Scrambling to her feet, Arachne pressed her body against the closed door, her fingers clasping against each other as she felt her stomach tie itself into little knots. She looked up into the dark room, which wasn't quite dark to someone such as her who lived her life in the infinite blackness of the Underdark, although it took her eyes a moment to adjust from the light of the sun that she had found herself becoming acquainted with, the sting a smidge less excruciating each day she stepped outside.
What she saw was a bit bewildering, for she saw fabric replicas of humanoid bodies of every size of such creatures, from gnomes to the largest of half-orcs, there seemed to be a copy of each body type, and wrapped around them was a well-sewn dress or some sort of formal attire for both men and women alike. Wrapped around at the farthest end of the room was a beautiful staircase that led to a small balcony that had the same kind of decor, with a woman standing at the top of it, leaning against the railing.
Snapping her fingers with a gentle smile on her face, candles lit in a synchronizing pattern, alighting down the stairs just as a person would, and, enchanting as it was, Arachne was far more interested in the woman, whose eyes seemed to stare into the depths of the drow's own, picking her apart as if from the very base of her own morals. Perhaps it came from how expressive her eyes tended to become, but she had a feeling that it would not be the case.
She had long brown hair that seemed to have ended at the center of her back, flowing behind her, resting with a certain loftiness that seemed almost arcane in nature, her blunt bangs hanging over her forehead as she still kept a small smile on her features, white teeth noticeable even from afar, ears hidden by her mane of hair. Her skin was a shade of bronze, which seemed only fitting for the seemed to shine against the light of the candles, which properly illuminated her strange but excitable brown eyes, but who was she, a lavender-eyed drow elf to judge?
The woman spoke once again, still staring off into her eyes in a strange way, her voice ethereal as she spoke the language that the two of them understood, beginning to walk down the stairs, keeping her hand firmly on the railing before she reached the bottom step, where she instead leaned up against the pole of the railing with her arms crossed as she folded her legs together. Her voice was rather sarcastic for her graceful nature, which, for a moment, caught the drow elf off guard. "Are you Arachne Coborial? I'll know if you lie."
Attempting to keep her composure, she relinquished her hold from the door as she further relaxed her body as she took a discreet deep breath, straightening her back to somehow make herself look bigger, even if the woman herself was larger than Arachne, even if not by much. "Who's asking? Friend or foe?" She touched the base of the necklace that the Gray Sword Syndicate had kept for her, and, the intertwining dracolitch bone staff appeared in her hands, her eyes narrowing.
"A friend of Ezili Ngozi's. You might have heard of me, if you are the right child of the dark, that is." She grinned, sending a chill down Arachne's own spine. Whoever she was, she had an air of power that reminded the drow elf far too much of her mother, but in a way where she seemed more cool and calculated and less murderous. "You may know me as Ryleigh."
Arachne paused for a moment, recalling Ezili's instructions to visit someone who could offer her aid, and that woman's name was Ryleigh as well, and perhaps some of the dresses on the humanoid replicas were meant for her? A couple looked like she could slip into them fine, although she had not worn a dress since the last moonlit dance she had partaken in, which was over three months ago, which saddened her just a tad, even if she ensured that she still sung underneath the light of the full moon.
This woman was a human, however, and most humans seldom trusted those of Arachne's own blood, let alone one of her own gender when it came to the drow heritage, for they may have known little, but they knew enough to know that the women were far more stronger than the men, and could merely snap their fingers before their target would lay dead upon the ground. It was quite obvious that she wouldn't be one to do such a thing, but very few humans saw the difference between her and other drow females.
Arachne dug into her bag, pulling out the letter she recalled Ezili showing to her, figures inscribed into the back in the language of common, something she could not yet read or comprehend but could recognize. Ryleigh snapped once again and the letter came soaring gently into her hand, being torn from her own dusky gray hands with very little of the same grace, for she refused to let go of it for a brief moment before she realized what the human's intention was.
Resolute sepia eyes examined the letter as she tore the folds open and grabbed a thin slip of parchment from in between the destroyed bits of the envelope, and, unfolding the small parcel, Ryleigh scanned it with such speed it wouldn't have surprised Arachne to hear that she was some form of academic individual. She nodded for a moment before looking at her with her eyebrows raised in surprise as she seemed to have floated from her spot against the bannister, her dress flying up in a whimsical fashion before she pulled out a strange extending piece of paper with numerical hashes spread across it.
"It looks like I'll need to adjust the dress I have for you. Stand still." She knelt down against her knees as she began to fit the long paper around Arachne's waist, to which she responded by flinching back from her brandishing her staff towards her once more.
She shook her head, "Tell me what you're doing first before you touch me."
Ryleigh sighed, standing up again, straightening out the strange strip, showcasing the numbered hashes even more prominently with nimble fingers with small blisters lined across them, "This is for measuring you so that your dress fits you. It'll be best for you to let me do it right now so that you'll have it done in time for the damn masquerade tonight." She crossed her arms, "Or did you just think that I'd magically know your measurements? Because in your world, I'm sure if I got it wrong, my blood would be on this floor right now."
Arachne looked at her with a disdainful air about her, calling her staff back into her necklace chain before walking back towards the human again, "I haven't been in the normal drow community for the last seventeen years, so I'm just used to an elder's old clothes that fit her better in youth. I haven't worn a fitted dress in years."
She watched as Ryleigh bent down once again, taking her paper and wrapping it around her waist, pinning where the ends met together before screaming a number in the common tongue, and from somewhere in the building there was a hurried scribbling sound before moving up to Arachne's chest and continuing on with the same method. She even utilized the same tactic around her head, no doubt for the mask for the 'masquerade' dance, but even still it was strange for her to see.
This measuring process was very similar to how the servants used to gauge how large the children were when weighing them, especially the female ones due to their significance to the culture of the drow. Instead of the hashed strip, they opted to utilize magic so as to not touch anyone of such importance, and as such, Arachne had never been through the method of which she was experiencing at the present date. It felt far more convenient, and it made her respect the nimble hands that held them, knowing well that she had made the dresses surrounding them with those same hands.
This was something unheard of in the Underdark unless a woman wanted to be seen as weak and fragile, for it was seen as a typical maternal hobby or skill to know how to sew, and as such the women servants that knew how to stitch fabric together were seen as weak baby-makers for the male servants who seemed to be a little bit more convenient, which seemed like a double standard to someone who had now seen both those worlds. And it appeared as if Ryleigh was practicing her craft all on her own, and making good coin doing it as well, which shocked Arachne to a point.
On one hand, everyone had the capability to do something that produced success just as she had done, or at least it appeared as if she had, but it seemed that if she owned her own shop that she could carry her own weight in gold and in business. The drow elf was reminded for a moment of Kethan and his determination to bring some good to the world of the Lowstreets and Houseless, to no avail.
"So," Ryleigh began as she stood up, showing Arachne up the stairs with a mix of discomfort and curiosity swimming in her bister eyes, "You're not a recent escapee? Seventeen years? That's a long time in the Underdark alone." She sat on a chair on the opposing end of a very ornate looking glass table, gesturing for the drow elf to join her.
Arachne shrugged, looking down at the ring she had not cared to take off, recalling that hidden in her pants pocket was Amalica's own engagement ring, and, at that recollection, she felt herself sigh mournfully. "I was a part of an organization that worshiped the Goddess Eilistraee in close, tight-knit communities. I…" Screams corrupted her hearing for a moment as her hands dug deep into the fabric of her shirt, closing her eyes, "I had to leave."
Ryleigh seemed to notice her unease, her gaze softening, although still violating, "Well, I hear you people are good at singing, and Ezili says the same, so you've got that running for you. You play the harp? There's one in the palace. Otherwise I've got a couple lutes, flutes, and fiddles." She snapped her fingers once more and a box came flying from a shelf behind them, landing in the human's hands as she stood, "Well, I've gotta get working. You're room's down that hallway and directly to the right. Do me a favor and get some rest before your performance. It'll be a long night, I promise you that."
Arachne nodded, standing from her chair, "Thanks."
~
She took a deep breath as she heard the couple in front of her being called to join the rest of the nobles in the ballroom and go past the large mahogany double doors, watching as they bowed to the crowd before reacquainting themselves with their friends in whatever corner of the shining room they had put themselves in, the voice of the announcer calling each name and title of each and every noble before her. Arachne would be the last, for the bard stepping upon the floor of the ballroom would call the night to an open.
Ryleigh had reminded her what to wait to hear before she stepped out onto the floor, and how to properly hold the beautiful dress she had been given and fitted for as she curtsied to the King and Queen at the head of the table, the true couple of the night. It was their anniversary, and as such it was her job as the bard to entertain them the most, a list of songs meant for her to play already provided to her, but they allowed her to begin the main dance in the very beginning of the masquerade with her own song as long as it had a somewhat of a swaying beat.
Arachne had written something for the occasion while waiting for the night to begin, even having prepared the notes and how long the introduction would be as she strung the harp, which, as she gazed upon now, was shocked at its sheer size and quality. It was golden with silver strings, carvings in the metal of it so unique that even someone not well versed in material art could know that it would probably cost a fortune should anyone wish to sell it.
Grabbing onto her dress, she looked down for a moment just to admire the beauty of it, for it had a black base, each fold glimmering against the candlelight around her, but what truly outshone it was the silver of the dress itself. For, beginning at the top of her head, where a hood was attached, silver fabric was embroidered into the back and top of the hood, black spaces making intricate designs which repeated as the silver moved further down her body. The bodice even shared the same pattern with black threads going across her chest in an X-like arrangement, moving down to the front of her dress, where it stopped at her feet.
Upon the large sleeves, the cuffs not hugging Arachne's own wrists, but instead covering them, allowing only her fingers to show, which were gloved so as to hide what little skin would have been showing otherwise. Around the cuff was that same silver design, allowing a trail on the side of her arm to form from it, connecting to the back of the hood, proving to be the only bit of silver embroidery on the back of the gown save for the hood itself.
Her mask was just as intricate as her dress, for it covered her entire face, save for a very decorated circle to free her mouth, as well as holes made at the bottom of the tip of her nose so as to allow her to breath, and, of course, eye-shaped holes to not hinder her ability to see. The decorations of the accessory were stunning, for a mixture of gold, silver, white, blue, and purple paint made swirls of colors that were artfully put to as to bring attention to her eyes, where one stayed covered by the entirety of the mast save for the holes allowing her to continue bodily functions. The other eye did not have that luxury, for it was left out in the open only with its own covering to showcase.
"And," the announcer began, his tone echoing across the ballroom as he spoke in the common tongue, "the bard of tonight: the Masked Mystique!"
Arachne dropped her skirt for a brief moment as she made her way out of the hallway she had been hidden by and through the mahogany door, her eyes immediately becoming violated by the sudden thrust of candlelight before they adjusted by the artificialness of the light itself, for if it had been sunlight it would have been a different matter. Looking up at the main elongated table at the very back of the ballroom where the king– a strong bearded man– and queen– a properly dressed and delicate woman– sat with gentle smiles on their faces.
The drow elf bowed to them before making her way to the inclined stage of which she would be sitting the entire night, her boots clicking against the ballroom floor, watching as nobles looked at her with scrutinizing glares, muttering things to their neighbors that Arachne could both not hear or understand, a wave of panic passing through her. Did they notice her gray skin? Did they find it strange that her white hair was resting outside of her hood? Was it normal for a bard to speak greetings to the king and queen?
She had been challenging her knowledge of their common tongue and memorization skills for this one night in the day she had, and she would say that she had done quite a good job, and, as according to Ryleigh, she sounded normal enough when she sang, and accents added character. Arachne could still not formulate intelligible sentences without being told how to say it first, although she could understand more of what others said, as such why she was able to play that night.
Stepping upwards onto her stage, she sat upon a velvet stool as she wrapped her arms around the harp, taking her gloves off as she did so, beginning to pluck at the strings, humming as she began to sing the one song she had written herself, and had not been instructed to play, but instead had the privilege to as the nobles set themselves up to begin their waltz. Arachne's introduction began so as to allow everyone to prepare, including the king and queen and their honored guests, who strode to the dance floor from their table.
One of the most interesting of the honored guests, however, was a female elf with pallor skin and long and flowing blue hair with a small gnome boy beside her, who seemed nervous as he looked around anxiously. The woman patted him on the back as a smile reached features, directing him to go across from her so as to allow them to dance together. Arachne even felt herself smile a bit at the act of kindness.
Opening her mouth as she began to sing, Arachne closed her eyes for a brief moment to allow the music to overtake her, her hands skillfully working the strings with poise very few drow elves could hold with an instrument such as the harp in front of her. She opened her mouth and began to sing as she watched the nobles sing.
"A gentle kiss upon my head, my mother's promise of safety in bed
Where I used to sit and talk with you
Her touch so blessed, her death so wretched
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to trist
The place of music, safe and warm, and now I'm caught in everlasting storm
One tree has come down, another one flowers and sways
In the depths of my heart, your lips were as sweet as fey"
Arachne watched as a few people turned to look at her, trying to find the face letting go of the emotion she sang of, only hearing it in her voice, unable to see her face past the shadow of her hood and the mystery of her mask. In fact, even she was unsure of whether or not she was crying, but the drow elf rather liked it that way. It made her focus far more on her music instead of her feelings behind it.
"And she feels better than ever
As we sang, we grabbed onto a tree and we hung on the field of eternity
Memories, pressed between the pages of my mind
A place that I call home, but I shall now never be alone
See the signs and know their meaning
The place of music, safe and warm, and now I'm caught in everlasting storm
Why did I decide to roam
In the depths of my heart, your lips were as sweet as tart
Here's to the tears you knew you'd cry"
Arachne continued to pluck the strings of the harp as the waltz concluded, humming ethereally to the new tune she strung as the nobles around her met with their spouses, friends, some muttering to themselves or to others in hushed whispers, the scheme of politics being spread out amongst the entire ballroom, and to her, someone who had been in the center of even more gruesome and intense dealings, it was fun to be a spectator, even if she could not understand what some people were saying to their partners.
From what she could understand, some remarked on her skill in music, while others began spinning tales of their own, for the old began to amaze the young, and the young impressed the old with their constitution and grandeur given to them by their elders. Needless to say, while Arachne was only digging her blade into the first layer of surface politics and noble hierarchies, it seemed far less complicated and morbid as what she was used to. Although, one thing seemed to be certain; each and every one person in the room were playing a game, and doing quite well at it.
Each one was a fearsome competitor in the aforementioned game in their own way, for some seemed to have control over the stocks, while others merchants guilds, some had spy networks at their disposal, and so many more. In the very room they were all shoved into, there was an overwhelming amount of power in play, even if smiles were scattered all about the room, for each one knew that whatever they did was closely monitored. The stench of rancid control hung over the air in the same quantity that it did when all five Matron Mothers of Abburth's High Council were in the same room, each woman vying for her own words and her own authority over the Council.
But these people, some of them at the very least, seemed happy, dancing together to the music she played as she watched them with shrouded violet eyes, wishing for a moment that she, too, could join them on the dance floor and join hands with them as they joined each other in circles. Even amongst those struggling for power, they all seemed to enjoy themselves in harmonious joy, and she, Arachne Coborial, was the reason that they were all so bright.
As a musical interlude began, she began to play a simple three noted composition so as to inform the party guests that they were allowed to rest and enjoy themselves at the buffets of food at their disposal, and the air around her seemed to lighten as a swarm of voices began to pick up all at once. Arachne chose not to string the harp any louder than she had been beforehand so as to rest her fingers from the somewhat challenging harmonies to a novice such as herself.
Watching as a man began walking up to her stage with a wide, seemingly drunken smile on his face, he bowed to her, setting his artful crimson mask askew as he rose up again, adjusting it, the ribbon hidden by a mane of long, lustrous, and strong black ropes of hair. "Greetings, Mystique!" He bade in the common tongue, standing beside her as she continued strumming the harp strings absentmindedly, turning her head away from her music so as to look the human in the eyes. "You are quite the harpist! And a singer, I might add!" He slurred his words as he stumbled upon his legs, his azure eyes glassy and shot.
Arachne stuttered, struggling to find the words to respond to him before she found them before he could begin to ask questions, recalling what she had been taught in how to address the wealthy folk, "Thank you, sir. Apologies, my common is bad." She turned her head back to her music, half expecting for the man in front of her to leave her be after offering her his compliment, but it came to a surprise to her that he stayed even after she turned away her face.
He chuckled, "That's alright! A woman with such a beautiful voice must have an even more beautiful face." The man began to speak words unfamiliar to Arachne with a sultry tone meant to enrapture her, which may have worked had he not been speaking what she found to be gibberish before he began to walk closer, towering above her before he took hold of her mask, tugging it down and tearing it from her face.
Arachne gasped, rushing quickly to cover her face, but it was all too late, for the momentum and the force of which he tore the ribbon away from her had set her hood off and behind her, revealing to the court who she truly was; a drow elf.
And the crowd went silent.