Arachne looked in horror as the man she once knew became the twisted, spider-like version of himself, his neck cracking as he moved side to side in an unsteady convulsive pattern, although pattern was a daring word to use to describe such movement, as it lacked such a rhythm that would consider it to possess some form of pattern. Despite this, it was quite obvious that, in his transformed state, that Kethan, the former Surface Tiger, was in excruciating pain, and fighting against his own morals as he twitched and stumbled in front of the ivory gate.
Looking towards her, Kethan's neck snapped at the change in direction, his red eyes misdirected and crazed, as if he was struggling to find his designated target, if he was even looking for a target at all; that was the frightening thing. That was before his eyes met Arachne's once more, his pupils no longer drifted to and fro, but instead were set upon her own lavender eyes, his mouth beginning to foam at the mere sight of her, and her flesh, small scars lining what little of her arms were exposed from the years of torture and physical discipline.
"Food..." he mumbled wretchedly, his legs still skittering from side to side, small fangs growing outwards from his mouth, indicating his transformation was not yet completed. And all Arachne could do was watch. She couldn't even bring herself to move her legs, almost like she was seven again, paralyzed and unable to stop her brother from making the worst, and last, decision of his life. Not like she would have known, despite the fact that she had drawn the final blow, the only blow to be done to him with real steel that darkened cycle of the tower.
"Must..." Kethan reached closer to the gate, which stood tall as if it was guarding her from the damage that may be caused by such a creature, as if it would do anything to stop the drider when it did decide to attack the House, "eat..." Even closer now, his legs, if they could even be his own at that point, "must... have... Coborial blood!"
In an instant, Kethan was on her, figuratively of course, as the now huge mass of a creature had broken through the insignificant gates that had held their ground for over two thousand years, close enough for her to feel his own, uneven and dastardly breath. Stamping his feet in a hungry craze, a scream echoing through the entire city, the sharp eight legs digging into the rock hard ground, narrowly missing the heiress each time he moved.
Tucking herself from beneath a small alcove within the House's foundation, where, as Arachne recalled, she and Bemril used to hide in whenever they needed to talk to the other, and as such, she felt herself doused in tranquility as she closed her eyes in the painful recollection of the memories of her brother, which brought her abscessed flashbacks, which disturbed her very life any time they arose from their resting place. But, such anecdotes were not to be stopped, as within the very structure of the House itself, there were remnants of the fighter, from a spec of dried blood on the side of the library's entrance, to his sword, known as the Moonblade, which was displayed, in wait for its next worthy host.
The irony was, however, that it was always the soon to be priestess in need of aid in such a corner, despite the fact that she had found her warrior brother huddled there once, waiting for her, or perhaps for death to grace him with its sweet embrace. It had been something she had considered as well, seeing as it was quite tempting with the constant pressure of death, it seemed as if it may be better, however doubtful.
Charging in, as if by queue, was a dispatch of the Coborial army, archers knocking arrows in their hand crossbows before letting the string go of itself, lodging small holes in the flesh of the comparable drider, whilst two handed or singular handed fighters took the offensive as well, surrounding him by all fronts, slashing, stabbing, and throwing blunt objects upon the creature's skin, despite its futility.
A low chuckle, if it could be related as such, seeing as it was high pitched and uncontrolled, more in relation to a cackle that may be emitted from one of the many Night Hag covens within Abburth itself, seemingly to ignore the fighters all about him, and only focusing on her. "I know you are here, bard. No need to fright." And strangely enough, more disturbingly so, was that it was Kethan speaking, pulling Arachne from her shell of memories, instead occupying her mind with the one topic weighing on his own now cursed tongue: death.
Although, allowing her mind to wander to what he had referred to her as, that being a bard, caused her interest to be quite piqued, to say the very least. For Arachne had never even considered being a bard, as it would never be a part of her path in the future, and she knew and understood that, despite the fact that Arachne was such an avid listener of the drow version of "music."
All she knew was that at times, a small tune, all the same in one essence due to their frequent melody with the harp, and such tune led her to do the things within her best interest, or even protect those endangered.
Recalling something the words that Cazna wrote especially for her, and remembering the fact that Kethan, before his horrid transformation, knew her, and quite well if he was able to give her a nickname such as the one gifted to her.
"Happiness is within reach, if all you do is do the work to outstretch your grip."
Arachne took a deep, if not uncertain, breath, before closing her eyes, her eyebrows knitted together, trying to shake off the anxiety of rising to her feet and challenging the creature.
Holding herself tall, and stepping out from the shadowy nook, so as to create the illusion that she simply appeared from the darkness, watched as the archer's eyes deviated from the strings of their crossbows, while the warriors absentmindedly fought with their weapons, some of the unskilled variety being kicked away, their skulls cracked by Kethan's quick, fidgeting legs. Arachne rose her arm, preparing to call forth a weapon of her own, her voice demanding respect, one of the first times in quite a while that she spoke without her façade, her military prowess making itself known despite her otherwise introverted disposition. "I want a bastard sword. Now."
Finding one of a silver blade and a sapphire hilt fall into her outstretched sword arm, she rushed forward, taking another quick breath to steady herself, sliding under the barbs and legs of the creature, flanking him from against the gate, before digging her blade into his web sack, thick ebony blood spilling forth from the wound itself, oozing like a thick pudding on one of the Spider Queen's holy days.
Hearing the cry of pain, Arachne saw the half man half spider turn himself around, to look down at her once more, but all she did was meet him with cold eyes, focused only on the fact that he was attempting to harm her people, and nothing more. Outstretching her grip to grasp upon the happiness for the others that she hoped would be promised the same joyful fate as promised to her.
Her sword, still within the bowels of the sack containing Kethan's webs, still unused, most likely still in development due to his only recent mutation. This most likely meant that the victory was less hard to obtain, as he was still recovering from wounds received during the arena battle the same cycle.
Arachne balanced her hand against the pommel of the bastard sword, lifting her feet onto the lower body of the spider, still moving back in forth, as convulsive and unpredictable as ever, before using her powerful legs and jumping forward, swinging herself around, pressing her sword to the neck of the creature, watching culpably as it rolled to the ground with a dull splat noise.
~
Pressing a small cloth to her arm, stained with the blood of her first true monster kill, Arachne heard a small knock upon her door, she found herself almost relieved that she need not finish the cleaning process in silence. Thus, she quickly pulled down her hair to showcase her status to whomever may be at the door waiting, she made her way from her secluded lavatory to her front bedroom door, only in her robes, spider adorned as per the usual garments for those of her gender and status.
It was to her own unwelcome surprise that she saw her sister, immediately breaking the almost pleasant streak of serenity that Arachne had been building up over the house prior, due to the fact that monster blood, parts, and smell was quite the hassle to truly scrape off the body, her silent sympathies being sent to the poor male soldier who she borrowed the sword of, but besides that, she did see her sister, standing just as tall as she, but with much more confidence, bringing for the illusion that she was taller, adding to the fact that she was already bigger.
Chadra looked at Arachne with a smug look on her face, although her expression was clouded with focus, something that was uncommon to find in the depths of her younger sister's red eyes, as strange as it sounded. Thankful that she had put her hair down, she broke the silence, "What do you need, Chadra?" the poison monger's scowl deepened at her sister's query. "To barrage me with questions in regards to the recent attack? If so, you will not find answers. It would be better for you to take it up with the guard."
She scoffed, "No, sister. I come because Matron Aunerae is in labor. Elarra is aiding her currently, but this is the first birth since our own, as irritable as I am to admit such a thing, and it is our duty to be at her side to catch the baby. K'yornl," the scorn on her lips was harsh as she spoke their father's name, due to his irrelevance, and to the fact that over the past two female births, three if on considered Arachne and Chadra's separate, which was against the common rules of the drow hierarchy. "has been present for far too long due to the lack and insubordination of females before us."
There was a short moment that Arachne felt her heart jump at the tell of a new child being given out to the world, female or not, as the essence of birth itself was imperative to the drow way of life. For, an impregnated drow woman, especially one of Matron Aunerae's status, was given some of the most delicate treatment that anyone in the Underdark could offer, dressing in fine silks and satins, whilst wearing the shoes with surface sheep's wool within their soles. Such things were, as stated in all religious texts, just how Lolth intended her priestesses and closest children to be treated in their nine months of discomfort.
"Sister, you do not need to lecture me, as I'm sure you get enough of it as is." Arachne jived, almost begrudgingly so, but such things were expected between the two, for the two minute difference of whether or not Arachne was the eldest was whoever had managed to find their way to the front of the womb, and as such the rivalry was accelerated, more so than for any other couple of drow sisters. "Lead the way, if you should so insist."
Chadra turned on her heel almost immediately after that, either from annoyance or haste to the regards of the situation. Likewise, Arachne followed her, hastily slipping on an overcoat so that she would not appear to be an embarrassment to Matron Aunerae in one of the most pivotal moments of the House's power. It was in the same case throughout Abburth itself, the unspoken rule being that the most important part of any anecdote of a House's history was a child's birth. In House Coborial's case, no life would disappear that cycle, as the need for a Secondboy or another priestess was dire.
As such, the clothing worn during the birth itself brought good fortune upon the House should each woman dress properly.
Making their way to the pampered Chapel, walls lined with polished granite, each slate describing a certain moment in Lolth's extensive history. The floors, though, remained lined with fine white marble, some of the creases plagued with the blood of a poor sacrifice. It was almost surprising how such a little dot of fluid would pass through the Slave Overseer's well-tuned eyes, due to the fact that if the slaves were caught, "slacking off," they would find their lives cut short, and their souls unmourned.
In the center of the Chapel itself, was the summoning circle, where, as Arachne recalled, Dro had stood to be absorbed within the Demonweb pits, each line drawn in scarlet blood. Adjacent, and just a little bit behind the circle was the altar, made of hard iron, where, embossed within it was Lolth's crest, and the Coborial sigil.
Although, both Arachne and Chadra's attentions became directed, not to the scenic center, but to one, exclusive, side door, leading into a small room, where labored curses slipped past the metal of the door. Sparing each other a look for just a moment, an inkling of what some called twin telepathy, the two nodded despite their annoyance, and walked towards the door, its hinges falling apart despite the Church's overall well kept state.
Walking into the room, after being let in by Elarra, Arachne's former tutor in her youth, who held incense sticks in her dusky gray hands. This was no surprise, seeing as, in their lessons about the Ceremonies of Labor, it was a common thing for the scent of one's enemies to be let loose during the birth. The current stick, from what she believed, was one confiscated from House Caddath before its destruction twelve years ago.
Turning to Matron Aunerae, whose hair was up, her face swollen and sweaty, and her cheeks just as bright as her carmine eyes. Biting onto her lip, the twin's mother hissed in agony as harsh contractions fought against her indomitable will.
Elarra, placing the fragrant sticks on their handles after igniting them with a spark of magic, turned to the sisters for a moment. "Prepare the table for the Matron's viewing. I will handle the rest. Watch and listen." She said, rather angrily, as if she was more focused on the two, out of place, children, as they were considered as such, who stood confused.
Nodding, Arachne made her move to unfold and partially build the silver child viewing table, reserved for Matron Coborials' only.
Feeling the cold metal, she soon became aware of the fact that she had been sat beside Chadra at the moment of their birth on the very table in which she held. It was an unhappy deduction to make, seeing as despondent as it was to admit, that all children, even Matron Aunerae had been set upon the table itself. Cold metal against soft, untouched skin was most likely the first iota of torture any drow child would receive. The sad reality was frightening, as, even after birth, pain began before any child could recall.
Grabbing the outer edge of the table itself, Arachne pushed downwards, a mechanism inside clicking as the legs of the furniture made their move to support itself. She picked it up, moving it to Matron Aunerae's "bedside," despite the fact that she was in an angled chair, a cushion below her to catch the child. It was of no surprise, either, that she was playing off her pain, and instead pretending as if she was unaffected by the act of a child being forced out of her.
A groan of agony broke through Arachne's spell, as a head made itself known to the world, a cry escaping from the babe's mouth as air was funneled into its lungs. Elarra raced to Matron Aunerae, holding her hands out above the cushion, uttering holy words as she did so.
And, after about ten more minutes, which seemed to last far longer than they should, a boy had taken his first breath.
A boy of purple eyes, just like her; Arachne Coborial.