Darksong- Warning, mature content.

[Aylstra Illianniis]

He looked up, and his heat-seeking eyes found a terrifying sight. A huge, chaotic, tent-like web stretched across nearly half the ceiling. He saw movement within, and then an enormous spider with a body nearly six feet long skittered out of the web. He stepped back closer to the nearest wall, slowly pulling his borrowed kukri from his belt. The spider's back was slightly humped, and its long, spindly legs were covered in short, course hairs. But its most disturbing trait was the pair of humanoid arms just below the mandibles that were making the clicking sound he had heard.

The monstrous creature leaped down to the ground, landing between Lothir and the passage he had just left. He backed away, holding his knife and turtle-shield in front of him. The spider chittered for a moment, its six eyes fixed on him. It scuttled toward him, and he backed away further, putting one of the slender stalagmites between him and it. It paused, the “arms” in front waving in a gesture to come closer.

Then something truly strange happened. The huge arachnid reared up on its hind two pairs of legs, and as it did, it began to change. The body became smaller and slimmer, as the two hind leg pairs shortened and thickend, until they fused into one pair of rather shapely humanoid legs, while the two front pairs disappeared altogether, leaving only the clawed arms. Even its head changed, becoming that of an attractive female, with drow-like ears and features, and the normal number of eyes. At last he found himstelf staring at a naked- and very comely- woman, who tossed a satisfied smirk his way, chuckling softly.

"Well," she said, using the Undercommon speech that was a mix of the languages of drow, deep dwarf, and the grey-skinned Underdark gnomes called the svirfneblin. "What have we here? A lonely little dark elf come to visit? How marvelous! It's been ages since I had a real visitor!" She smiled, and stepped closer. Lothir gaped, and stood holding his kukri in a hand suddenly gone limp.

"Hmm, such a tempting little morsel you are, too. What's wrong, little drow? Can't speak? Let's get a better look at you, my little sweetmeat." Then she spoke a few arcane words, and suddenly a half-dozen floating spheres of light filled the air around her.

Lothir was dazzled by the sudden light in his eyes, though none was brighter than a candle by itself. He squinted in the pale white glow, as she slowly approached. When his eyes had adjusted, she was standing before him, close enough to reach out and touch him. She let the little dancing lights- for he recognized the spell as one that nearly every dark elf knew- float about the chamber, and he could now see that the web was festooned with many corpses, the cocooned remains of her past meals. He recognized large cave rats, the huge Underdark bats known as bloodbats, and a four-foot, brownish insect-like creature with a tail like a lobster and lonf feelers on its head, with a dozen legs beneath its pill-bug shaped body. He belatedly realized it was a rust monster, a creature that ate only metal.

There were even the bodies of two goblins, and he suddenly realized that the tunnels he had found must have some connection to the main tunnel from his home, for the remnants of their garb bore the marks of his House. Down below the web, in a corner of the cavern, a pile of old bones and bits of debris, all still covered in shreds of webbing.

He glanced back to the strange shape-shifting woman, and gulped. "Who- what are you?" he asked in a small, frightened voice.

"Ah, so it speaks! I am Shelatchka, little elf. Have you never heard of the aranea? It is what I am. Children of the Spider. Of course, some might call chitines that, but only we can take the form of her true children. And who might you be, hmm? It's dangerous for little boys to wander alone in the Underdark, silly child."

[Aylstra Illianniis]

He frowned, tightening his grip on the knife, and straightened to his full height of nearly four feet, chin held high. “I’m not a boy.” he said petulantly. “Not anymore. My mistress even said so. Besides, I know how to fight.”

“Oh, did she, now?” the woman laughed. “Well, then, my delicious little man, who might you be? Such a brave young warrior, to be out here all alone. Are you not afraid?” She smiled indulgently, leaning quite close, so that her bosom brushed against him, and her hand closed over his and pushed his blade aside.

He could not take his eyes off the strange female, especially when she stood so close, with her shiny black skin and long jet hair gleaming in the soft glow. Her stomach was marked by a large red spot vaguely shaped like an hourglass. He was a little fearful of that, for he had seen such marks on certain venomous spiders in his home. He hated the crawly things, but was forbidden to kill them because they were considered sacred to the Goddess.

“N- no, I‘m not a- afraid... I’m L- Lothir E- E’Terrin’dar.” He sputtered, and began to edge away from her, his knees shaking beneath him in spite of his false bravado. "Ustdalharn of the F- First House, heir to the King of Argonia. You'd better let me go- if anything happens to me, they'll come looking," he said, though even as he spoke the words, he wondered if it was really true.

Somehow, he doubted it. His own family barely ever even noticed his presence unless it was to yell at him or give him orders, so he wondered if they would ever even bother to search for him if he went missing. They would probably just make a half-hearted search, and then assume he'd drowned in the cove, or something. Then his bones would end up moldering in Shelatchka's web for some other hapless soul to find, before they joined him in turn.

The aranea seemed to see right through his bluff, for she simply tossed her head back and laughed. "I somehow doubt that, little prince. You aren't supposed to BE here, are you? They don't even know you are gone, I'd wager. Oh, but you are an amusing one. Perhaps I'll play with you a bit, before..."

He swallowed, and suddenly made a dash for the other tunnel. Quick as lightning, she leaped in front of him. "Ah, come now! Where do you think you're going, hmm? You wouldn't be so rude as to leave so soon, would you?"

[Aylstra Illianniis]

He skidded to a stop, and began to back away again. Suddenly, the aranea began to shift again, this time into a strange, hybrid form. The long, hairy appendages sprouted from her sides, and her legs changed back into those of a spider, splitting into four. Her body grew, becoming longer, bloated and round toward the bottom. Four eyes appeared on her suddenly over-sized head, and she sprouted long, sharp fangs like those of her spider-form. The young drow froze, horrified; he suddenly lost all semblance of courage, and shrieked.

“Now, really, is that any way for a guest to act toward one’s hostess? Shameful. Stay awhile, and perhaps we can have some fun, little one!” She laughed again, and then the shape-changing spider began to move her hands in the unmistakable gestures of a spell, as she called out words of power. A moment later, four bluish bolts of magical force streaked toward him.

Lothir paled, realizing instantly that he could neither run nor hide, for the magic missiles were unerring. Instead, he ducked down into a crouch, his eyes squeezed shut, with the turtle shell held up in front of him. It was a feeble defense, to be sure, but it was all he had. Then the bolts struck, and his pitiful shield exploded in a shower of eldritch sparks and fragments of shell.

He opened his eyes again, squinting from the flash of light that had dazzled his sensitive eyes once more, and saw the smoking remnants of his shield, which had been reduced to a few shards on the cavern floor. His gaze whipped about to the aranea, who was already casting another spell. He picked up one large shard and threw it at her; the jagged piece of shell struck her cheek, spoiling the spell. She cursed, all pretense of friendliness gone. He didn’t wait for her to start another spell, he simply turned and ran for the tunnel he had entered from.

“Get back here, you brat! I’m not finished with you yet!” she snarled, and he looked back just in time to see a mass of thick, silvery strands shooting toward him from the creature’s abdomen. He dived to the side, ducking behind two narrow stalagmites, just before the web reached him. It hit the ground with a wet noise, leaving a large patch of stone covered in sticky filaments.

“Leave me alone!” he yelled, his voice echoing eerily in the cavern, and peeked around the side of the larger spire. But Shelatchka was no longer there. He was puzzled for a moment, then heard the faint clicking of her skittering on the ceiling. He looked up, only to see her suddenly dropping down at him from above. He yelped again, slashing wildly with his kukri as he fell backwards to avoid being pinned. He felt his blade hit something soft, and she landed with a screech in the spot where he’d stood. A long gash had opened up across her middle; somehow, he had managed to wound her.

She stared down with an expression of shock, as thick greenish ichor oozed from the fresh wound. His knife and hand were covered in the sticky gore, and he wrinkled his nose at the foul stench. She glared back at him again, her cold black eyes gleaming with murderous rage in the glow of the floating lights.

“You’re going to pay for that, you spineless worm!” she roared, and raised two long, hook-taloned legs to skewer him. Lothir scrambled backward, the hairy legs coming down just inches below his groin. He slashed again, and this time severed one of the legs. She shrieked again. He scuttled back again, then clambered to his feet, and ran for the tunnel. And this time, he didn’t look back.

He heard her scream of fury, and then the sound of something hitting the tunnel entrance. Only when he was far down the passage did he dare to turn his head. The aranea had spewed her web at him again, but had missed, and hit the portal instead. A large, glistening mass of webs now hung across the entrance, blocking her from pursuing him further. Then he realized that even if it had remained clear, the tunnel was too low and narrow for her to follow. Never-the-less, he kept running, and didn’t stop until he had reached the crack that led back through the wall into the cavern of Argos Hall

[Aylstra Illianniis]

When he finally crawled back through the long fissure, he was panting from fear and fatigue, and his clothes were dirty from crawling through damp tunnels. He scrambled out into the open cavern, still clutching the kukri tightly. He was in the farthest corner of the grove, near a spot where a large chunk of rock had broken loose from the ceiling after a long-ago earthquake. Tyrant’s Isle, as his island home was often called by surface dwellers, was frequently wracked by tremors both large and small, though none had ever caused any severe damage here in the sea-cave.

He got up, brushing dirt and bits of crushed mushrooms from his tunic, then belatedly remembered the flute. It was still tucked in his belt, but there was little chance of trying it out now that his exploration had been put to an end. He pulled it out, then sighed heavily, and went to his secret cache of curious finds hidden beneath a stone beside the stalk of a fallen giant mushroom. The stone was part of a stalactite that had broken, leaving chunks of itself scattered over the floor of the grove. He pulled the stone up, placing the flute back into the small bag he had placed under it. He put the knife in as well, thinking it would come in handy if he ever went back into the tunnel.

After making sure the stone was back in place, he slowly made his way back toward the towering spires of his home, wishing he had been able to explore more of the passage. He snuck back toward the House silently; he knew that if anyone saw the state of his clothes, he would likely be punished. So he levitated straight up to his own room, avoiding the stairs so he would not be spotted. He was just stepping down onto the balcony when he heard the door open. He froze, glancing over toward the door in apprehension.

“Oh! My prince, I did not know you were in here, or I would have knocked, and- by the gods, what happened to you? Little one, your clothes are a mess!” He was surprised to see Ravyn, a cleaning rag and broom in one hand, staring at him in shock. “What were you doing, rolling in the refuse pit?” she said with a twinkle in her eyes.

He took the chiding in stride, relieved that it was only her, and not one of his parents. “Please don’t say anything about this- I was out in the grove, and I fell….” It was a lie, of course, but he was afraid to tell her what he had really been doing. She would only worry.

Ravyn knew the young prince well enough to tell that he was lying. She gave him a skeptical look, and set down the broom, folding her arms across her chest. “Really, now? I hope you can come up with a better excuse before your mother sees this. She would throw one of her fits.” She chuckled softly, and came over to examine him more closely. “Sorden’s bolts, lad- your hair is singed! And what is that horrid splatter on your sleeve?”

Lothir looked down at the floor, noticing the bits of web stuck to his boots. He blushed, ashamed at having been caught in the lie. “I- um, I found a new passage into the wilds, and decided to see where it went. I ran into some, uh, trouble.” He hedged around the question, not wanting to tell her that he had almost been eaten by a huge shape-shifting female spider looking for a meal. Or a mate- he still wasn‘t sure about that part.

Ravyn pursed her lips in disapproval. “Trouble, my prince? Just what SORT of trouble? Why don’t you change while you tell me about it- I’ve laundry still to do, anyway, so I might as well add those to the rest.” She sighed, and went about cleaning the room while she waited for her young friend to come clean as well.

He let out a long breath before he tugged off the tunic, then kicked off his boots. “It was an aranea- at least that’s what she called herself. She tried to have me for dinner.”

Ravyn stopped in the middle of wiping down the wardrobe, and whirled on him. “Dinner?! Oh, little warrior, you should not have gone out alone, it’s too dangerous! You could have died!”

The drow sat down heavily, and scowled. “I wasn’t afraid.,” he said quietly, though in truth he had been terrified. He looked up at her, and suddenly grinned impishly. “I don’t think she likes me very much, though; I gashed her belly, and cut off one of her legs!”

Ravyn gaped at him, then shook her head and laughed. “Well, now- that’s my brave warrior! But promise you won’t try anything so foolish again, I don’t want to lose you, my darling prince. Now, you should go take a bath, and change into something that doesn’t reek of spider gore and death.” She smiled, leaned over him, then brushed his cheek with one hand and kissed his brow.

[Aylstra Illianniis]

He nodded, and pulled some clean clothes out of the wardrobe. He wandered down to the family’s bathing chamber, which contained a large pool dug right out of the stone, with a small hearth that was used to heat stones to keep the water warm. He stripped, then tossed several hot rocks into the water, waiting until it was well-heated before stepping in. It took several changes of stones, and nearly a half hour, but at last it was ready.

As he sank into the warm water, he thought of what Ravyn had said, and how narrowly he had escaped death. Some warrior I am, he thought sourly. He had been too frightened to do much more than run away, and even that had been only after cowering on his knees like a whipped slave. He hated himself for being so weak.

And yet… He wondered what would have happened had he been more courageous. Could he kill the aranea? And if he did, what sort of monster would that make him? He had never witnessed death before, beyond watching the servants slaughter one of the rothe on occasion. But those were simple, dumb beasts- animals that served no greater purpose than as food. Was it different to kill an intelligent being, even one as wicked as the aranea? He didn’t know, and was a little afraid to find out.

Thinking about that made him remember the words his father had said. In six months, he would leave for the city to learn how to kill. He didn’t know if he was ready for that. He barely noticed that he was shaking, in spite of the warm water. When he finally remembered to wash himself, he realized he had been in the pool far too long, and had missed the dinner gong. He grimaced, hurrying to get clean as fast as he could, for he knew his mother would yell at him again for being late. She was always yelling. He hated it. He finally dried off with a sigh, slipped into the fresh clothes, and ran to the dining hall as fast as his small feet would carry him.

[Aylstra Illianniis]

Lady Ardra was angry, of course, and as punishment for disrupting the meal he had been sent down to the armory to polish every last piece of armor and weapon. By the time he was finished, it was late into the night, and his arms ached from rubbing and buffing so much metal. His hands were raw from the polish, as well. He fell into bed wearily, too tired even to dream.

Lothir spent the remainder of the next few days in his normal routine, though he had determined that he would go back to Shelatchka’s lair and find a way to pass beyond it. He knew going back would be dangerous, but he was eager to explore more of the unknown tunnels. So each day, besides his clandestine studies of Jezdin’s spells, he also made an effort to learn all that he could about the aranea, and as many other creatures of the Wilds as possible. He was going back, but this time, he would be prepared.

He had begun practicing his magic more fervently, as well. He had already learned the hard way that a good magical defense could prove crucial to survival, and though he still had difficulty with even the simplest of spells, he supposed that any magic was better than none at all. So he worked harder than ever, and soon found that the spells that came most easily were those that relied more on words of power and simple gestures than on exotic materials or complex sigils to cast. Little did he know that such a seemingly small distinction would one day lead him to discover his true path.

[Aylstra Illianniis]

So it was that he first learned the power of sounds and words, and how they could be woven into spells that influenced the mind or created illusions, or could even deafen, shatter stone, or kill. He practiced such spells out in the mushroom grove, well away from where anyone could see or hear, for he did not wish anyone to learn the reason for his interest. The young drow wished to keep the unknown tunnels as his own secret, something to be shared only with Ravyn. He yearned to see things none of his people ever had, and to discover new places and creatures never seen. Thus, he resolved to learn as much as he could, and become stronger, so that he might one day be like the brave heroes from Ravyn’s tales.

Those tales and songs had been far more than mere stories to the boy. They resonated with a truth and purpose that seemed at odds with everything around him. His world was dark and cold; he wanted to see the colors of the world above, of which he had always heard, but never known. In the Underdark, the only colors to see were shades of black, grey, and brown- the unfeeling colors of earth and stone. Yet for Lothir, it was not enough. He wanted more.

After five days, he had begun to think Jezdin would not come back. The sixth day, he went down to begin his daily lessons, expecting to find Shiallin; instead, the dour old mage was in his usual place, standing at the door waiting for him. He stood awkwardly, leaning on a gnarled staff, with bandages around his neck, right foot, and left arm. He had a large, half-healed gash that ran from the left temple to his chin, and was missing half his ear on that side.

“Master Jezdin? I didn’t know you were back. Vendui, Jabbuk.” he said, bowing slightly. The old mage simply glowered at him, while he went over to the small table in the corner of the room that served as a desk for his studies. Lothir pulled the book of anatomical studies Shiallin had been having him examine, set it down on the table, and opened it to the pages he had been examining over the past days. But just as he was about to slide out his seat to begin reading, Jezdin marched over and yanked it out from under him. The boy teetered backward, nearly falling before he regained his balance. He turned to look at his tutor questioningly.

“Master?!” he asked, startled. The aging sorcerer scowled darkly at him, his marred face set in a glare of hate and malice. Finally, the older drow spoke.

“Mistress Shiallin tells me I have neglected my duties in certain areas of your education. I see she has been attempting to remedy the situation. However, there are certain aspects of the subject in question that she simply cannot teach you. Therefore, I shall do so now.”

His gaze fell to the open book, with its drawings and descriptions of the relevant organs and their functions. He smiled slightly, a strange look in his cold red eyes. Lothir looked at his tutor, a sudden feeling of dread coming over him that he could not explain. Jezdin’s expression was so similar to the one Shiallin had worn during his “lessons” in her chamber, yet darker, somehow- more menacing.

Then he raised one hand, in which he held a small iron nail, and clenched it into a fist. “Doera duib izil vholk.” he muttered, and suddenly Lothir felt a strange tingling sensation, a feeling of paralysis that crept over him. He tried to move, but his limbs would no longer obey him. He wanted to ask why Jezdin had placed a spell over him, but it seemed he was unable even to speak. He simply stood there, frozen.

[Aylstra Illianniis]

He tried to break through the spell by sheer will, but Jezdin was far more skilled in magic, and the powerful enchantment held, in spite of the innate resistance to such magics that all his kind had. No doubt the sorcerer had crafted it specifically to counter that resistance. The young drow could only stare straight ahead, only his eyes moving, while his leering master moved around him.

An instant later, he felt a gnarled hand between his shoulders, shoving him down over the table roughly. He heard a sound of the mage’s robe ruffling, and then Jezdin bent low over him, his breath hot on the boy’s face.

“Shiallin didn’t tell you this could be used as a weapon, did she? Well, remember this lesson well, boy- and if you ever breathe ONE word of this to anyone, I will see to it that you have a fatal ‘accident’ during your next alchemy lesson!” Jezdin spat the words at him, his lips curled back in a cruel snarl.

Lothir tried to struggle against the hold of the spell, but his arms only hung limp at his sides, and when he tried to plead with his tutor to let him go, all that came out was a soft whimper. Then he felt that same hand at his waist, unbuckling the belt of his jerkin, and then on the lacings of his leggings. His eyes went wide, as they slid down to his knees, and he suddenly realized what was happening.

He never really knew how much time passed. After the initial shock of pain and fear, it simply seemed to go on for an eternity. The only sounds were the sickening slap of flesh-on flesh, his own quiet sobs, and the mage’s grunts. He could feel the cold, hard surface of the table digging into his hips, but beyond that, his mind would not register anything.

[Aylstra Illianniis]

At last, he felt the old drow grab his hair, holding his head up as he spoke harshly. “NOW you know your place in our world. You are nothing more than a tool and a plaything for those above you, with no more rights than those common slaves who do all the hard labor here. Only the strong survive in our society, and you clearly are not. A spineless worm like you could never rule this House, or any other. Your father believes you will follow him into greatness, but I know better. Perhaps you thought yourself immune to the intrigues and plots of this House? Well, THIS is the reality. If they only knew what a weak-willed little coward you are, they would drag you to the temple as meat for the Goddess. What a pity. Now, I have more IMPORTANT business to attend, so I think I shall leave you to think on what I have taught you today. And remember what I said- not ONE word, or else!”

He slammed the boy’s head back down on the table, laughing coldly, and turned away, striding off with his long robe ruffling around him. Lothir heard the doors slam closed behind him, as he was left alone, shaking from fear and betrayal, in the echoing silence of the room. He felt weak, his knees buckling under him, and he slid off the table to fall painfully to the floor on his already hurting backside. The spell had finally begun to fade, at least a little; he pulled his knees up to his chest, and simply sat there for a long time, his arms wrapped around them, rocking as he cried softly. It was a long time before he finally got up, stumbling and shaking, and pulled his soft lizard-hide trousers back up.

Afterward, he was never quite sure how he ended up in the family’s bathing room; he had wandered aimlessly, half in a stunned daze, for a time, flinching away whenever any of the House retainers or slaves passed him by- which only made them send odd looks in his direction. All he really remembered was the feeling of disgust and the sense of having lost something important. He had felt a chill that had nothing at all to do with the air, and had heated the water as much as he could stand, then sank in until only his head was above the steaming water, while he tried vainly to wash away the filthy, crawling feeling that assailed him.

[Aylstra Illianniis]

An hour passed- or maybe two, he wasn’t sure- then the door opened and he was no longer alone. His head whipped around to gaze guardedly at the individual that entered. Once again, it was Ravyn who came upon the young boy, having entered the bathing chamber to prepare the pool for Lady Ardra’s mid-morning bath- his mother was normally a late-riser, so he was frequently able to avoid her at breakfast unless she had important matters to attend. On seeing the young drow already in the pool, she paused, a bucket and mop in one hand, and a brush and sponge in the other.

“Oh, I didn’t realize anyone was in here- forgive the intrusion, young master. You really should lock the door when you’re in here. I’ll return when you’re finished.” She turned to leave, but something made her hesitate. She glanced back at him, and her brow furrowed, as she noticed the dull, half-dazed stare he gave her, which was so unlike his usual bright smile and cheerful greeting.

Ravyn set everything aside, and took a few tentative steps toward him, wondering why he seemed so distant and quiet. He was trembling in spite of the warm water, as if in a state of near shock. He gazed up at her with a lost, apprehensive expression, and she knew something was wrong. He watched her warily, a haunted look of betrayal and fear in his eyes.

“Little warrior? Is something wrong?” she came closer, and noticed that he kept his glacier-blue gaze riveted to her, shrinking back slightly as she approached. She moved slowly closer to the pool, picking up a cloth as she came to the edge of the pool. “Do you need something, my prince? Perhaps I could help you?”

She soaked the cloth in the warm water, and leaned close to wash the youth’s face. He let out a whimper, and scooted further away, but slipped in the water. His head smacked hard on the edge, and he went under for a moment. Ravyn dropped the cloth, knelt down beside the pool, and reached in to grasp him by the shoulders and pull him back up. He felt her hands as he came back up again, and let out a shriek that almost caused her to let go. He was fighting like a wounded animal now, clawing, squirming, and trying to scramble away, while she leaned further over the water to try to drag him out before he hurt himself again. What was wrong with the boy? He acted as if she was trying to kill him!

Then the elf woman finally managed to pull him out of the pool, and held the screaming, struggling, slippery young drow close, wrapping her arms around him even as he tried frantically to escape her. She whispered soothingly, stroking his tousled white hair, her simple tunic plastered to her skin from all the splashing he had done in his frightened struggles. After a few long seconds, he seemed to calm a little, and the caterwauls turned into sobs. He gradually quieted, his arms wrapping around her waist in a fierce hold that surprised her with its strength. She rocked with the boy in her arms, worried that somehow he had come to harm.

But what could have hurt him here? He had seemed fine earlier, before…. Then it struck her. Before his morning studies with the House Mage. She had never liked the old lecher, for she had heard the rumors from the soldiers, other slaves, and even occasionally from the family themselves of his peculiar habits and interests. He had gone through more than a few of the female slaves over the last few years, leaving them broken in mind, spirit, and often in body as well. He had never gone so far as to touch her, but then again, he knew better than to touch Aldan’s personal property. She was fortunate, for Aldan had long ago forbidden any other to touch her, even his own family. She belonged to him alone, and he made certain everyone knew and understood that fact.

But now it seemed the wicked older male had set his eyes on the boy, using him for his own personal pleasures, in spite of the fact that his offence could easily land him on the Venom Queen’s sacrificial table. NO ONE was allowed to harm a member of the family unless by the orders of the Patron or his Consort. Ravyn’s face darkened in a scowl of anger at the thought of such callous treatment of a young child by the brutal and twisted sorcerer.

[Aylstra Illianniis]

It was then that Lady Ardra entered the room. She took one look at the slave woman holding her son, and was instantly enraged. “What in the name of the Abyss is going on here?! Get your hands off my son, you stupid wench!” she screeched, sounding to Ravyn like a harpy.

“Forgive me, Mistress, I meant no harm. He has been acting most strangely, my Lady. I believe he has come to harm.”

She frowned, as the drow woman yanked the boy back by the hair. That seemed to set him off again, and he shrieked and turned to bite Ardra’s hand, a wild, frightened look in his eyes.

“Silence! Stop that blubbering and get hold of yourself, you pathetic little worm!” Ardra snarled. She slapped him across his right cheek; it did not have the desired effect. Instead, he raised his tear-streaked face to look at her in disbelief, then pulled away from her.

“M- mother!” he stuttered, and to the astonishment of both females, he scrambled back over to hide behind Ravyn, clinging to her like a sleek, slender monkey. He peeked around her warily, glaring at his Matron as if she was some horrid monster.

Ravyn gaped. Had he meant her? Never before had he referred to her in such a way. As family. Then Ardra screeched again, and grasped the serpent-headed whip coiled at her side. She flicked it out at the elven woman, the four heads striking out at her with their fangs bared. Ravyn flinched back, raising her arms to defend herself, and cried out in pain as the heads bit into her arms. She felt the whip’s poison racing through her- not strong enough to kill, for Ardra had meant it only to weaken and punish her, rather than kill outright.

The young drow suddenly launched himself at Ardra, pounding at her with his small fists, screaming bloody murder. “What is this?!” she hissed, furious. “What have you done to my son?!”

“N- Nothing, I swear! He was like this when I came in!” Ravyn protested, cringing. Then she looked up at the incensed Lady Consort, and made a gesture toward the boy. “I told you, Lady- I believe someone has hurt him. Perhaps his mind has been damaged. He was supposed to be in the training room with Master Jezdin, but I saw the House Mage going to his quarters some time ago. Perhaps you should ask him what is wrong with the boy.”

She gave the stern drow female a meaningful look, meeting her eyes squarely. At any other time, such insolence would have brought another lash from the whip, but Ardra paused in her tirade, realizing what the slave meant. If the elf woman’s words were true, then her self-important and insolent House Mage would have much to explain. To lay hands on a member of a noble family without the leave of its ruler was cause for dire punishment.

Ardra stared down at her worthless offspring, thoroughly disgusted by his apparent weakness. Clearly, he had been unable to prevent the sorcerer from assaulting him, a sign that perhaps the child was unfit to live. Any drow child should have been able to defend himself well enough to kill his enemies even at such a young age, yet her own offspring was either incapable, or unwilling to fight. Weakness of that kind was unacceptable in a race born and bred to survive in the dangerous and treacherous Lands Below. Only the strongest, most cunning, and most brutal dark elves could live in their world of intrigue, deception, and murder. No child of the First House- and more importantly, no child of hers- could be allowed to display such obvious lack of competence and will.

She scowled down in anger, for the larger problem, a least for he moment, was the sorcerer’s grave offence in causing harm to a higher-ranking Noble without permission from his Patron or the Consort. He would have to be dealt with- again. She was furious that he could be so brazen to strike out against the heir, especially so soon afer his last punishment. She took two long steps toward he slave, and grasped her son’s arm. She yanked him along as she strode toward the door, pausing only a moment, to turn to Ravyn.

“Slave- grab that robe by on the shelf and bring it here. I will not have my son roaming the House naked like some brainless Moondancer worshiper!” She snapped, and Ravyn hastened to comply, rushing over to wrap Lothir in the over-sized robe. He stood sullenly, hardly offering any resistance, though she could see that he was still very much in shock from whatever had happened.

When she was finished, the Lady Consort nodded curtly, then turned to drag him along as she left. “Now clean up the mess in here- I am going to deal with my foolish House Mage, and I want my bath ready when I return!” Then the door slammed behind them, and Ravyn was left alone in the room. She sighed, wondering whether her sweet little songbird would ever smile again after his day.

They were half-way to his father’s throne room when Lothir finally began to come to his senses. He looked around in a daze, not quite knowing where he was, or why his mother was pulling him along with a furious look on her coldly beautiful face. Her grip on his arm was painfully tight, and his eyes stung from tears.

“Where are we going?” he asked softly, his voice weak and hoarse from crying and from his earlier fit of screaming.

Ardra stopped, letting go of his arm, and turned to snap at him angrily. “What, now you decide to speak!? We are going to have a talk with your tutor. Now, silence! You will follow me, and do exactly as I say, and you will not speak unless I tell you! Is that clear?!” she struck him with the back of her hand, hard enough that he staggered from the blow, and his head cracked against the wall.

He nodded mutely, his vision slightly blurred from the force of the blow to his head. He stared down at his bare feet as they continued along the corridor. Already he could feel a lump beginning to form where he’d struck the wall. He followed in silence, and wondered what was going to happen to him now. Jezdin had promised to kill him if he mentioned what had happened earlier, and he had fully believed the old mage. But now his mother knew- or at least suspected- what the wicked male had done, and she intended to punish him severely. The young drow wondered what she would do to his teacher, and why she wanted him to follow her. He had been only vaguely aware of what was going on in the bathing room, as if he had been watching everything from somewhere far away, seeing it all happen to someone else.

[Aylstra Illianniis]

They wound their way up the stairs to the huge throne room at the top of the central spire, its domed ceiling shaped into a gigantic spider with its legs forming the arches of the dome, a lattice of white fairie-fire webs covering the stone spaces between. Once there, Ardra approached the large, ornate obsidian chair atop the low central dias, and sat down. The seat was padded with purple spider-silk cushions, and depicted various venomous creatures in an orgy of feasting on their preferred prey. She snapped her fingers, and a goblin slave came scurrying out of the shadows with a tray with a bottle of spiderblood wine and a gleaming onyx goblet with a golden serpent coiled to make the base and stem. The slave poured the wine, and handed her the goblet, though clearly not fast enough for her liking. He kicked at him as he stepped back, causing the goblin to yelp and scramble to avoid dropping the tray and its contents.

Then she held up her House insignia, the magical seal carried by all nobles of the House, and spoke a word. She communed silently for a moment, the adamantine seal’s magic allowing her thoughts to carry directly to anyone who held another of the devices. Lothir himself wore one on a small silver band around his left wrist, though he never used it. The purpose of such devices was for House members to speak to each other mind-to-mind during battle, to locate those who became lost in the tunnels, and to increase the power of their in-born magical gifts. Once his mother had spoken through the insignia, she sat back- in his father’s seat, he noted, knowing she would never have the nerve to do so had he been home- and waited. But Aldan had left the day after his argument with her on the stairs, and so she reclined in her Patron’s place with ease.

Several minutes passed, during which the young drow stood uneasily in his harsh mother’s presence, staring down at the floor silently. The stone was inlayed with a giant mosaic of glittering onyx, jade, and red agates, in the shape of the House symbol of a red dagger with two serpents entwined about the blade, their mouths open to reveal their threatening fangs. At last, he heard footsteps coming from the passage beyond the huge adamantine doors, and Jezdin strode into the room with an air of aloof disinterest and mild annoyance.

The sorcerer paused, half-way into the room, the moment he saw Ardra on the throne, with her son standing near-by at the foot of the dias, wearing only an oversized bathing robe. He gazed at the boy suspiciously, as though he somehow knew this summons had something to do with his earlier indiscretion.

“You summoned me, Mistress?” he asked calmly. He gave her a low bow, and was careful not to meet her gaze directly. He was not so foolish as to appear insolent before the Lady Consort.

“Yes. I did. Tell me, Jezdin- do you like your position here?” she asked after a moment, forcing him to wait in uncomfortable silence for her relpy.

“Yes, Lady, I do. I am honored to have been worthy of adoption into this most esteemed House,” he answered carefully. He bowed again, not quite so low this time, and gave her an ingratiating smile.

“Then why is it that you have dishonored it?!” She suddenly snarled, sitting upright and leaning toward him with undisguised menace in her hard red eyes. The House Mage stepped backward in surprise, a look of fear suddenly coming over him. At that moment, Shiallin and four other priestesses came into the room behind him.

“My Lady! I do not know what you mean! How have I displeased you?” he asked, suddenly falling to his knees with his head bent low. A sheen of sweat covered his brow now, as he tried vainly to turn aside his Mistress’s anger. She knew. He did not understand how, but she knew. Had the boy told her, after all? From the look of fearful confusion on the child’s face, it did not seem so. Yet…

Ardra stared at him for a long time, relishing making him suffer. At last she spoke. “No, I believe you DO know. You dared to lay a hand on my son, and then proclaim you do not know how you have dishonored this House?! How DARE you claim ignorance!!” She shouted, her voice echoing coldly throughout the huge room. Jezdin flinched, and the arc of priestesses closed in behind him.

“Mistress, I only did as I was bid- to teach the boy what you wished. Forgive my not discussing my methods with you, but I thought perhaps it required a more ‘hands-on’ approach, just as Lady Shiallin has done. I meant no disrespect to this House, my Lady.” He bent his head again in deference, as Ardra stared down at him angrily.

Another interminable silence followed, before she finally responded. “I see. Well, Jezdin, while I applaud your ingenuity and ‘thoroughness’ in your methods of teaching, I CANNOT overlook the fact that you have harmed a ranking member of this House- a member of MY FAMILY- without my leave or that of our Lord Patron. For that, you must be punished. The Venom Queen demands it.” Her voice held a note of finality.

The aging sorcerer looked up, and saw his doom there. He paled, and rose, backing away from the dias- right into the grasp of the waiting priestesses. “No! You cannot do this! Please, my Lady, let me redeem myself!” he squealed, his voice now sounding much as Lothir’s had when his voice cracked.

“Shaillin, please silence him,” she said, then turned back to Jezdin. “I have decided on your punishment, Jezdin. You are sentenced to the drider pit.”

“You’re feeding me to those abominations?!” he screeched, frantic.

“No, fool. You are going to JOIN them.” She said, and waved her hand absently, as Shiallin cast a quick spell to silence him, and the other four grabbed his arms and bound them behind him.

[Aylstra Illianniis]

Jezdin tried to scream, and struggled vainly against the larger and stronger females, but no sound came out, and he was easily overpowered.

Then she looked down at the boy, and rose from the chair, beckoning him to follow. “Come. I wish for you to see what becomes of those who dare to defy the laws of the Goddess.” She said nothing more; he nodded slowly, knowing she would urn her ire on him if he did anything but what she had commanded.

So he followed her back down to the temple, with Shiallin and the others right behind them. He entered fearful, gazing around at the massive statue in the center. He had always hated that statue, with its hideous body of a spider, scorpion tail and pincers, and serpent-countenanced drow. It had always frightened him to see it during the family’s services on holy days, and now it reminded him of Shelatchka.

The priestesses dragged the silently shrieking Jezdin to the stone altar, its black marble surface stained with large splotches of dark reddish-brown, a testament to past victims, and released his arms only to tie them to the spider-shaped face of the table. The stone was held up by two large bronze scorpions, while enchanted manacles formed from living vipers coiled restlessly at each of the four pairs of ‘legs’ that made the altar’s ends. The priestesses placed his hands and feet within the writhing coils, which snapped tight the moment he was inside them; the heads sank their fangs into his flesh, to inject a venom which made him weak and lethargic.

Then Ardra, Shiallin, and the other priestesses circled around the altar, leaving Lothir to watch from a spot just outside the giant circle on the temple floor. He watched as they shed their clothes; then one of them lit a brazier on each side of the statue, and they all began chanting in a language he did not know, but the sound of which made his blood run cold. He saw his mother step forth to stand at the sorcerer’s head, while he moaned pitifully in silence, his eyes wide in terror. She spoke a word that resonated with power, and an ear-splitting shriek rent the air as the silence was lifted from the mage.

She drew out a long, serpent-shaped dagger, shimmering with a strange green radiance, and made a long, shallow cut down Jezdin’s chest. He shrieked again, consumed by pain and fear, and began struggling even more fiercely against his living restraints. She placed her hands against the sides of his head, and suddenly the temple echoed with his cries of terror and agony, while his body began to convulse as the powerful curse took hold.

The young drow watched in growing horror, knees shaking, eyes huge with fear at what was happening before him. The old mage continued to scream, his body growing, shifting into something monstrous. From the waist down, it became bulbous and rounded, turning glossy and hard, his legs lengthening and splitting into eight slender, segmented spikes with hook-taloned ends, with short, bristly hairs covering them. His upper half changed as well, his arms growing longer and thinner, his hands tipped with long sharp claws. His eyes darkened, splitting into four large, shiny black orbs like those of an insect, that gleamed with malevolent hatred. A pair of large fangs sprouted from his jaws, glistening with venom.

[Aylstra Illianniis]

It was only after the horrendous transformation was complete that he was released from his bonds; he leaped up to stand on the table, his cold black gaze falling on the priestesses, filled with hate. He bared his dripping fangs, and reared back on the two hind pairs of legs, slashing out with the front-most pair at one of the junior clerics. She started to shout a spell of protection, but was skewered by the sharp talons of his spindly legs, and fell to the floor in a heap, blood running across the holy circle toward Lothir’s feet. He yelped, and backed away in terror of the thing his tutor had become.

“Idiots! Hold him!!” snarled Ardra, as Jezdin made a leap that cleared their heads and sent him to the floor in the boy’s direction, murder in his countenance. Lothir screamed, thinking he was about to meet the same end as the priestess, but his mother and Shaillin shouted out in unison, and the hideous thing suddenly screeched to a halt just a few feet away from him. He looked up, to see the mage frozen in the thrall of a spell- the very same spell of holding he had used himself.

Then the three remaining priestesses regained their composure, and grabbed Jezdin, dragging him off into a doorway that led down into the dungeons and deepest recesses of the House. Lothir had been down there only once, and the dank, cold pits had chilled his spine, smelling of death and stale air. The helpless sorcerer could not even scream or plead for mercy as he was carried down into the deepest bowels of the Hall. Then Ardra turned on her son, her face a mask of fury.

She strode toward him, brandishing the dagger, and stopped just inches from him. He looked down at his feet, knowing it was forbidden to look a ranking female in the eyes without permission. She cupped his chin in her hand, and forced him to look up- a sign of dominance meant to humiliate- then slowly drew the dagger up.

“Listen well, my son,” she began harshly. “What you have just seen, no other male in this House but our Lord Patron has ever witnessed. This is the penalty for disobeying or dishonoring our laws and traditions. You have disappointed me. If ever you do so again, I will bring you down here to suffer the same fate at our former House Mage did. Do you understand?”

He nodded slowly, swallowing hard. His knees shook, and he was on the verge of tears, but didn’t dare cry. He knew she would see it as weakness. Then she reached up, grasping a wispy lock of his hair, and cut it off with a quick pass of her blade. She held it out for him to see.

“This will remind you of what I have said. With this, I can change you at any time, no matter where you are. Remember that.” She said, then clenched it in her hand, and stormed from the temple, her heeled slippers clicking like the claws of a spider as she went.

[Aylstra Illianniis]

Lothir stared after his mother for a moment, then felt a tug on his ear as Shiallin came up behind him and began to pull him along. He yelped from the pain, which only made her yank harder. “Come, I believe we still have your studies to attend to. There has been enough dawdling for one day.”

He pulled away, and quickly followed, knowing better than to protest. Something sank inside his gut, as if he’d just had them pulled out. He looked up at her, but she was already at the doors, striding confidently, yet as silent as a shadow. He remembered to walk behind her, as he wondered, for what seemed the thousandth time, if anyone ever even cared how he felt, or what he thought. It certainly didn’t seem that way. No one but Ravyn. If not for her, he thought he might die of loneliness. No one else ever spoke to him except to issue a command. What good is being a Noble, he wondered, if everyone just orders me around like one of the slaves?


Several hours later, Shiallin looked up from where she lounged in the training room, calmly watching him sparring with Master Nalvir with a pair of wooden practice swords. They were heavy in his hands, being too large for his still-small frame to wield properly, but Nalvir was of the opinion that using full-sized weapons would strengthen him far more than using a smaller one ever could. Unfortunately, it slowed him down so much that he could not block many of the Weapon-Master’s attacks, a fault for which he was repeatedly reprimanded, and even punished. She gloated while he tried yet again to parry one of Nalvir’s blades, and failed- again.

“You obviously are not trying hard enough, boy,” growled the Weapon-Master, as his own stick took the lad’s feet from under him. He smiled with grim satisfaction as the young prince fell to his backside with a hard thump, grunting. But the boy was smart enough to avoid remaining in so vulnerable a position, and Nalvir’s next swing met only air as he dived aside, and came back to his feet. He brought his own pair up to parry a thrust to his middle, but it only left him open to a second strike from Nalvir’s other hand. He was struck on the left arm, hard enough to numb it, and he dropped the stick from tingling fingers with a yelp.

“Stupid! NEVER leave yourself open like that- it’s a good way to get yourself killed!” Nalvir snarled. Lothir looked up at the long scar that ran from his forehead, across his nose, down to his jaw, and flinched.

“These are too big!” he complained, though he was sure the excuse would only earn him another round of practice. Nalvir had already sentenced him to five extra rounds for his earlier mistakes. He was tired, panting, and could barely even hold them up any more, but didn’t dare say so.

“Perhaps you should let him use something else. Brute strength is not always the answer, Nalvir.” Shiallin’s bored statement gave the other pause for a moment. He scowled, then stepped back, turning to her.

“And what good is speed or agility if one tires too quickly? I already know he can use the smaller blades with ease- the boy must be strong enough to handle a REAL weapon, and to use something heavier than a simple dagger. The instructors in Terrillis will not be so tolerant as I am.”

“Ah, but we cannot all be paragons of strength. Perhaps magic is more his forte?” She replied, with a disinterested wave of her hand.

Nalvir sneered. “Hardly. From what I heard from our House Mage, the boy is unsuited for the Art. He seems of little use as anything OTHER than a warrior.”

The young prince listened to their discussion, angry that they ere speaking of him with no more concern than they might discuss what the servants had made for breakfast. And no one seemed to mention that the sorcerer was now a hideous monster lurking deep in the lowest levels of the House. He wanted to tell them that he could use magic, but that would mean giving up his secret. For some reason, he was unwilling to do so, for he knew that doing so would cost him his only sanctuary.