden) should not sway your dedication to Lolth and Her ways.) It was a strange concept– affection. Caring for someone so much that you would do anything to ensure their safety above all else was something the young drow elf could not fathom nor understand. Your own survival and power should be your utmost priority... right?
At that moment was when the slow stroking of her long white hair ceased, although she could feel a lock being intertwined by the gloved finger of Bemril, although all his own movement had stopped entirely. Arachne then felt a cold hand against her cheek, pulling her stiffened chin to look up into her own mother's cold and enraged crimson eyes.
Despite the immense pit that had grown in her stomach, Arachne felt her body reinvigorated with the sudden loosening of her tightened muscles and the twinge of discomfort caused by the numbing of her tendons and joints soon dissipated as a strange feeling of warmth erupted through her being. Pulling herself away from her mother's grip and from Bemril's own paralyzed hold upon her (with some minor difficulty), the young drow stood again, restabilizing herself on the hard ground before she looked up at her mother, who was in a rare form of rage.
"Explain to me what happened this instant." Matron Aunerae demanded, looking towards someone behind her, who emerged from an impenetrable shadow that Arachne could not see past, most likely through the magical darkness the drow could cast, and made herself known as the young heiress's tutor, Elarra.
Moving to the side to not be a hindrance in the conversation, she began to bind Bemril with thick ropes and confiscated his weapons with a tantalizing pace, as if to flaunt his failure more than Matron Aunerae undoubtedly would, either after his death or before it, to squander his memories before death. Arachne once recalled her mother telling her that she enjoyed imagining that in the cases of sacrifices, she was always the last thing they saw before their demise, she almost related it to a sadistic pleasure.
"I can only guess that the means of my paralysis was because I ate the mushrooms Bemril gave to me, and when I couldn't move, he mentioned something about drow rebels and then put me in a sack and ran." Arachne decided to leave out the part about the children of Lolth, instead trying to not pile on more reasons for a more painful sacrifice, and of course for the fact that she rather liked the idea of being the only one who knew of their existence. It seemed like quite the fun game.
"Then you will have no issue in taking the final breath from him?" Matron Aunerae stated roughly, looking down at her, fully expecting the honor to be accepted with the enthusiasm she was allowed to show. But, instead, Arachne felt herself perplexed by such a demand, a feeling of great sorrow filling her heart, a feeling she seldom felt, as her heart, numbed from torture and discipline, was trained to only have her feel when she needed to show anger.
Arachne had to pause a moment, to carefully choose her words, and yet a stutter still plagued her speech, and therefore she cursed herself for showing what little weakness she had. "B-but don't we need to sacrifice him properly? Wouldn't it be in our best interest to increase our favor with Lolth?"
Her mother stormed up towards her, metal breeches clanking against the hard stone of the ground, her thin and strong hands grasping onto Arachne's collar, lifting her up enough that her feet grazed against the stone. "You will do as I say. You are my eldest heir and your hands remain free of blood, unlike that of your sister's. You will kill this traitor, otherwise your blood will be spattered upon on the ground beside his."
Forcing herself to nod her head, Arachne felt her feet touch the ground once more, and as she looked up at her mother (of whom she had thought to be perfect and wise before all that had happened not even a moment ago), she spoke with a clear voice, feigning her disregard to the whole situation. "Yes, Matron Aunerae."
Pulling a knife from her boot, she looked down at her still held brother, whose eyes were wide in fear and smitten in sorrow. A content smile remained on his features, undoubtedly from when he was initially held, causing an immense feeling of discomfort to surround her feelings, so much so that it felt like it was only her and Bemril, and the rock of which his body was propped up against. His hands, although suspended by their mother's clerical magic, were shaking from fear and anticipation; and there Arachne knew that the way his eyes shone was how she always looked.
Feeling Matron Aunerae's eyes burning through her skull, Arachne held the knife in her own smoothened, untouched hands, flipping it through her own hands once or twice before looking down as she stood on her knees. Whispering the two small words that she knew in the common tongue of the surface, far too quiet for her mother or tutor to hear, even if they had meticulously studied the first chapter in a book about the surface word and how they said something when they felt remorse for something, it was unlikely they would remember. So as she whispered these words, she prayed that Bemril would remember when she showed him the book and spoke such words to him.
"I'm sorry."