"Pardon?"
Kethan scoffed at her, drawing his head back, a smirk still remaining on his facial features despite the tension forming rapidly within the room, which was becoming much more thick than the blood spilt the day prior in the arena battles, causing a small shiver to make its way up and down Arachne's spine, which returned to its orthogonal state. "Your Cazna Coborial has breathed her last. Probably about, what, a hundred years ago?" he chuckled maliciously, "I should know. I saw her pass on."
Arachne took in a large, shallow breath, resisting the urge to lift her veil, and instead kept her composure, fighting through the grief she had to stake through, despite never knowing her sister beforehand. "How?" Shit. Her voice cracked. "How did she succumb?"
The air became suddenly quiet, much more somber than a room could ever be in the Underdark, on account of the murder, torture, and pain, which undoubtedly led to the air becoming weighted with screams, the overall Underdark air stained by the drow cities themselves. This led Arachne to begin to notice, upon reflecting upon the start of her conversation with Kethan, his pattern of speech and body language completely shifted from one suppressing wit to one who abused his dominance over the conversation, and reveling in it, as shown by his face and voice. She could only assume, and hope, that this was because he had taken control of the situation, and therefore her.
"Your mother had her way. Bug had been a good partner of mine for a while before one of Matron Aunerae's demonic agents tore her limb from limb, took the remains too. Gods only know what happened to 'em." Kethan admitted, crossing his legs as he sat back nonchalantly, as if he was undisturbed by the horrendous mention of watching anyone die, even someone you had just met. But it almost seemed like the two hadn't just met each other, seeing as the drow had already made a slang name for Cazna; Bug.
Resisting the urge to sigh, hold herself in a fetal position, and lull herself back to serenity, Arachne instead stood tall, and continued barraging the Houseless man with her questions. "Bug?" Arachne began, her voice taller and more certain than that of her previous line, "What did she do to deserve a name such as that? Surely nothing insect-esque I hope!" That was her own poor attempt at a joke, to which Kethan simply stared at her blankly before responding.
He huffed in amusement whilst also shaking his head slightly for the same cause, his smirk's form moving downwards into a small smile, before returning to a resting face of remorse. "She may have been a cleric, but she was fast. It helped that she was small, too. She wasn't any taller than you. That's why her name was Bug." A commemorating pause, where it appeared as if the rather gruff man was fighting back any sign of weakness, unsure whether or not Arachne was to be trusted with such emotions due to her veil of mystery. "In the streets, we don't use our names very often. It's a sign of weakness and naïveté. I'm called Surface Tiger."
Arachne nodded her head receptively, standing as she looked past the window and saw the light of the time tower reaching the time in its cycle where it began to gain its luminance, a queue of theirs to hurry up in their activities. And this was when she considered something almost scandalous, seeing as eyes were almost always on her, this being one of the rare moments, as the Houseless were seen as the people who were only reliable when finance was involved in any instance, although, now knowing Kethan and having a somewhat, if not more than that, meaningful conversation with him. They were drow with as much emotion as those with Houses were, but with more freedom to express it, but still shackled by the noose of the status that would keep them alive. So if she wasn't to help Kethan win for her House, it would help him ensure himself a better life in the Lowstreets.
"Well, Surface Tiger," she began, making a move to lift her veil, "are you ready to win this? I know I am."
~
Arachne now stood proud, or at least deceptively so, as she was wracked with worry and fear as Kethan, who was now referred to as her champion, fought another member of the Houseless community, that of which her charge had admitted was one of the most formidable fighters in the hierarchy of their numbers, due to his large physique and ability to hold two greataxes, one in each of his large hands. One would even question whether or not he was elvish.
And this was in comparison to the small man, or at least one of normal stature for a male in the race who had been developing for about five hundred years, as well as the nimble fighter that was the proclaimed Surface Tiger. He fought in studded leather, a luxury in the Underdark for those in an everlasting skirmish for gold, as well as a rapier gifted by House Coborial to only be used during the time of the tourney itself. That was one of the many conditions of their arrangement with the man, one of which Arachne wouldn't dare complain about, seeing as they were able to unite under the banner of the commemoration of Cazna, the heiress's now revealed late sister.
She winced as she watched the man take a rather harsh dive to the blood ridden sands to slip, just barely, past a large slash aimed towards his neck, which instead chipped an exposed bit of flesh on his shoulder, where crimson blood began to trickle down the side of his arm, to which he responded with pressing his finger against the cut, looking at his now carmine leather glove before shaking his head and continuing with the fight.
Whatever the commentator was announcing, Arachne allowed to move back into the background noise like the murmur and warful screams of the crowd around her, all cheering for Kethan's opponent, The Fischer, who had gotten his name from defeating a Cave Fischer by his lonesome when, allegedly, he was only twenty. All she could do was focus on her charge and every small movement he made, praying to whatever God watched over her that he would not die, as he had been kind to her, and to Cazna, to die so soon in his life. Not to mention he, of all the Houseless, deserved that singular wish more than any of his fellows.
She leaned against the railing separating her from the arena itself, but not from its bloodshed or rancid smell of tears and bereavement, but simply to elicit a feeling of separation and hopelessness on that of the insignificant side, which, for the moment, was her own. It was a feeling so foreign to Arachne, and yet so unwelcome one would think a very army would come to fend it off from reaching the very corners of her heart and brain, corrupting her already waning spirit from the harsh subjection of upheaval throughout her terse life.
Arachne took in a sharp breath of hot air at the moment Kethan dealt the final blow against The Fischer, with a temerarious thrust of the sword arm to simply block a blow, instead changed its trajectory when the target itself shifted due to a poor miss, the point of the rapier making its way past the little armor the elf wore, and finding its way completely through the body of the fighter, an eruption of bloodthirsty applause followed as the Tiger drew his sword back.
He looked around, his gaze eventually falling to the purple eyed elf for a brief moment, a small smirk playing on his features as he did so before he rose his bloodied arm upwards in triumph, a scream coming from his mouth in a language unknown to her, which was not that much of a surprise, as most of the Houseless spoke the language known as Deepspeech, which was spoken by creatures known as Mindflayers, who fought using their own wit and abilities over the mortal brain to their advantage. Speaking such a language was a sign of prowess among those in the streets, proving as another reason as to why she and Kethan were so different from each other.
~
"You're doing quite well, sister." Chadra hissed defiantly, looking down at her shorter sister with scrutinizing red eyes, arms folded from beneath the table in which the entire Coborial family sat around to eat, that including Arachne herself, Chadra, Matron Aunerae, and Xarann, while Kethan was left to fend for himself, as unfair as that was. "That imbecile barely listened to me, and yet that last victory was the smoothest he had procured." she leaned into the table, her eyes narrowed in an intimidating fashion, her crossed arms now on the table to balance her body weight, "So what did you do to motivate him so?"
Arachne resisted the urge to spit out the wine she had been drinking leisurely, and managed to swallow the painfully sharp twinge of alcohol, which she, very quickly afterward, realized that she had practically inhaled the wine. "Are you suggesting that I attempted to seduce him, Chadra?" the silent response said it all, "You would be quite wrong. I simply gave him a push in the right direction. It would be shameful if I allowed a Houseless such as him to even consider such a thing." the elf forced herself to chuckle, "After all, if he even tried, his life would be cut short." She made a rather sly gesture with her hand, where it was flattered into a vertical line, where she cut it across her hand, simulating that of a knife cutting across fragile skin.
Chadra leaned back into her seat, snapping her fingers for the slave who was serving them wine, lazily flicking her wrist that held the golden plated goblet, for the small drow child to shakily pour her another glass. Her crimson eyes narrowed, and within a second, her spider headed whip appeared in her hand, striking the boy with the attempt to discipline the proclaimed "fragrant" slave.
Cracking it at the boy, he whimpered in response, holding himself on the ground, standing up straight despite his now marred skin, the tattoo branded on his chest of the the House crest, the diamond and web pattern engraved into his dark, unbuilt, and scarred chest, which was no surprise to anyone, as he was Chadra's personal slave, one would even call him her personal test subject if they so dared, due to her enthrallment with poisons and the like, causing her to go through several slaves in a year. This was in contrast to Arachne herself, who decided to not call for an indentured servant, with an excuse of them making her look weak, although she wondered if she should invest in one to simply save them from the pain they would face as any other female's personal toy.
"Don't shake your hands so much you nimrod! Your mother most regret pushing out a blunder like you." To this, Arachne saw her mother sit back in contempt, a small smile on her face, but not of pride, but of viewing pleasure. It had been something even the Matron had agreed to, and that being her sadistic persona, and Chadra knew, as well as anyone else, that this would only bring her mother more pleasure than the arena fights already had. That was the reason the unabridged arena had been plotted; for the first Matron Mother of Abburth and her pleasure.
Closing her eyes, feigning and mimicking her own mother's disregard to the situation, taking another sip of her red washed wine, Arachen felt a song twinge at her heart, a small, discreet, tap of her foot beginning the beat before she began to hum into the cup itself, finding solace in the reverberating tone of the song. And then, as she lowered the glass and she concluded the strange song, which offered her a brief moment of bliss, she found her gaze to fall upon her sister's serpent headed whip, where, instead of writing snakes, they lay limp and dead to Chadra's absolute horror.
~
The final round had come, much to the dismay of both Arachne and Kethan, as the heiress was right in her suspicions all along. Matron Aunerae had called upon a mighty Glabrezu, fierce in its own right, with huge scaled four arms and legs, the top, larger pair of arms sporting gigantic carmine pinsers, while also possessing a pale abdomen. As well as horns and tusks protruding from its red, sickly, head shaped like that of a Guard Drake. And this was upon the arena, accompanied with the three finalists, Kethan, a Svirfneblin named Pick, and a Bugbear of the title of Clan Chief Black; and at that moment was when the demon was released from its bonds it leaped directly at Black, ripping his entire, furred, arm off in a spout of thick black blood, a cry in the native language of the race making itself known among the arena.
"This," Matron Aunerae called from her box, standing proud, her armor highlighting her voluptuous body in terrifying beauty, her arms outstretched in her own pride and vanity, a self assured smirk most likely adorning her own face if Arachne's frequent observation proved correct. "is Tregmoz, a Glabrezu sworn to do Lolth's bidding, and until She withholds the ability from me, it is mine to command and use. So we shall see which one of our competitors can survive." She returned to her seat and dispersed from the overwhelmed drow's gaze, which, in contemplation, may have been a good thing.
Arachne, in her crazed worry, watched in horror as the creature unfurled from its bound state, the very chains holding it together dragging at its monstrous feet, and what once held its arms, the links separated at the pressure caused by such an escape. It was by some miracle that it had not found the chance to escape just yet, but she suspected it was due to the bonding magic between it and Matron Aunerae, which also proved her prowess. Although, all the history she had caused was proof enough, as Arachne recalled learning about her mother's historical massacres from the moment she could register speech, for even thinking about it caused her to become weak in the knees from fear.
She muttered small curses and prayers to herself, not necessarily to any God in particular, but to herself. It was something she did very often now, for she was unsure of what God identified with her, all she knew was that a certain call came to her whenever music came into the scene, or when it struck her to take a spin on what she understood to be "song," however poor the interpretation was.
A petrified gasp erupted through the crowd as Clan Chief Black was picked up by his animalistic feet, to which in response he swung his heavy iron morningstar about like a hatter, his attempts only bouncing off the hide of the demon itself. A deep, reverberating chuckle came from far inside the depths of the creature's stomach before it shouted something in its cursed language, before it tossed the bugbear upwards and caught it in its maw and crunching on the marrow of the bear like humanoid.
"Clan Chief Black, champion of House Eilservs, has fallen!" The announcer called.
Arachne slumped over on the chair offered to her near her unprotected viewing point, bunching up the leather skirts of her armor to disguise her consternation for disregard for what she thought to be the precious spark of life, which was not to be toyed with. And she found herself muttering the same words until the Glabrezu finished its snack, those being: "Not Kethan."
The strapping creature banged upon its chest with its fist like arms, its pair similar to that of pincers snapping loudly in beat with the stamping of its clawed, red paws. Charging mindlessly in a esurient craze, Tregmoz just barely missed the only drow on the field itself by only a few feet during its run, instead picking up a group of maintenance slaves walking through the exposed hallways of the side of the arena, blood spatter making itself known in swift succession.
And when its meal there concluded, another guttural growl emitted from it, before marching upwards to the remaining two competitors, pincers clicking with intimidating vigor and anticipation.
And then a scream made itself known across the fighting ground.
But not of pain, but of a rally, where the dusky skinned Houseless man rose his rapier of great magic, calling out in a howl. "Demon, you shan't intimidate me!" Silence washed over the spectators in shock, whilst Arachne cupped her face with her hands in anxiety. "For I am the Surface Tiger of the lowstreets, leader of the The Grey Sword Syndicate, conqueror of the mighty Mogthock!"
Arachne puzzled over such a thing, for she knew not how a feeble drow elf such as the Surface Tiger was able to do such a thing to a creature twice his size and age, and why he did such a thing to win a challenge, which would have set him and his fellow finalists to death. Although the better question being why he was tempted to cheat death itself instead of accepting his inevitable fate, of which he knew. She still couldn't wrap her head about it, despite having the knowledge of hundreds of authors stored within the confines of her complex and extensive memory, and the reason behind such a strange event escaped even the wisest scribe's understandings.
For Tregmoz the Glabrezu got to his scaled knees, towering over Kethan, his head resting against his fists in undeniable respect and acknowledgment. At that very moment, every single Matron Mother and priestess stood from their seat, attempting to get an optimal view of the peculiar occurrence.
"Um," the announcer murmured for a moment, the charm still clearly in effect upon his voice, "the winner is Kethan, champion of House Coborial!"
~
Leaning up against her jagged iron chair, her daughters at her side, Matron Aunerae sat quite comfortably, leaning against the silver of her throne as if she was resting upon a fainting couch, a dominant look adorning her mother's face. Clicking her fingers together, long nails clashed together to manifest a horrid sound before she asked the question in which she ensured to the victor to the tournament, that of which she Matron assumed to be no one due to the creature that she conjured being powerful enough to rival her strongest warriors with the best equipment.
"So, conqueror of Mogthock," the Matron mocked, "what is it you wish? Make it quick before I kill you for your separate offense, leader of the Gray Sword Syndicate."
Arachne could tell he was withholding a wry chuckle, "Well, m'lady, I'm flattered that I remain in your mind as such, but that is not in any relation to my request, if I do remain honest." Kethan stood in the center of the room, his arms crossed around his abdomen defensively, expecting an assassin at any moment, and rightfully so. "I simply wish for a certain gem in your possession. Preferably the one… the one on the lovely rapier you entrusted to me." He mimicked the Matron's finger clicking in this instance, clearly proud.
Arachne, however, was far more worried, as a request such as that could easily get him killed, even imploring such a gift was a death trap lying in wait for anyone, regardless of gender or status, not like anyone was below her mother, that is. As far as she was aware as well, the gem inside the rapier given to him gave it its magic, and therefore was quite valuable, most likely being the reason that he wanted it in the first place.
Matron Aunerae sat properly, leaning on her elbows with an ominous look playing on her brow. "Very well," Arachne fought the urge to let her jaw fall flat upon the floor at her mother's compliance, looking rather perplexed as she snapped her fingers and the rapier was brought to her side, to which she, quite easily, pried the gem out of its socket, running her hands over the gem for the final time before relinquishing her hold from it and giving it to Kethan. "Now leave before you bleed."
He nodded, "Yes, of course Matron Coborial."
Her mother turned to Arachne herself, taking hold of her arm and pushing her forward, "See him out." It was quite clear it was an order and less of a demand, which led the heiress to hope that Matron Aunerae had not caught wind of the conversation between her, before attempting to dismiss such thoughts, understanding that even her inner speech could be read, which was one of the many reasons why she could never wrap her head around anything without a wave of paranoia.
So, nodding her head and walking forward, she walked side by side with the bare headed elf, who was storing a gem within a leather back and tying the strings that kept it together, as well as tucking in the wooden buttons sewn in. Leading him down into the gates, the two both understood mutually that it was not safe to converse as they had in privacy, they instead walked in dignified silence, tension so thick, it could be cut.
Reaching the decorative, spider web intertwining ivory gates, Kethan pushed them open, a smile on his face, the first genuine one to adorn his face since Arachne had met him, where he stood on the edge of the exit and entrance of the House itself.
"Until we meet again, Lady Arachne." Kethan nodded his head, and she did so in return, where she closed the gate behind him, turning away to walk away as he did, humming the same song that had come to her midday, before she heard cracking from behind her.
Wheeling her head around, Arachne was met again with a morbid sight.
That being her acquaintance clasping onto his chest, blood spilling from his eyes, nose and mouth, as his legs spasmed violently, his leathers ripping as his hips began growing larger in a strange sphere like fashion, whilst his legs, strong and wide, began thinning and separating into bone like legs instead, each leg separating into four parts, before the circular part of his hips began to grow into the web sack of a spider.
It became evident now that Kethan was becoming a creature that brought the most disgrace to any form of drow. A drider. The unnatural form of a drow elf with the lower body of one of Lolth's own: a spider.