Tucking himself away from the prying eyes of those around and about him, Black watched with pupiless yellow eyes for his target, even if the word was not to be associated in such a sense for the drow elf he was looking for, which he had been trying to differentiate throughout the crows, although dwindling, of the Lowstreets of the Houseless and, "Other Races," as the high born called it. And never did the tiefling think that he, the son of the Gray Sword Syndicate's late leader of five years, and the pure blood of the line, would ever meet with a high born, let alone his killer. But it was a last wish of his, and therefore he had to respect such a thing.
He was meeting someone that had made her name known in the streets as the, "Dark Veil," due to the dark shroud of fabric she had worn over her face in her youth, and for a decent time until Black's father's death for a stronger political appearance. The shock of her next public appearance had been quite monumental for those who wished House Coborial harm, which was practically all of Abburth, as many saw the eldest daughter of the first Matron as frighteningly beautiful, but for those in the Syndicate, it was when their voyeurism had began, which was a kind term for what some would refer to as stalking.
That was beside the point, however, as over the course of those five years, Black had learned much about the family that his father had so revered, more specifically that children he held close to his heart, and he quickly began to realize the depth of family conspiracies within such a major House. For he had read reports in regards to the youngest daughter poisoning other women in the House itself, or even her slaves, for sport, to showcase her frightening presence, although that wasn't the worst of what he had found in the file.
One revealed a tactical meeting between Matron Aunerae and her current mate, General K'yornl Akatha conversing over what Houses posed the most current threat as according to the hundreds of spies that she had sent, as well as the progression in the subtle erosion of the long since destroyed House Caddath. Black's informants had watched as she belittled her mate, who, in thesis, was meant to be her equal, although every sensible person of the Underdark would understand that equality was a myth amongst those in the society. It was a word used as a lure to the dangerously unaware, to draw them into the clutches of those above them, before being crushed in their palms, learning their lesson far too late. It had been something the Syndicate had tried to abolish in the lowstreets, to no avail, for it was ingrained into the back of every creature's mind in the Underdark, even those unaffiliated with drow cities, such as Mindflayers and a large population of svirfneblin living in caves within the cavernous depths of the ground below the light.
Black had been lucky to see such luminescence, as, unlike the drow, he lacked the immense sensitivity to the ball of flame known to those upon the surface as the sun, this being due to his demonic heritage, which was inevitably caused by his father's dealings with the demon he had come to know as Mogthock. Allegedly, he had decided to take in effect his plans in regards to the creation of a tiefling due to the prolonged creation of another due to a cross breeding between dragon blood, demonic pact, and human blood, which was his own benefactor from the dealing with his father. Black was twenty nine now, which meant that there was no doubt that the demon would collect him in due time. That was one thing he could expect after his father's death, as there was no in between any longer, and Mogthock could have his way without his warlock to stop him, and he was most likely just waiting for the right moment to pounce.
However, another effect of the recent death and transformation of the old master of the Syndicate, was the disarray in the lower politics it had. Kethan had been the center of all conspiracies in the lower Houses of Abburth, as well as the Other Races and the Houseless, not only marking him as a reliable source, but also as one of the most powerful forces known in the city. Therefore, his son had to pick up the pieces of his formation, which he had managed to do with his more revered allies, and was slowly rebuilding what he had not meant to be his so soon. In fact, with his human lifespan, he expected for his father to outlive him and continue on. Present events proved otherwise.
Black remained vigilant, his yellow voids for eyes continuing to scan for a lost feminine silhouette, for he had given no clues to where the Nook was, and for a simple reason as well; to prove the Queen of Monster's integrity. He had heard tell of her wit, and a part of him wished to witness it in envy and in curiosity alike, but also to truly deduce whether or not it was truly her intellect, or mere luck that guided her way. Part of him couldn't understand that she had managed to take his father down only five years ago.
And that was when he spotted her. Coming right at him.
Through the bustle of people rushing to get home in fear of a night raid, xanthous eyes met with purple ones, swimming with prudence, brawn, and, mixed almost rebelliously so, despair. Her hair was tucked back behind the hooded cloak she wore, surprisingly not her house piwafwi, but it was lofty enough to conceal most of her features, even her almost notable figure amongst the low folk. Moreover, she wore loose black clothing, undoubtedly stolen from soldier's rooms, as drow women were subjected to form fitting clothing from a young age. Even more surprising was that the heiress had matched the style of the lowborn almost perfectly, encapsulating their informal dress contrary to her own.
The tiefling made a subtle gesture with his ebony skin and unbelievably sharp nails in the code the drow used for battle, looking at the purple eyed woman as he did so, a smile on his face like no other. He had been faced with Arachne Coborial, his father's killer, and his greatest ally.
She made her way to the Nook, stealthily moving her way through the crowd, almost as if she were one of them herself, further piquing Black's interest as he himself made his way to his safe place, and when they had made it, Arachne still remained several paces away from him, a distrustful glint in her eye as she did so, a concealed weapon most likely hidden by her cloak sleeve.
It was then that he decided to speak, still faced away from her. "Are you the Queen of Monsters by chance? For you have been expected for some time." His voice echoed throughout the Nook's desolate walls, stone in structure, imitating the overall shape of a crevice in a cave system, shadows casting over the hideout in just the right places, hiding informants, spies, and the like in its depths.
The woman returned in a calm voice, almost musical in nature, civilized and proper. "Do not ask what you already know, Black Powder. I am here for my information and nothing more. Pleasantries are not needed, for I am sure you know plenty of me over the past five years of hounding me." A chuckle resounded throughout the cavern, "Perhaps it is I who should be asking the questions, since all of yours are surely sated."
Black turned around, his spade shaped tail turning about with him, wrapped gently around his leg in a leisurely manner as he leant up against a supporting pillar of the makeshift cave and home, a mix of wood and stone. "Perhaps. But you forget who holds the power in this domain, my lady." He mocked. "But as the dying wish of both the Surface Tiger and of Bug, I will give you answers to what you may wish to know– or rather, what we wish to give you." With a long pointed finger, the tiefling gestured towards a chair, to which he sat at one across from it. "Sit. Let us be equals for now, and then we shall go our separate ways, no strings attached."
Arachne nodded, looking at the chair for a curious moment of silence, almost as if she was examining the thing before taking her seat, lowering her hood as he did, not only revealing his ram-like horns, but also his heritage in due course, his compatriot having less to hide. All she had that was of some surprise to him was a knowing smile on her face as she grasped onto something at her side, but not on the side that one of her dominant hand would place their sword, which begged a certain question. As long as it didn't concern his or his men's safety, Black could remain content.
"My directness is necessary, Black Powder, for I have much to do in this night alone, so whatever it is you need to tell me, or as you say to 'give' me, hasten your process if you will." Arachne stated, her eyes almost piercing holes into his skull, hardened by the harsh streets of which he had been brought up on, the vibrance of their color, in both infrared and not, disturbing him, akin to centipedes crawling up his back as she looked at him.
Despite his discomfort, Black continued, looking back at one of his men, a bugbear, motioning him to come forward with the gift assign by his father to return, which was wrapped in Bug's old Houseless cloak, a dull red, which they had taken from her body as a last thing to remember her by, as she would be set to be burned not even minutes after Matron Aunerae's pet had slain her. Nodding his head in thanks to his tall and brown furred friend, he placed the package on the table.
Black cleared his throat, aiding to the atmosphere he had so persistently attempted to keep in further endeavor to scare the supposed fearless drow elf, "You sister made this for you a week before her death, stating to the Surface Tiger that she would make this for the sister she would never meet, almost as if she had accepted death, and the way it has been retold to me, I can only be certain of that fact." He began to fidget with the hem of the end of part of the fabric absentmindedly, almost impatient with himself for the atmosphere he created, and instead decided to slide it to the drow elf before him, "It is something for you. Open it if you wish to."
And she did, delicately opening the bundle of the cloak itself, revealing the bone structure of the stave first, just before the hand padding made of fine dragon belly scale. Moving further upwards revealed the center of the staff where moon and sun shapes were carved into the bone, dusky hands tracing over the patterns before continuing to the top where several different branches of bone intertwined together to hold a blue gem in the center, eerily dull until Arachne placed her hand on the staff itself.
"This is made of dracolitch bone and scale remains, is it not?" The elf inquired, feeling the staff up in awe, her hands never leaving the markings engraved into the rough material.
Black nodded, "Yes. She also said that you can make it small to hide."
The woman almost jumped in excitement as a figurative candle lit in her head, a small snapping sound coming from her left hand, while her right delicately pressed against a prominent moon pattern, the staff shrinking to the size of her palm, a chain suddenly appearing around it, making itself in the form of a necklace, and an ornately beautiful one at that.
Arachne stood, clasping the chain around her neck before raising her hood. "Thank you, Black Powder. Gods be with you."
And just like that, his father's killer had gone.