Chapter 19: Chapter Eighteen
Arachne awoke, her back grazing the rough and frigid surface of the ground below her, a familiar feeling that she had become almost numb to over the course of her travel, a breath of air coming from out of her mouth as she rose hesitantly, the sharp feeling in her stomach ceasing, her legs becoming strong again as she stood. Of course, it had been shaky when she first tried, for she had issues walking before her interaction with the Lady Silverhair, which, inevitably, caused their meeting, and for the better.
As she did stand, however, she felt the silver chain that had been given to her by the Goddess tickle her wrist, a subtle reminder of what was held gently in her enclosed palm, and she looked down at the necklace, only to find it to be a holy symbol of some sort, for, at the end of the chain was an open circle, which in its center depicted a bastard sword in front of a ball of pure white, undoubtedly considered as the Moon. It had been something that Bemril had taught her of the night of his death, a glowing sphere of blue-white before a backdrop of smaller lights, which he had called, 'stars.' She longed to see those stars, to see the wistful dream of which her lost family had borne; if she could get but a glance before death, she would know that her mission would be complete to finish a journey long set out for her of her own accord.
She felt her hands grasp each end of the chain, playing with clasp in her hands as she stood in the center of a long forgotten cavern, as most caverns were, staring at the beautiful item of jewelry. And, raising her hands to her neck, she managed herself to clip the holy symbol together with her clumsy fingers, still trying to reawaken from her slumber, the necklace resting against the center of her chest like a pennant of pride, which, in all certainty, was its whole purpose for being made. For some reason, though, it gave her a sense of conviction as to who she was, recognizing the fact that she had been touched by a God being the first of many. Arachne understood now why her brother took solace in Her ways.
And she began to walk, the air almost seeming lighter as she did so, as if a burden had been taken from her shoulders. She saw the true colors of the caverns once more despite their gray and black colors, a swirl almost similar to that of the granite entrance she had been met with at the beginning of her journey, which felt so long ago, even though, as according to Eilistraee, it had been forty days. There was a complex simplicity to them, and this fact brought a feeling of understanding to the drow elf, perhaps of herself or for the Underdark's nature; she could not tell. It was as if something of a dreary prospect had been taken from her, causing a jump in her step she had never before remembered experienced, and Arachne had long since relished the feeling of freedom that this jump entailed.
Her ashen hands ran against the side of the stone walls, feeling its intricate ridges and knobs, humming a song to herself as she did so, the same song of which she heard in what almost felt like the domain of Eilistraee, although she knew it was not as such. It was well known that throughout the Queen of Spider's two children, both joined Her in the Abyss after Her exile from Corellon's domain millions of years ago. The Lady of Dance's remained with Her mother, not because She loved Lolth, but because She loved Her children, and would do anything to defend them from Her mother's venomous reach. Her brother, however, supported their ruthless mother, as a God of Underdark thieves, further spreading Her word through His teachings.
And as she hummed this song, serene and captivating as it was, her attention was drawn elsewhere as she continued down an almost endless cavern, and this was of footsteps, and as light as they were, Arachne was far more alert than she had been before, and heard those footsteps out of concern for her own safety. Mounting her hand on the hilt of her rapier, she continued, hand still against the cavern wall, softening her own strides to blend in with the pattern of those in front of her, even as they gradually came closer.
Perhaps she had woken closer to Cell Maccis then she had initially thought? Were they sent by Eilistraee to collect her? Or were they on a patrol in fear of the Duergar who lived in a nearby cave opening, or perhaps even the Lolth worshippers? The latter seemed the most likely, but Arachne could only hope for the best so that she could continue on with her journey to the surface without any restrictions from the Dawn Guard.
Continuing on, she heard a voice, fortified, feminine, but somehow playful call out into the cavern in the elvish tongue, something Arachne was fluent in, but had spoken little of. "Who approaches? Be it friend or foe?" As the voice continued its speech, the volume gradually increased the closer it became. "Otherwise, I advise you to turn back now. We are not averse to mindless killing, but know there are many arrows trained upon you."
Arachne paused, looking around for a moment in search of the so-called archers, before deciding against questioning the woman's stance, and instead leaned against her staff, calling in the same language, her own voice encapsulating stability, or what she hoped to be so. "If you are who I believe, then I am a friend. Perhaps if we talk closer we can dictate whether or not the other is welcome? I have no intention of perishing before I have accepted it."
The woman chuckled, something that sounded as if she was amused by Arachne's request, which was quite relieving. "If you so desire. Simply round the corner, then."
Arachne inhaled deeply, continuing her before desired path at the behest of the faceless woman, her staff making gentle movements against the stone, thoughts spiraling throughout her mind, most irrational. The entirety of them were fears of assassins sent by Matron Aunerae who knew enough of the Underdark to navigate it, as those rangers did exist, her father being one of them, as they were part of a special faction known as Gloom Stalkers, and in most of those bands were a singular cleric to hold the power, whip the worthless, and, if she was in a mirthy state, heal the wounded. Very few of these groups existed, however, and those that did exist were a force to be reckoned with, for most led raids to the surface, which was considered the highest honor amongst the drow community to be invited to such a slaughter.
She had been invited to such a raid once, to simply spectate, but Matron Aunerae had her scheduled for the announcement of a public execution that date, as well as the celebration afterwards, and in most cases, such things took priority. The poor deep gnome of which she had brought upon the death of had only been accused, or rather caught, of a minor theft, but conspirators had created it into a scandal involving one of the High Council, and it had been House Coborial's duty to clear up the confusion, and what better thing to do then showcase your heir at the same moment? Such things were common throughout her life, for many knew her name, and many yet would know it still if Arachne truly understood Abburth gossip and secrets. There was no doubt whatsoever that the Gray Sword Syndicate had spread word of her escape in the undercity, it was just time telling when the drow peoples would know.
But Arachne knew not if word had reached her mother yet, and the tread in her step was slow, a silent prayer to Eilistraee making its way to her mind as she made her way around the rounded corner of the cavern to face the woman who brought many thoughts to her mind, clutching onto the leather grip of her staff tightly, the light glowing with the same vibrance of her anxiety, which was instead what she focused on instead of the aforementioned feeling, as the light of the crystal within the intertwining bone of the staff itself seemed to match her own soul, which was fascinating in its own right.
But, as she finished her walk, she looked up to face the woman with the strong voice.
She was, in fact, a drow elf with long white hair tied back in a intricate and beautiful braided bun, messy in its own right, as if she had been moving her head with much vigor, each strand of hair moving in a different pattern within the braid itself, while two loose tufts of hair at the side of her ears hub down beside both her cheeks to frame her face as well as her enrapturing crimson eyes.
She wore a blue shirt with silver clasps between the seam that split between her body, beginning with a low collar, showcasing the V shape of her breasts, while another, higher collar, covered the sides of her neck while also showing the silver necklace of Eilistraee upon her neck, and over a violet undershirt. This shirt ran down to the sleeves of the blue one, filling the hole between the puffs in the design until it was shown alone to finish its length upon her wrist. The corset at the center of her stomach was made of thick leather, no doubt the whale's bone being rather hearty as well, and despite this, the captivating silhouette of her figure was captured perfectly. She wore form fitting black leather pants, her behind and outer thighs covered by a blue skirt which split in the front for battle versatility, a belt looped around one of her thighs to hold a knife, subtly protruding from the skirt, also sporting knee-high leather boots with a cuff at its uppermost point. And over her shirt was a studded leather vest of a plain old brown color, one of the more dull ones compared to her eye-catching outfit.
Arachne couldn't help but be stunned at the woman's beauty, for she could be no older than her, but had the look of an angel set upon mortals, each part of her appearance perfect in every way. And as she set eyes on this woman, noting the lute strung upon her back, she found a hole in her stomach forming, a sudden fluttering feeling emitting from it as well. She even attempted to not blush as her gaze met the woman's, her cheeks sore from the attempt, but she had no way of telling whether she had succeeded or not. The feeling was foreign, although it felt nice all the same.
"You bear the mark of our Lady, it seems. You are indeed a friend of mine should the Dawn Guard be who you are searching for." She said, a smile reaching her lips, white teeth making themselves known past the skin of her lips, and Arachne felt herself smile as well as she saw the woman outstretch her hand for her to shake, which she readily took, surprised by the soft feeling of her flesh against her own, only for her to make another attempt to not blush again. "I'm Amalica Caddath, if names matter to you at all. I am a Maid for our Lady, Eilistraee, so it's my pleasure to greet you with many kind blessings of the community that dawns on you, sister."
Arachne paused for a moment at the uttering of the beautiful woman's name, more specifically her last name, for the Caddath family had been eradicated long ago, the same day that Bemril had met his untimely end. And even stranger, the name Amalica was strongly associated with the youngest daughter of Matron Angaste, a strong woman who was known for the formidable army of which she nurtured, for if she truly wished to, she could have long since rose to, at the very least, third in the High Council position instead of the meager position of fifth, to be killed by House Eilservs. Perhaps she had run to find a calm the Lady promised as she had just managed?
Their hands parted, much to her own dismay, which further confused her own feelings towards Amalica, the reluctant removal of her skin from the woman's being a new emotion to her. However, it also proved to be her own silent reminder to respond to the bard's greeting. "Arachne Coborial, recent escapee of our lovely Abburth." A wry chuckle came from the both of them, each knowing of the other at the trading of names. Arachne could see it in her alluring carmine eyes that she had. "I am only glad that I found this place when I did, for without the help I had been given I would not be here today."
Amalica shrugged her broad shoulders as she made an almost playful gesture with her hands as she did so, "Well, you're here now, so I can show you to the others if you'd like. I hate formalities." She said this with an overdramatic smirk on her face, turning around as Arachne began to walk at her side. "But the Mother says I have to, so I will. You'll get to meet her soon enough. She likes to greet the newcomers, sometimes you folks get a moonlight dance if the time is right." She looked down at a watch connected on a silver wire to her corset, shaking her head, "And lucky you, it might just happen. It seems like everyone is getting them these days. The surface world must be having something weird going on now, the whole lunar cycle's all screwed up."
Amalica's voice sounded similar to many of those she had met in the undercity, but ut pertained a sarcastic and carefree twang that Arachne had never before seen any woman hold within her voice, and, as many things were about her, it was strange, but gave her a strange aura that she had never before felt. It made her stomach clench uncontrollably, but not of hunger, for she knew that feeling far too well, but of something else, and this was something she had yet to understand. And, as many things in her life were, the studious drow elf wanted to know what she was feeling within the depths of her chest, but she knew not what it could possibly be.
"Lunar cycle?" Arachne inquired, rubbing her hands together nervously, her palms unusually sweaty. What was she doing to her? "I've never heard of such a thing."
Amalica laughed again, patting her compatriot's back with her soft, strong, hands, "You are sheltered! Of all the books in your House's library, you haven't heard of the lunar cycle? Matron Aunerae must've been more snobbish than my memory was willing to keep if she hid knowledge from you. Every drow expedition is warned to never look at the Moon since it, 'can taint them with the wretch's voice,' to put it simply." She shook her head, raising her eyebrows in an exasperated fashion, a wide grin still on her face. "It's when the Moon–"
"I know about the Moon. My brother told me of it once."
"Good! That saves some weird explanation from me, so thanks, purple-eyes." Amalica seemed to pause for a moment, almost as if she was waiting for Arachne to correct her on the use of her name, as if she would dislike the nickname, which didn't seem to irritate her quite as much as she thought it would. If anything, it made her feel more like a person and less of a weapon or status symbol as she had been treated in Abburth. After the pause, the bard continued, "Basically, every night the Moon changes, and it becomes more and more full until it reaches its peak, which is called a full moon. After a full moon, the Moon begins to get darker until you can't see it anymore, and that's called a new moon. Every month or so the moon becomes full again, and we celebrate with a moonlit dance for our Dark Maiden. It's truly beautiful."
~
Their walk had lasted about an hour longer, Amalica teaching Arachne all she needed to know about life within the Dawn Guard's community, which seemed tight-knit, closer than any other community she had ever before seen. It was almost strange hearing about it, and it was even stranger to imagine that it would be something that she, once one of the staples of the most esteemed House in all of Abburth, would be a part of such a quaint system of kindness, beauty, music, and simplicity.
For the Dawn Guard cells, despite being institutions devoted to the worship of Eilistraee, were not led prominently by the clergy, but instead what the people wished to occur, being put up to a majority vote in weekly services for the Lady of Dance if it was significant enough to the community, and if it was not touched upon in the teachings brought to them. And even then, what the priests, as well as the head priest, known as the Mother, held no power over the will of the people, their word only serving as suggestions, but not commanding whether or not to do something, as their Goddess' teachings were heavily fixated over the freedom to choose and the freedom to express.
The main body of the clergy itself was made of Sword Dancers, otherwise known as normal priests within any hierarchy, although the one in the Lady of Dance's own church being rather loose, while another form of a more warrior-oriented rank within the church being the Silverhair Knights, who swore to never willingly to never take a drow life. Those in training to become these priests were known as Maids or Servants depending on the gender, Amalica being a part of the many in the title, for she had only began her holy training five years ago, and had been taken on as the Mother's prodigy of sorts.
Throughout the community itself were those anointed with certain titles based on their skills given to them by Eilistraee, each incorporating what She valued most in Her teachings. These being Moon Singers, Dark Hunters or Huntresses, Argent Maids or Servants, Unsheathed Blades, Sword Smiths, and, the title associated with legends, no one in any of the Dawn Guard currently living holding such a title, Bright Edge of Darkness. Such an honor could only be anointed to one by the Lady Herself, a brand upon their wrist when such a thing were to call them as such, indicating that they had lived a life of freedom, as well as a life of giving freedom to others, while singing and dancing with joy.
And Amalica had brought her to this community, telling her of the equality between genders and the common peoples, a bewildered expression upon her features, for she had known nothing different. All she had known was segregation. All she knew was the harm she had seen done unto others. Gods, it had been a miracle she had even found salvation with the Goddess of Song and Dance.
As they dawned the true entrance of the small civilization, it appeared as if the two helmeted warriors had seen Arachne faster then she had seen them in their silver armor, one blowing into a strange circular object with holes at the top, a high note calling the attention of what appeared to be a bustling and working village about them, each one turning to the entrance of their abode to face both her, a newcomer, and Amalica.
And, to Arachne's surprise, unsure whether or not it was pleasant, the whole of the community began to sing, each voice a part of an unimaginably stunning harmony, Amalica joining with her own enchanting voice as she continued to lead her through the makeshift gates of bioluminescent mushrooms.
A feeling of simplicity unrivaled, your true fate entitled.
Over tumult this is our utopia
On foot we tramp, a lute in our hands beside this traveling lamp,
I felt the earth beneath my feet
Each voice erupted with such feeling, some women and men taking Arachne's cloak from her, tossing it over to a pile in a small hut near the entrance, the melody never broken nevertheless.
A teleportation circle we draw, one to last for so long until our home lacks its awe.
Glowing underground, quaint and homely, a family about us, never a time lonely.
She sees these good deeds, and forgets her Mother's hatred ever so coldly.
She and Amalica had made their way to the smithy, where it appeared as if all work had ceased on an ornament of sort to sing, the men within the workshop singing in loud and deep voices, strong and powerful.
Myself and my own cursed thoughts, but them I had fought.
I can see your face, one I had never caught.
And, by then, they had reached a beautiful temple, made purely of stone, save for a large silver and iron door, which depicted a beautiful embossing of Eilistraee dancing amongst the animals in a grassy meadow of flowers, the moon glittering overhead, small sapphires representing small dots of stars, as well as the shimmering surface of the Goddess's eyes.
A teleportation circle I draw, one to last for so long until my home lacks its awe.
Glowing underground, quaint and homely, a family about you, never a time lonely.
She sees my good deeds, and forgets her Mother's hatred ever so coldly.
Amalica opened the doors, making a gesture for Arachne to follow her inside, the door closing behind her as they entered the temple itself, any singing that continued being drowned out by the metal of the door, for instead she was met with comforting silence in a room of many artistic masterpieces, musical instruments adorning the walls, a tall drow woman standing atop an altar with a wide smile on her face.
"Welcome home, child."
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