Fate - First Reply A snake in a web

Tyrnael Myrlochar peered down from above. Her face seemed somehow more severe than on the battlefield. In a sharp, clear voice, she called down to the prisoner. She betrayed neither hatred nor malice in her even delivery.

“Cretok! I am told you call yourself White Snake. I am Rahi-Valsharess Tyrnael, Ilharess Myrlochar, Yathallar of Maelzafan, the Queenslayer. I think you might agree that we have matters somewhat overdue for discussion. Will you come dine with me now, that we may discuss those matters?”

And then she awaited his reply.

White Snake

“Of course. My servants shall remain and help see to your dignity. Make use of them as you will. Consider it my apology, for my delay in remembering that you yet awaited me here. It is a newborn Queendom. There is no limit to the wealth, acclaim, and power that a warrior such as you might claim in its service… In two hours’ time, I shall receive you in my hall, where we shall discuss this further.”

She hissed commands, and a knotted rope was tossed down. She had already left the prison by the time he reached the top. Four nervous-looking slaves dressed in simple, dark red spidersilk gowns and slippers waited by a sturdy, ornately carved dark wood stool with wrought metal buckets of hot water, brushes, a pitcher of wine, and a large stack of folded dark red garments. A single spearman waited with them, in similarly hued though fancier livery - he offered a slight dip of his spear and a crisp stamp of attention. The whole area was of course teeming with guards in the Valsharess’s black livery.

White Snake

A few moments later, the table was laden with a roasted rothé calf, all manner of bluecap-flour buns and sweetbreads, a tray of rothé cheeses, as well as mushroom dishes of several different varieties. A large trencher was set before him, as well as utensils, a goblet, and another pitcher of wine. Two of the servants who earlier helped him bathe sat beside him, each with a thick napkin over an arm, apparently waiting on his needs. They wasted no time filling his trencher with whatever food he asked for or even looked at.

At the chime of the appointed hour, Tyrnael herself entered, dressed in Yathallar robes gathered beneath a pin depicting a stylized obsidian hand. She was followed by her brother, a foppish looking, stylishly overdressed mage at least a century her senior, and a much younger sister in acolyte garb. Even the older brother showed no signs of age; if anything, he looked at the very dawn of his prime. They were all seated in turn by the other two servants, who then stood behind her.

“You are punctual, White Snake. This is not unexpected - the honor of the Cretok is of course well known to our people. I know that your hunger is as great as your desire for vengeance, so please: continue to partake while I introduce you to who we are and what we offer you. My brother, Ferzil; my sister, Nemriel. We three are all who remain of House Myrlochar, which stood for centuries as the second house of Zar’Ahal, trusted regents of seven Valsharessen. Now we are barely tolerated upon the rise we once mastered. Lest you think we did not also suffer! My foolish mother, my hapless older sisters, and even two of my younger sisters, too low ranking to pick the side they stood upon - all died in service of the misbegotten usurper queen Dalrithia. My younger sisters were executed before our eyes by the Valsharess herself, on the eve of her coronation.”

“After we took Shay Tirloc, among many things we learned was that Dalrithia’s regent intended to sacrifice your entire company to our armies to avoid paying the price they promised you. My actions that you so deplored spared most of your company, who escaped to the surface, where they now mass with many other Cretok in alliance with the Valsharess. Only those who turned and attacked our forces, and mostly those who fought in support of your assault, were slain.”

“White Snake, just as we three were redeemed to service by our humiliation and loss, so I now offer you a chance for redemption, first in my service. My house has many young, inexperienced warriors but no weapon master to refine them. They are of course Drow, not Cretok, so I do not expect you to make them into great hulking champions such as yourself. But if you succeed at teaching them the focus, tenacity, and endurance you showed me at Shay Tirloc, I will make certain you get as many chances for glory in the Valsharess’s name as you can stomach. So. What say you?”

White Snake

The instant he asked for water, one of the surfacer slaves seated beside him got up, bowed quickly, and hurried off to the kitchen. She returned a few moments later with a steaming pitcher of water.

The tall, lanky ‘elfling’ Tyrnael had introduced as Ferzil shot up and strode over.

“If I may… White Snake, did my sister say? A cantrip to bring it to a more agreeable temperature. We do not drink water by manner of course in the Rise, you see. It needs boiling to be safely potable, for one thing. And there’s no boiling away the taste of sulfur. Besides… could you imagine? Fully sober Drow in such close proximity to one another? Why, we’d kill each other off to the babes and toddlers within the week.”

The young vestmented elfling stifled a giggle, earning a stern look from Tyrnael. Ferzil waggled his finger in a circle, and the steam quickly subsided.

“Room-temperature, or refreshingly chilled?”

White Snake

Tyrnael smiled as White Snake pointed out the guard’s fearful reaction.

“My brother seems to have already answered your question. My sister is sworn to silence unless asked to speak- a hopefully temporary devotion of her current rank within the temple. And you have already perceived my problem. Splendid.”

“We face an uncertain world and a distrusting city envious of my personal prestige. I am second-named of four whose word carries the weight of the Valsharess herself. Yet my House is disfavored and my home is watched and guarded by fresh graduates from cadre who have never faced deadlier opponents than other overly ambitious near-children within their own cohort. Foes who would instantly relent the instant their yathrin bored of the shedding of their blood.”

“Teach them to perceive, assess, plan, and react as you do. Be as harsh as you see fit. These waelen at least survived my mentor’s cadre, so they must have some degree of potential. Unlock it.”

“As for remuneration, authority, and respect. You shall have your own quarters whose sanctity only I may violate without your leave. You shall have your pick of servants from those already here, or newly purchased from the slave pens if none among our current stock suit you. These shall be your personal property. You shall enjoy ample salary, commensurate to your elevated position as my weapon-master. You shall choose your second from among your charges. Your authority within my house extends to all save us three. And you will only answer to me, the Valsharess, or others who wear this pin. Show respect to any who wear vestments such as mine. My rank carries a degree of protection for those who wear my livery; a tailor and an armorer shall be retained to garb and armor you to your satisfaction. Lastly, I am to be immediately informed of any transgressions against my protection that you should encounter. You may freely defend yourself if provoked, of course.”

“If you swear yourself to my service. I await your answer.”

White Snake

Tyrnael’s eyes flashed briefly, but after a few seconds of consideration, she nodded slowly.

“If you are my weapon master, know that you shall manifest my power and my will. For anyone under your direct charge, to defy you is to also defy me. And I will brook no defiance from within my house. I welcome advice and opinions. I should be as foolish as my mother if I did not. But I will not be gainsaid, regardless of one’s fortunate or unfortunate gendering.”

Her eyes took on a flash of a wild gleam as she continued.

“White Snake, you defeated or slew eleven of my army, all battle-hardened in countless skirmishes and battles against the Duergar and diverse other foes. It was glorious to behold, even though I do not lightly spend the lives of soldiers under my command. Know that I hold your abilities in the highest regard. For it was not your brute force that brought you victory, but a potency born of wrath and discipline.”

At his latter concern, she nodded.

“I do not know the disposition of your effects, but if protocol was followed, they are stored within the prison. I will send a messenger to inquire about them, and if possible, retrieve them. If protocol was not followed, I shall seek satisfaction on my weapon master’s behalf.”

White Snake

Tyrnael listened to his conditions, nodding. She arched an eyebrow at the last term, but nodded again.

“Those terms are acceptable. Your blood deserves mine.”

With a whirl of dark metal she produced a double bladed dagger, slicing her left palm, then rising to take the offered hand, pressing her blood into his, stone faced.

“Vyk’zlade T’pulli - White Snake in our tongue - I, Tyrnael Myrlochar, adopt you into my house, and name you as my weapons master. Once my houseguard have passed your standard and you are satisfied that your second may maintain such standard in your absence, I swear that I shall upon your request commend you unto the Valsharess to seek glory in her name. Maelzafan and House Myrlochar are my witnesses.”

She released their hands, wounds sealed but scarred, palms sticky with their blood commingled.

“That our pact be remembered.”

White Snake

Precisely an hour after their pact had been sealed, Tyrnael entered White Snake’s quarters. They had belonged to the previous weapon master, who certainly seemed enamored of weapons -the walls were lined with displays of them- but to his untimely end, he had been far less interested in their mastery.

Ever efficient and demanding the same efficiency of her servants, the young matron had eaten, removed her headdress and priestessly regalia, bathed, dried, and wore now a richly embossed, dark red spidersilk evening robe and matching spidersilk slippers. Her waist length silver braids swung unpinned from side to side as she walked. She stopped before him, inclining her head just slightly enough for the greeting to be noticeable, the motion conveyed far more by the sympathetic movement of her braids than by the actual degree of inclination. The four servants waited in the hallway outside.

“I am here as we agreed upon, Weapon-Master. Speak.”

White Snake

Tyrnael listened, arms crossed, nodding slowly.

"What you say is very likely true. Aside from my brother and sister, my house is populated by strangers. And my reputation is, shall we say, complicated. My recent fame is for bringing Valsharess Vyx'aria the head of the usurper Dalrithia. But my family is best known for producing a long line of Regents - including my mother, Dalrithia's queenmaker - and as the greatest patrons of high society atop the Rise. Now the ballroom sits empty. The foyer seems comically long to walk to reach rooms largely empty except for the servants cleaning them. And around the Rise, everyone stares, as though our dark red livery be the raiment of ghosts, and I a banshee. What these young warriors must think of their lot! Even though my thoughts in seeking your service are truly for their benefit as much as my house's. Conflict is coming. All houses will be called upon to take part. My act of love is to prepare them for it, rather than letting them remain comfortable and green, only to fall by the dozen to warriors like you."

White Snake

Tyrnael frowned, which made her lips pout as she told the story of Dalrithia’s Folly, and her house’s part in it.

“Yes. Mother was motivated by ambition, of course. Blinded by it. Had she cloven to our tradition of always supporting the strongest candidate for Valsharess, none of this would have happened.”

“When Valsharess Vyx’aria Tor’rahel went missing after the Fall of Neha the Destroyer, Mother, Phaeliss Tuin’Znar, and Beksesha Suulet’jabar all vied to replace her on the throne. When it seemed like Beksesha was about to emerge victorious, Mother and Phaeliss agreed to mutually support a proxy puppet to deny Beksesha, choosing A’ni Dalrithia, the highest ranking general left after Vyx’aria’s expedition to aid Neha. But once given the mantle of Valsharess, Dalrithia sought to build her own base of support through glory.”

“At first, she attacked all our enemies, which was welcomed. Then, she attacked the gnomes, which was troublesome for the wizards depending on gnomic trade in spell components, but otherwise tolerable. Then, she attacked any Cretoks who refused to swear loyalty to her, which was troublesome to the great houses who depend on the slaves the Cretok trade to us, and found the prices doubled from what was customary. Finally, she attacked the Duergar, further disrupting the trade of slaves as well as interrupting the vital flow of trade bars and precious metals. And of course, Duergar dug into their fortress-cities are much more formidable opponents than clans of tinkering deep gnomes or roving orc-bands.”

“At first, Lowtown took the brunt of the losses. The dead sometime stacked high enough to block an out-tunnel completely. But as we approached the gate of Blaithirk herself, the Rise herself began to taste the pain, for they targeted our generals, captains, and lieutenants - all the senior-most daughters of the great houses - with sneak-raids, ballistas, and above all, their horrible mind-magic. Many of our dead bore death strokes carved by our very own blades.”

“I was third-daughter, fifth-born in my house, a lesser captain in Dalrithia’s vanguard when that ill-starred march began. I was first-daughter, the senior-most noble daughter left alive, and Sut’rinos of the vanguard by the time we reached the gate. Maelzafan sent me a messenger, whispering that Mother had died while failing Her in an important ritual, and now Dalrithia was on verge of throwing away Her Blessed Queendom, so weakening Her people that the survivors would surely become thralls and slaves of the Duergar-gods. She demanded a sacrifice. And so, I took Dalrithia’s head.”

“I withdrew our remnants from the gate, abandoning Dalrithia’s corpse and our siege train to the Duergar as a conciliatory token, and brought what vestiges remained of our army to our nearest city, Shay Tirloc, to resupply. Maelzafan had told me that a new Valsharess had already arisen, so it was not difficult to ascertain why Drow fought Drow before the Spires. We came upon your rearguard and realized you were already engaged against the forces of the new Valsharess.”

“White Snake, you must know that I had no particular quarrel with you or your mercenary warband, but I needed to reach the city swiftly, and without suffering the heavy casualties your warriors would have inflicted in a narrow tunnel upon an army made up at that point largely of lancers, battlemages, and junior priestesses, battle-hardened though we were.”

“Having only the advantages of surprise and ample magical support, I gave the order to use thaumaturgy magic to amplify our priestesses’ battle song and hide our true numbers, then concentrated fear magic to spark a rout within your rear quarters to disrupt your formation. I let the Cretok habit of keeping the least experienced fighters at the back while the veterans chased their glory at the front do the rest.”

“The success of these actions won me the love of the forces I delivered to the Valsharess. However, those veteran daughters and sons of Zar’Ahal do not protect my house. Matron Suulet’jabar, who shall almost certainly become the new Regent in the Queen’s absence, saw fit to reward my loyalty by sending me graduates from her house’s esteemed training cadre to replace their predecessors, who fell supporting Phaeliss Tuin’Znar. Doubtlessly, these ja’lillen and ja’lukken you see quavering in fear of our auras were not the cream of their cohort, but her cadre is an unforgiving decade of escalating perils and no easy thing to survive. They likely feel they are being punished for whatever demerits they incurred in cadre, and they feel the scornful eyes of the Rise follow them whenever they leave the manor.”

“So. How do you suggest we proceed?”

Her silvery eyebrow arched and her crimson eyes bored into his as she awaited his answer, her lithely muscled arms still crossed.

White Snake

Tyrnael listened and watched, considering the shrewd wisdom of White Snake's words, wordlessly weighing the viability of his plan. She could find no fault in it. In fact, she inwardly scolded herself for not realizing half of it for herself. She remembered the Queen's words in their hushed conversation: Hatred and pain are not weaknesses. They are raw materials. Shape them into blades and turn them outward, toward the conquests ahead. They suddenly gained new clarity in her mind.

Tyrnael grinned slyly back up at the orcish champion as he boldly drew so near. Her crimson eyes widened, marveling at both his impressive physical stature and his utter audacity to make her crane her neck or retreat to maintain eye contact. She did not retreat.

“No ill will, White Snake? Now that is a far step from what I have heard about your, hmm… ruminations. I think I may require additional assurances. Perhaps... in my chambers later?”

She let her words sink in, then turned languidly to exit his quarters.

“It would… help me remember your name.”

White Snake

The chambers were of course utterly decadent. The walls were paneled with turned-edge, clear-lacquered slabs of Zurkhwood chosen for exotic looking grain variations, draped with elaborately gathered deep red spidersilk bunting. A marble bath large enough for a dozen steamed to one side. Dark red spidersilk cushions were piled onto chaises arranged around the room. A similarly oversized bed piled with more cushions crowned a dais by a large window, the center having polished obsidian steps down into a lush balcony garden overlooking the Queen's Plaza. Obsidian statuary were spaced around the room, as well as portraits, the nearest looking centuries or even a millenia old, of a series of stunningly beautiful but severe-faced Drow women sitting in state. The sixth had been slashed to thin ribbons which spilled onto the floor. Tyrnael's voice, soft yet emotionless, broke the silence from behind him, just to the right of the door he had stepped through.

"It was Mother's, of course. The portrait, the chambers... One might think such grandeur and excess in debauchery could have sated her, but alas... Does the Valsharess have fifteen males to pleasure her, while her Regent could only enjoy a mere dozen? What a grandiose, vainglorious fool she was..."

She stepped from where she leaned against the wall just to the side of the entrance, her eyes having followed his around the room after he had first stepped in, as though curious which sights drew them. She was still dressed as she was when she had visited his quarters. No one else was in the room. She quietly stepped past him to close the doors, then slowly walked back in front of him, smiling and appraising, her eyes brimming with lust. She craned her head upward again to meet his gaze, just as she had left him in his quarters.

"In view of my House, the Rise, and Zar'Ahal, I am to be called 'Ilharess.' But when we are alone, I am only Tyrnael. You are weakened, and my recent state of self-pitying distraction is to blame for it. So, tonight, I will serve you."

She inclined her head in a bow, empty palms in a graceful flourish, even as her fingers trembled slightly. Her loosed braids brushed against his legs in their swing.

"Your effects were retrieved a short while ago. They are being cleaned, I trust with care, and shall await you respectfully arrayed outside the door to your quarters. Each of my servants was assigned an item to clean, that you may judge their worth when choosing your property."

She loosed the sash, allowing her robe to fall open.

"I deduce from the marvelous hood that 'White Snake' is a title you have earned. So, what name shall I call you, when we are alone, stripped of all encumbering hierarchy?"

White Snake

Tyrnael straddled Darkoath on the bed, kneading his back with both hands, drops of her sweat dripping onto him from the effort. She was hardly weak, but his skin was like leather, and his muscles like corded darksteel. She saw a smear of blood and realized that her scar had reopened. She opened her hands, caressing now instead of kneading, as she slowly lay down atop him, panting onto his shoulder with the exhilaration of her sustained exertion, her heartbeat pounding against the rise of his ribs, her braids spilling around him, and her lithe, swollen arms sliding beneath his, with her left hand trailing a streak of purplish-red blood. She lay silent like that atop him for several moments, drinking in the aroma of their shared musk as the thumping of her heart slowly flagged. Her cheek rubbed against his shoulder as she finally spoke.

“I shall need to take a consort soon, Darkoath. A Drow, of course, to engender an heir for my House. A matter of duty. The urgent necessity weighs on me heavily, but I dare not long shirk it. I tell you this now, lest you be angered later. Lest you think that I, too, need be pampered by a parade of males to assuage myself.”

Tyrnael’s dexterous fingertips caressed his sides absently as she continued, the sharpened points of her fingernails prickling his skin.

“My kind may not procreate with yours, no matter how, hmm, earnestly you and I might strive to try. Do you perhaps have a consort we might send for, with which you might extend your line, as I must mine?”

Darkoath