It had only been six months since that dreaded council meeting, six atrocious months of bloodshed, perturbation, and despondency, in which Arachne had bore witness to it all on those nights, more frequent now, when she couldn't find the night's rest invoke her in its now dreaded embrace. Raids became a daily occurrence in the lower ranks in the hierarchy of Abburth, and now, unlike before in her youth, she couldn't find her will to look away and hide her head away in the wool bed sheets of her rigid bed, and instead watched as the carnage continued, finding itself as an everlasting memory within her head.
As such, many days Arachne found herself steering farther away from her own quarters, and spending more mindless time in the library, avoiding at all costs the mindless loss of blood that now began to happen in more likely occurrences than before. She had even found herself claiming a small chair that she slept in at night, giving her a beautiful view of Mystérieuse's light as it was illuminated for the day, glowing in iridescent green and blue light as the flame rose to its large shape before it waned in the sleeping hours. It was the cause of one of the only feelings of peace and stillness the heiress could feel at this point in history. She did this now, almost every evening, in spite of her early morning clerical education with her tutor and trainer, Elarra, and afternoon swordplay sessions with her father, K'yornl.
And as the tower was being illuminated once more by the mages of Gloufmarf, Arachne opened her lavender eyes in childish wonder, the one consistent light, the only consistent light, in her otherwise darkened world, the once brightened haze now darkened by the haze of blood against the window panes of her own soul, threatening to spill forth, but only being held outwards by a will forged in adamantine ore. This was one, of an uncountable amount of things in the Underdark expected of all, and no one could afford the smallest misstep, and should they make one, they would awake in their beds separated from their head.
And at the moment where the flame was at its peak in flammability before it died down into the relaxed state most drow awoke to, Arachne heard a strange twinkling noise, as if a small bell was being rung from a faint distance in time with the inhale of her breath, causing the drow elf to pull herself away and look up from her placid and tranquil state upon the cushy chair she had claimed as her own. The robes she had wrapped herself in as a makeshift blanket to keep her warm on impossibly cold underground "nights" soon fell down from their unbalanced state before being returned to its owner's shoulders.
In a state of curiosity, Arachne rose from her chair and attempted to find her way to the strange ringing noise, finding her rather uncanny posture strangely amusing as she, almost comically so, poked her head, rather literally, around the halcyon library, void of any other scholar that would take residence. For even the heiress's eldest brother, and now only brother since Bemril's untimely death, a mage of high esteem, being just below Matron Nathrae Telenna's Secondboy in the hierarchy of Gloufmarth's faculty, barely frequented the halls of the Coborial library, as the only power in the society now worth a damn was that in which wizards held.
Wandering around the halls brought a sudden recollection to the young elf's mind, of a younger version of herself, when she still required the small stool to reach the higher most shelves of the wooden contraptions holding her fields of wonder that she so treasured. This memory was of a book, namely one that had been in her hands exactly twelve years and seven months prior, on the day Arachne had taken the life of the kind soul, the one soul, that she had found true safety and solace with.
This caused her lip to tremble and tears to tease her waterline, a melancholy feeling enveloping her faster than it had come, striking her as fast as a vial of one of her sister's poisons should Arachne humor her toiling. Shaking her head, and reminding herself that all were watching her, even in fleeting moments of freedom and solitude, she instead closed her lavender eyes, not allowing her sadness to slip through the bounds of her body, promising to herself that she would cry in the silence of night beneath her covers when her daily duties had been fulfilled.
As her head rose with a singular shaky breath, Arachne took a deep breath, grasping desperately onto the few strings of sanity she still held, her very mind threatening to burst from the harsh treatment, her words becoming laced with anger and disdain. But then, she thought, are the other priestesses the same? Do they feel the same? Is this why they are so enraged when met with anyone of their status or higher or lower?
Reminding herself of the reason she stood from her chair, one of the only things she could take solace in, Arachne found herself resonating with the music, a strange calling coming from it. The bell itself seemed to be reaching out into her very soul, the archaic abilities she was told she possessed being teased by this seemingly meaningless act of song. This was far different from music she was accustomed to as well, seeing as the bards of Abburth sang in husky voices, using crude instruments orchestrated of metal and bone, but instead this ringing was sweet, more kind than the ear bleeding music the drow elf had known.
Mindlessly walking to the calling of this sound, Arachne found herself standing in front of a statue, the statue being that of Lolth in her avatar form, a, almost stunningly, beautiful elven woman with beautiful long hair that framed her well-chiseled features, where beneath her exposed and well built torso was the lower body of a spider, sharp knife-like pincers on each of the eight legs, a chain wrapped around her wrist.
In most instances, Arachne would have knelt, but she was more captivated in a much more peculiar sight; and that was seeing that on the plaque commemorating the society's Queen, was a series of questions below a phrase, cryptic in its own right, but all the while simple to the heiress's trained mind. That being, "The answer which you seek remain within this chamber deep, take first cipher from each induction, and the word to open secrets will be yours to keep."
If she hadn't already been curious, her interest would have been piqued to the highest extent, but this simply broke the bounds of her already ever growing astonishment and awe, not even noticing that her mind had already broken down the meaning of the phrase, but instead continued on with the system in which she was expected to use to solve it, and in turn keep the secrets hidden behind the statue of the Spider Queen.
Upon reading the first query, Arachne scoffed at its ease, where, embossed within fine quality metal, most likely of one of the highest prestige, seeing as it depicted a flawless image of Lolth, and should the sculptor illustrate Her in any other sense, he would have been sacrificed as soon as the first move of the sculpting tool was made by a Duergar slave, and in turn the slave as well. As such, most artistic plans had to be confirmed by the High Council of said city, following the religious guidelines set before them.
This inquiry, simple as it was, was something only a drow could answer, or someone who was fully versed in Underdark religion and culture. That being, "You should always do what to your Matron Mother," and the simple answer would always remain to be "acknowledge". It had been something that Arachne herself had been taught to pledge every day of her life until the age of ten, when she was allowed to dine with the rest of the family. As a mental note, she murmured the answer out loud, her dusky hands cradling her chin and pressing against her lips.
The next question, more complex than the first, was in regards to one of the unheard Gods of the surface world, one of which was briefly mentioned in a history of battle within the library, which mainly illustrated the tactics behind the art of War. "What is the name of the God known as the Lady of Strategy?", and Arachne, continuing her train of thought muttered her response aloud as well. That specific Goddess being the Red Knight.
Proceeding to the third query, the elf perceived quite the simple question, now slipping back into Lolth's religious, in which it asked what her given name was when she ascended to godhood when Corelleon brought her from the mortal plane before she rejected her husband's way of life by instead "enlightening" her followers. And the simple truth of the skepticism on Arachne's end in regards to the word enlightenment, was that Her teachings seemed to bring more harm than good in most instances, but that was beside her current point, and past her boundaries economically. Shaking her head once more, she reminded herself of the answer. Araushnee. Going hand in hand with its predecessor, the fourth inquired who the Lord of Cowardice was, and His identity was the aforementioned Corelleon, former husband of the Spider Queen.
The fifth slipped into common knowledge, as well as common slurs within the drow community, which its query stated that there were nine layers in what. Now many, very naive and insolent people could state that gravy, eggs, or onions were candidates, but those immersed within the community in which they were in would answer with the obvious. Nine Layers of Hell. As did the sixth, which was a family knowledge, asking who began the line of the Coborial's. That being the revered Matron Nathrae Coborial.
And lastly, one that Arachne had glazed her sight over for a simple moment, but had winced when she had done so, because although the answer was so clear to her, and to everyone that would have been around her, she never wanted to find herself thinking this in any context. This being the answer to the pressing question: "Surfacers are to be…?" The drow elf knew the answer, but it pained her to make that final connection, even if it meant that she would solve the heart-gnawing puzzle. So instead of eradicate, Arachne decided instead to think of a different, more heartfelt answer. Endeared; that was her final answer.
Acknowledge.
Red Knight.
Araushnee.
Corelleon.
Hell.
Nathrae.
Endeared.
"The answer which you seek remain within this chamber deep, take first cipher from each induction, and the word to open secrets will be yours to keep."
Out of uncontrollable impulse, she found herself uttering the answer in a small voice, a feeling of anticipation weighing down upon her voice, while also a sudden feeling of awkward misplacement, as if she was in the wrong place as she uttered these words.
"Arachne."
And as that word, her own name no doubt, left her lips, she found herself noticing a small compartment, barely large enough for her, a petite and relatively strong woman, leading down to an ominous set of encircling stairs, curling downwards from out of sight. Despite Arachne's best conscience, she decided that even should she parish, it would have been better than the hell she was chained within in her waking life, and that perhaps her aching soul would find solace with a kind elven person who was never subjected to a world of hate and death, and instead remained safe and unscarred by life in its brutal entirety.
Slipping through the gap with minor difficulty, Arachne shut the secret door behind her, once more feeling safe, but in a different sense of the extensive adjective. It was less of a fleeting feeling of serenity, instead taking shape as an aura of peace and warmth in which she had never felt before. It was quite nice, and rather euphoric, causing a strange and foreign feelings to envelope the drow's senses, and that being a craving for more affectionate validation, not dissimilar to the warmth emitted from this space as she alighted the steps, that would typically warrant a feeling of uneasiness and dread.
And as she reached the end, Arachne was met with a strange room, of small stature, and in a crazed state, almost proving to her that no one that could even be remotely engaged with House Coborial in this state of disarray, as one would be chastised and either whipped or tortured for such a misstep and embarrassment to the House. But for some strange reason, and that of which she couldn't place her finger on, there was a peculiar feeling that no one else knew about this place besides a few select individuals.
What she was able to make out was that several desks were laden about the floor, each covered in books, papers, coins, or small pieces of cloth, long since expired wax candles leaving their dried imprint upon some fragments of what appeared to be leather books in works of binding, small white threads connected to a needle being mounted upon a poorly sewn doll of a strange creature of silver stature, with beautiful, protruding, wings, outstretched as if to hold its owner in comforting embrace. Arachne even approached the oddity, to find upon a small area on one of the wings, sewn in black upon golden threads, was a name. That name being Cazna.
Moving to the adjacent table, Arachne then saw a leatherbound journal open to a page, worn from age and yellow at the seams, threatening to rip beneath the slightest touch. Upon this page, written in wide and graceful letters was the last account of whoever lived in this solitary place, seemingly a safe haven to the terrorized drow elf, whose eyes had seen every form of mortal tribulation in a short span of life, and would never be able to see a short sword without thinking of twelve years ago.
Instead, Arachne focused on the writing, tying her long hair back and rubbing her already aching temples from the accumulating dust from what appeared to be at the very least a century's worth of decay and rot. Even a few morsels of fresh food scraps remained in rotted wooden bowls, mold growing on them in peculiar, strangely artistic patterns, which was surprising that the fungi had not been the first thing to notice. At this stray thought, her nose twitched, teasing a sneeze.
Rubbing her irritated nose, she read the words shown before her.
"I think today is the day I run. The year is 1293, and Mystérieuse is waning in its cycle, and only Tymora knows what will happen to me once I escape this damn House. But I suppose, as a last account, it is only fitting that my dearest siblings know of where I stand. The puzzle is simple enough; and from the visions graced to me from the Heavens, I know they both learn to be wise and kind people, each in their own right.
"First, Bemril, my dear brother. I see it in your eyes, that you long for freedom, for answers to why this community hates you so. And I say to you, and read carefully and carry it within your heart, that you cannot control what gender you are, and that you should fight despite the beatings and brutal training. For I have seen how many parish in Slaekmia daily, and the math is simple enough. You are strong, and you will fight because you can. And perhaps, when you run, you can find me.
"And for the one I have yet to meet, and who will probably never hear of me, Arachne, I have seen you in my visions. My name is Cazna, your eldest sister, and the first daughter of House Coborial. And you, sister, I will tell you one thing, as it is all I know: Happiness is within reach, if all you do is do the work to outstretch your grip."