Arachne's entrance into the Reverie almost seven months prior had been something she had informed Matron Aunerae of almost immediately, and almost shoved into the face of her sister as she had been first, much like she had been first in birth. At the time, Chadra had yet to witness what her past life would bring her, although, this the drow elf had no doubt of, her soul would most likely pertain to the life of a skilled, if not extremely witty, dark elf, her crude methods of self proclaimed, "discipline," for her slaves was truly that of something that came from the soul. A darkened one, that had been corrupted since the dawn of time, since the creation of elves.
On that topic, it brought a strange recollection to find its way to Arachne's conscience as she was helping Durdyn understand how to create darkness with his hands, one of the two innate abilities conjured by the drow. Perhaps it was brought up by the fact that her lavender-eyed brother had the personality of their deceased brother, as it had been related to the memory itself. It would be no surprise that her younger brother's own soul could be that of the former Elderboy.
This memory had been that of something Bemril had once said to her. Even the inkling of the memory, although faded, was something that brought an iota of relief and warmth as it crawled its way to the center of her cognizance, one that had happened only a few tendays before his passing.
It had been during a rather mindless activity, spur-of-the-moment as some would say, and the two had been conversing as they did normally, as Arachne was to watch as the slaves and fighters to come had their feet scorched by the sulfur springs as they worked. Some worked with the very little vegetation running rampant throughout the, "garden," either that or the upkeep of the springs itself, as it was some form of killing muse for Matron Aunerae, so much so that every time she woke from any form of slumber, she would walk through the burning hot plain, and bathe in the largest pool adjacent to several geysers. She said it cleansed her mind, and filled her with fortitude and resolve.
All of that aside, as it was something their eyes had learned to shy away from, it was quite the pleasant walk, and they had almost made their way around the entire vast garden before Bemril had brought up a rather strange topic. He had said that she reminded him of their light skinned brethren, with her attitude, charm, wit, and flowing hair, which was a strange occurrence for the now hardened variation of elf, but he had also said something about her demeanor. Something about it being much more mellow and mirthy than their kin, as if she truly was an elf. Perhaps it was Enyra's soul that gave her such a blessing.
Arachne also distantly remembered refusing such a compliment, as in the sense that she was used to receiving such a remark, it was a crude insult, insisting that she was too soft or too weak as their surface kin were depicted as, but the heiress now knew that this was far from the truth. She knew that the elves were a beautiful race of harmony and kindness, their children properly nursed by their mothers and fathers alike, and most of the time, mating was for true affection. They also utilized a strange process known as marriage, the bonding of two parties for love, and it became quite clear why the drow never taught their young about such things. Love was a dangerous thing in their society.
Bemril had corrected himself shortly after, which was when they had gone around the entire grounds, coincidentally the time in which the priestesses from Amaxselts had returned for a holy day, the day in which Dro had passed away. It had also been soon taught to her that there were only two sons ever meant to be in a drow House, and that the wizard had only been bred to be a more profitable sacrifice for the House, and nothing more. Even worse yet was that he had known his entire life, and still carried on despite knowing his life would be cut short before it scarcely started. He died at the age of one hundred twenty.
She shook herself from this memory, looking at her current brother, the one that she held just as close as she did Bemril, once more as he held on tightly to his clothes with one hand, the other pointing towards where he wanted to focus an area of impenetrable artificial darkness. His face was as crimson as a cave fischer's intestines, as he was restraining himself from breathing for some strange reason, a confused face making its way to her mouth, her eyebrows knitting together in jocular amusement. Arachne grabbed his hand, her brows now raised. "You know, you do need to breathe to live, Durdyn. Magic can't be cast if you're dead."
Her wide eyed brother looked up at her, a bashful blush on his face before he jumped and turned around, standing up straight and holding his head tall. If one had not known the fatal consequences for not doing as Durdyn had just done, they would find it cute, if not endearing. "Yes, Arachne. Thank you for the advice." His purple eyes looked at her almost with anticipation, waiting for her to bid him to continue.
Arachne huffed in amusement, "Need some help?" Her dark-skinned brethren nodded, "Alright, watch me. Magic is a fine art, and therefore each muscle in your body must be in perfect form, otherwise you risk the safety of your fellow soldiers, family, and yourself. This is why practice is imperative." Standing up from her fine wooden chair, and gesturing for Durdyn to sit on his own, she held one hand to her heart, the other pointing towards her target, closing her eyes for but a moment before her mouth began to move to call upon her innate abilities of magic, enhanced by a strange affinity she had for it, her eyes darkening for a moment, and in turn the heat-sensitive vision she was so accustomed to dimmed for but a moment before a sphere of darkness appeared, impenetrable but wondrous all the same.
Snapping her dusky fingers together and dismissing the orb of blackness about a minute later, allowing for Durdyn to look at the magic in awe before it did disappear, a self-satisfied smile adorning her features before she did so. "Now, Durdyn, you try. Remember, you must place your hand near a node of magic in your body. The heart is one of a few. Your forearm is another choice, a vein in your temple, and a select vein in your leg." Arachne grasped onto her brother's forearms, pulling him up from his seat, grabbing his left hand and pointing it forwards, "Now, where do you want your right hand to go?"
With an imperturbable and tranquill expression, Durdyn pressed his hand to his forearm. "Here."
Arachne stepped back, folding her arms behind her back, motioning with a simple forward movement with her head for her brother to go forth with her instructions, where, he too muttered the words of magic, the innate feeling all drow possessed most likely coming towards him in some form. Coming from his fingertips were tendrils of thick dark air, which began to center itself around a rather eerie bookshelf.
These tendrils fell to the ground as if they were dirty water as the door to the library was forcefully pushed open despite the fact that it was unlocked, and had no rusted hinges of any form, indicating a very irritated drow elf. But it appeared quite the contrary as a group of young drow boys had simply walked in, each with their own satchel of mail, no doubt to deliver letters and declarations for all the Houses of Abburth, as it was a standard job for the First House to offer some form of post service, although as unwise as it was. Informants could easily take a peak, a House's information so easily spilt. As such, all the smart Houses never were seen using any form of letter system, so it was strange enough that Arachne would be receiving any.
"Lady Arachne Coborial, there's a letter for you." One of the boys stated, holding a dirty white letter in his blistered and sweat-ridden hands.
She walked towards him, looking down at the young boy, most likely only a little bit older than Durdyn, he had the look of being seven or eight. "Just hand it to me here." Arachne took hold of the letter, feeling the edges of the envelope and the creases of the wax seal, which was that of two swords, made in silver wax, addressed to her. "Get on now before the door becomes carnivorous." She shooed them away in a sense that made her feel as if she was telling a joke, but in truth both her status, body language, and tone made it appear as if it was a threat, despite the fact that it made its initial form as a joke.
Tucking the letter into one of her dress pockets, throwing her gracefully embroidered piwafwi, otherwise known as a magical cloak, over it, making the act of theft less inviting. It was standard procedure after receiving a letter of any sort, as it could bring the downfall of the sender and of the drow elf it was addressed to. It was better on both sides of the letter itself, only until the identity of the sender was revealed, as it could be an assassin, and perhaps even that of a different House, threatening blackmail. Such things would cause another raid to occur, almost definitely to House Coborial's benefit, as its strength was unwavering, and had been since what Arachne had known as Cazna's death, which had offset the entire power hierarchy of Abburth itself before Matron Aunerae had to force it straight with more violence, mainly organized murders. House Naerth, Kethan's blood roots, had been the last product of such straightening.
Standing behind her brother once more, Arachne readjusted Durdyn's hands, as they had fallen due to the distraction of the commonly nicknamed, "boys who carried death in their pockets," due to the unpleasant news they mostly brought with them. "Alright, let's try this again. There are no distractions this time to stop you, which means that today you will summon an orb of darkness."
Durdyn nodded with much zeal before he further focused his movements, as well as his mouth, which moved with the proficiency that she had done so at that age, for she had him recite the words to her for about a month before Arachne had even let the inkling possess her to allow him to start using the magic itself, as, if done incorrectly, could threaten his very life. But, just as Arachne had before him, and as he had almost done, tendrils of black oozed from his fingers, making a form of blackness in the same spot in which she had created her own before she dismissed it.
Walking forward and moving her hand into the void, her hand was swallowed up by darkness, before she pulled it away, to find her hand intact once more. "Good!" Arachne turned to Durdyn, urging for him to dismiss it, to which he simply nodded at the creation before it disappeared. "I think that is all I have for you today, brother. K'yornl might have some lessons for you if I do remember correctly. Don't forget to practice this newfound skill."
~
Arachne had made sure to sit herself down in Cazna's abode before she even fathomed reading the letter itself, and even before then she ensured that no one else was in the room, she had made positive that no one had been in the library before she descended down the entwisted staircase to reach her late sister's safe haven.
She had taken her seat at the largest of the four desks in the dim room, which she had cleaned from their almost destroyed state beforehand, organizing discarded papers to their own respective, and assigned desks, as well as stacking each of Cazna's five journals in chronological order, the bottom starting from when she first found her sanctuary, to her last entry. Her sister had even admitted that her skill in keeping things orderly had been severely looked over, as Matron Aunerae had instead focused on her daughter's beautiful white hair, light red eyes, and fair features, and not the overall organization skills of a place of living. She had taught Cazna from a young age how to handle taking care of the House and how to show her dedication to Lolth, but had overlooked certain things. While in Arachne and Chadra's case, Elarra had them sent to an iron maiden if the slightest quill was out of its place.
All of that aside, Arachne had quickly located a letter opener, and placed it by her right hand, her dominant hand. Before she did open it, however, the drow elf turned the envelope around in her hands, staring at each crease, just waiting for some form of trap to appear, either by magic or by some other method of injury or harm. However, she could detect nothing out of the ordinary, which was rather strange in her mind, for she had even ascertained that there were no dangerous oils on the letter either, although she should have done such investigations before she took it from the hands of the messenger, seeing as she didn't frequently wear gloves of any sort.
Turning the written address once more in her hands before she grabbed the silver letter opener, Arachne ran the blade across the silver wax, the flap of the envelope freed from its confines. Pulling the parchment out from its confines, she ran her hands against it for but a moment before unfolding the paper, as it served as almost a reassuring trait of anything she pressed her hands against that had anything in regards to parchment itself, be it reading, writing, or even opening a letter as she was now.
Unfolding the paper, Arachne had been met with a strange sight, almost to a curious degree, seeing as the letter itself had been written in deep speech, a language most in the Underdark population had never, or had yet to learn. This was disturbing enough, but to aid to the mystery, the only words written in undercommon was her own title.
"Lady Arachne Coborial, Queen of Monsters, and eldest daughter of Matron Aunerae Coborial of House Coborial, first House of Abburth" This was where the deep speech began, and the formal address had ended, allowing secrets to begin their own tale. "We have been watching you for the better part of the last five years, 'Queen of Monsters,' and we have come to learn something of you that aligns with the Surface Tiger's morals for us. We have seen your interest in Bug, her fate, and her life. And we have some information that may help you with your own goals. Perhaps those you are questioning.
"It was the Surface Tiger's wish for your House's new children to be treated as Bug was before she was stamped out by Matron Aunerae, and we saw your performance during his death. You have something many of the higher born do not. We have information for you, minstrel, and perhaps it can be of use to you. One of our operatives, Black Powder, will wait for you during the rise of Mystérieuse at the Nook."
Even more curious, almost intimidatingly so, was that it was signed by the Gray Sword Syndicate. The underground organization Kethan's family had taken ownership of.