Arachne had counted the days, although loosely, as she only judged the time on when her stomach dictated when her next meal would be, for there was no Mystérieuse in the depths of the Underdark, for it was rare to find any glimmer or sheen of a reflection in those caverns, and drow elf had trained her body to lean over the precipice of starvation, only for her to begin the clock over once again. But, she told herself that when she reached her salvation, all would be well, and her weeks of ravenous hunger would be satiated with the people of Cell Maccis, her drive to continue on was because of this.
But each day had been longer, and, despite the carefully thought out waypoints, a wrinkle in Arachne's own plan, which she had looked over with her rush to plot her escape, was that her sister's map was a hundred years old, perhaps older, and some resting places had been destroyed. In truth, she didn't even truly know if she was headed in the right direction, or if she was wandering through passageways of the Underdark, uncharted and unknown, as most were, preparing to meet her own end.
Would she die there? Alone without the sweet sound of a kind voice? Without truly saying goodbye to her brother? Nine Hells, would she even make it until the next day?
These questions– these fates– were the basis for her drive. Maybe she wouldn't make it out her next meal, maybe she would, but it mattered little to her, for either way, in death or living, this she had come to terms with, she would be closer to her siblings; lost and abandoned in the Heaven of which they bore, Arachne would breathe the air of freedom for them, or she would breathe the air of the life after until her story, and her soul, were sent to another elf, gifting them a story that may change their lives.
But this feeling did not change the fight faced to her for her life each day, or rather meal, for the creatures of which she had to dodge were great beasts for someone such as her, Queen of Monsters as she was. That title had been given to her simply because she had killed a creature almost dead before her blade even grazed its skin, her skill only counted so much when that factor was considered, but even still, as she attempted to avoid these creatures, who could kill her with little thought, a rapier was placed within its holster upon her belt, hidden beneath the baggy pale brown shirt and pants she bore, the dracolitch necklace glowing eerily as she wandered throughout the desolate place.
That necklace, or rather conspicuous weapon which was wrapped around her neck as a beautiful adornment was something of peculiarity to her, for Arachne knew little, if anything at all, about its capabilities, potential, and what its almost mystical build entailed. The bone of a resurrected dragon held magical properties unknown to the drow elf, this fact almost disconcerting to the knowledgeable escapee, for the only person of whom she could call upon for aid was Xarann, and he was miles away, most likely wishing her dead. But what she pondered during the part of her journey she was partaking in, for it had been turning about in her brain for days, as she had the time, was the strange occurrence of Cazna to make her such a weapon, only for her to become a bard, who needed no weapon but their voice, clearly the diviner's true meaning slipping from Arachne's fingers with ease.
But despite this strange feeling of comfort presented by the same kind of weapon, her staff of dracolitch bone could help little for her current problem; her food and water had run out, and had been out for what had begun to feel like days.
She clearly was lost, for otherwise she would not have run out of food so quickly, and now, because of her decisions in regards to her endurance before meals, her stomach clenched uncontrollably, akin to twisting and turning at a rapid pace almost like it was in a knot. And she was sitting, further worsening her pain, as she was in a rest place she had designated for herself, as she had long since lost track of where she was on the map, and instead made turns where she estimated turns would be and hope for the best, for Arachne had not thought her entire plan through in its entirety as she should have beforehand. But what was done had been done, and perhaps she would make it and perhaps she would not. Only time would tell.
And she told herself that she would stake through it as she took her time to enter her trance, which had proved to be quite the advantage in the traveling setting, for she only needed to rest for four hours instead of the designated average of eight that she was required to have for full effect of what energy she required without her gifted ability. But she had been without food for what had felt like days, her focus only remaining on sustenance, something to ease her pain. If Arachne had someone to speak to, she would have admitted to the fact that she had consumed bits of dirt and mud when she could find it over the course of the journey.
Every time she stopped moving, which was becoming more necessary, as the longer she went without rations she could barely move, sharp feelings of hunger, almost a similar feeling to knives being forced through the sides of her stomach were everlasting, almost overwhelming. If she could only have just a morsel of food, she would be happy. But there were none in sight.
Grabbing onto the grooves of the wall beside her, Arachne then decided that it would be better to continue on instead of sitting and focusing on her desire to consume food that didn't exist, a limp making itself known as she made her way down a narrow cavern she had found herself in, part of her body leaning on the stone, while the other relying on the support of the dracolitch staff gifted to her, tears pricking the edges of her tear ducts from overexertion. She hadn't rested for the same reason she had risen once again, and she had done the same four times in a row beforehand.
For Arachne was committed, and she would not back down, not if she was meant to reach the surface, or even Cell Maccis, for she cared little at that point.
But, despite the support she attempted to keep, both mental and structural, she felt herself falling, her hands too spent to reach the ground to catch herself, the staff falling to the ground before her, its dim light flickering out without her touch. And, accepting her fate, Arachne closed her eyes, knowing that, as she took a deep breath, it would be her last, for her head would be injured, and for the fact that she was alone with no one to help her from the bleeding which ensued. And ironic as it was, it was something she knew was in prospect for her, especially after her mistakes in rushing the process meant to save her life.
But, as she felt the cold of the stone near her temples, just as she had finished the exhale of what she believed to be her last breath before reuniting with her lost siblings once more, a set of soft, delicate hands caught her, a small, almost harmonious, chuckle reverberating from above the drow elf. Even more peculiar than that occurrence was the sound of the laugh itself, which pertained almost feminine features, but almost certainly amused in nature.
"Now, my dear Arachne, don't go falling on me. You have much left to do."
And if she could have, or rather if she wasn't already from her exhausted state, she would have frozen at the mention of her name, for the implications were far too dire, and should she have had the ability to stand upon her two legs and flee, she would have, but it was evident to both her and the woman holding up her head that such things were not possible. What was also not within possibility was Arachne's ability to open her eyes, for she was already drifting out of consciousness, what little bit of squinting she could manage soon being diminished as she felt black overcome her.
~
When Arachne felt herself coming back from her incapacitated-esque state, an overwhelming smell of what seemed to be a fresh carcass of some form of animal emanating from in front of her, the subtle shifting of a fire almost adjacent to the fragrance itself. Her stomach clenched at the thought of any form of meal, be it meat or not, any way to satiate her needs would be suitable enough. She would even eat mushrooms, despite the bad omen it bore for her, but she did not smell the vegetable, which almost aroused a certain amount of surprise, for it was a very common form of ration to be found amongst those accustomed to life in the lone Underdark for its invasion nature.
Feeling below her, the drow elf felt some form of light bedding beneath her, the ground still noticeable and stiffening her back, but otherwise she was wrapped in rough pelts of some form of animal, most likely from some surface creature which had been skinned, as many furred objects in the underground came from such things, as sad as it was to say. And, better yet, Arachne's head was cradled by some form of pillow, but of a traveler's form, which was much more harsh on one's neck, just as the cot her body had been laid on was difficult on one's spine.
As she attempted to rise, Arachne found herself to be laid just in front of a cave wall, which, in contrast the the walls she had been faced with beforehand, was flat, allowing for her fatigued body to rest up against something as she prepared to face herself with her savior, who, for all she knew, could be someone sent after her from her mother, for it had been long enough, and this she was certain, for her family to notice her absence, and it had been a surprise she had not run into any issue in regards to such things. This luck, however, did further add to her worry of her aimless wandering into death's door.
But as she opened her eyes, she was met with a strange sight, along with an almost peculiar sound accompanying it. It carried the same tune as the one brought to her in her times of need, but more put together, the harp and lyre carrying the melody, a wistful flute and violin carrying the rest of the song. This harmony, however beautiful, was simply in the background, adding an almost tranquil feeling to the air, further adding to the mystery of the sight before her.
For it was a drow woman; but she seemed to carry no similarity to any drow woman Arachne had ever been faced with. She seemed, for lack of a better term, more welcoming, more beautiful, and more delicate than any she had before seen.
Her hair, so long it fell to her ankles, was white, almost silver, and thin, flowing about in wispy strands of glee, for despite its gossamery disposition, there was much of it, for it flowed in many directions in an orderly form of beauty. It framed her face in a way that made her already soften elven features rounder, making her appear younger than she already did, almost as if she was made to seem childlike. And as she stood from her before crouched position over the fire, Arachne soon realized how remarkably lengthy the maiden's hair was, for she stood towering over her, and one could only guess that she was nine feet tall, her long and smooth legs and long torso making for more of her height. But what was truly strange about her aside from her height was her strangely colored eyes, which shimmered blue against the otherwise dull cavern around her, white eyebrows and long and thick white eyelashes making her eyes appear almost like ice, and they would have appeared as cold as the frigid solid if it had not been for a certain sheen beneath the surface of her irises, pertaining some iota of playful compassion.
She wore a rather revealing garment, a thin shimmering dress which covered the fronts of her bosoms, the two pieces held together by a silver belt of some sort, made of intertwining thick wires that formed into a crescent shape at the bottom center at the base of her bare and exposed stomach, bringing attention to her dress's skirt, which parted at the front side of her legs on each side, the same silver wire decorating her hips as both her front and back most parts were covered by the same glimmering fabric as the rest of the garment, the skirt reaching to her shins. Upon her arms was the same form of silver wire decorations, but this time taking residence at the tops of her forearms, going about in a diagonal circle around her arm before meeting in the side of each arm to make a moon-shaped pattern to finish, diamonds connected where each wire began and ended. And as for her shoes, the same fashion of silver wire made an intertwining pattern that stopped at the base of her ankles, her feet laid bare.
She chuckled, a wide smile making itself known on her plump lips, white teeth, shockingly straight and perfect making themselves known. "Ah, it appears as if you have finally awoken, child." The maiden took hold of a towel that was laid beside her on a small table near a chair large enough to hold her, and Arachne watched as she lent over, pressing the towel, damp with wet water, against her forehead. And, noticing her almost withheld expression, her smile widened, if that was at all possible, the music about her softening. "You need not fear, darling. I mean you no harm, for you have much to do in your time yet."
Arachne attempted to speak for the first time in days, the first sound she made was a hoarse cough, to which the woman responded by having her drink water from a silver waterskin, which was full of clear liquid with a refreshing taste, if water could contain such a thing. "Who are you? How do you know me?"
Those were her first questions for the alluring maiden, for she was so captivated by the soul of music brought with each ethereal word she spoke, almost carrying an otherworldly echo with it, each word spoken adding to another note meant to take hold of Arachne's being, the feeling overwhelming for her already recovering senses.
The woman placed the towel in her lap, her mouth closing for a moment as she took a breath, her smile falling into a smaller and more gentle one, the music around her changing into one of a more calming tune and less of a prefatory number. "I go by many names, some of which you may have heard within the dark place of your birth. But I shall keep it simple for you, my dear. Call me Eilistraee."
Arachne paused, opening her mouth by reflex to respond with her own name, to slowly close it at the recollection of the name from a certain tragedy many years prior. The words of the lost ringing in her mind, tears welling in her eyes at the thought of them, and, as she looked up at the remarkable woman, tears fell from her face at a languid pace, a strangled breath from deep within her throat coming to her before she spoke.
"I know who you are."
The dame looked down, her lasting smile faltering for a moment, "I see. So Bemril did once utter my name all those years ago." She sighed, a small lift still applied to the corners of her lips. "I am, indeed, his God, the Lady of Dance. But I have come to you, Arachne, because I have touched you, your eyes of lavender are proof of such things, for I have my ways of spiting my dear mother." the Goddess winked, "This, however, is only one of the many causes for the reason you are seeing me here now, my dear. I'm sure you didn't just believe the Dawn Guard was just a group of drow rebels, did you?"
Arachne looked down, almost flustered from the ignorance she was worried of showing in the presence of a God revered by her lost brother, but from the way in which Eilistraee's face twisted into a mischievous smile, she knew that the Lady Silverhair knew what her answer would have been. "But I am lost, my Lady. I have no food. What would you have me do?"
"Trust me, for it is that simple. You are close enough to the cell of your longing, but you know naught of where to go, I simply need to point you in the right direction, Arachne. My children, your brothers and sisters, will help you when they sense of my touch upon you." She giggled, "It is always quite the fun game to see when they notice these things." Soft dusky hands grabbed onto one of her own, placing something within them, something with a cold feeling about it. "You will awake just inside their patrols, my dear, and they will take you in. And who knows, perhaps you will find someone you just may like?" Eilistraee winked again.
Arachne smiled, feeling herself enveloped within a hug from her newfound acquaintance, "Thank you, my Lady."