Etan Za'Darmondiel.
28th of Quintetas, 1492.
Spinner's Gate, Zimysta Falls. Shujen Kingdom Dark Clouds. Depth: 242,971 km.
16:59
***
It was so confining, returning to Nydorden Halls, the only place I had ever known until it wasn't. So quickly, it happened, that I had little time to compare and contrast what existed now versus what had been. Not until it struck me in the face.
In the Halls, I felt like one often felt in a house. I could not run too fast, speak too loud, or hit too hard. Everything was to be done with focused restraint. Here, in the bowels of Zimysta, it was like a prison - a dungeon - not 'like,' it was a dungeon. A foul pit of deceit and senseless slaughter. A prison of chaotic darkness. Two things that were my birthright. Two things that were my boon.
One made me like those around me - the males of House Za'Darmondiel, along with the other, lower-class males of his house; fighters, wizards, witches, and monks alike. Useless. Insignificant. Better off dead and thus relegated to fodder with meaningless titles, breeding stock, pleasure slaves, or worse. The other gave me fame and infamy. It made the males pour me drinks and converse in hand code about what I'd witnessed. It made the females eavesdrop and scheme in the hopes of learning more than their competition.
It was all so exhausting. Or, it would have been, had I not a purpose.
'I advise you all to pay close heed to him and his troupe during his time here,' I told them in our sign language. 'If possible, venture the Falls with his companions, for you shall see many amazing things. Although, even if you do not, you will certainly see something.'
"All of you, out. The High Matron summons you." The cutting voice of Ruel pierced through my ears, scrambling all males in sight. I sought to go with them, yet was cut off by her towering form looming over me. "Except you, Second Son."
All of my sisters were almost mirror images of our mother. But the High Matron's 6th daughter was a particularly naïve and aggressive one who had only left the house compound to take her initial tour of G'eldantaar. She and her twin, Raki, were younger than me and mine, even. If only by a year. But with their station and size, neither of those meant anything. They were almost like drow-versions of Geri and Blude. Only a head or so shorter, much more hostile, and a lot less dangerous, if only because of their inexperience.
Like all the other drow females, she tried to wriggle her crimson webs into my mind using fear, as she didn't yet have the perks of any class. Yet even with then, there was no hope for even a High Matron to weave their way through my astral, now nebulous mind, made so expansive by my monastic way. Expanded more so by my boons. Trying to find a thought in our minds was like searching for an island in the World Sea. Improbable, and, in their eyes, impossible. It was an object of ire for them, only amusing us more. Their demands for us to become monks made us immune to most of their punishments. Beatings. Torture. Mental anguish. However, that left only a few punishments available to us monks. Namely, death.
Death, or the Egging Ritual.
"Your eyes. Your hair." She traced her lithe fingers through my locks and flung them aside as she gestured to the empty room. "This arcana dancing amongst you so elegantly. You have changed, brother. How?" she demanded.
Bolder than I'd ever been, I went forth with the plan - my plan. I told her the truth. "I was shown what freedom is, then I grasped it. Now, sister, I am infinitely free."
"And what is infinite freedom?"
"Just that," I said. "My horizons are boundless. There is nowhere above, below, inside, or outside that I cannot or will not venture."
It was clear she listened not. For the moment my words were spent, she stepped forth, nodding grimly. "In other words, you have forsaken this city, your house, your people? Your Goddess?"
"No." I shook my head with absolute certainty. "No, on all accounts." Again, that was the truth. For I would change this city, not forsake it. I would change my house. I would free my people. And I had no goddess to forsake.
"We shall see about that." She sneered. "Follow."
She guided me to the precession without a word. Not by design, of course. No matter how much she tried to hide it, I could see the shock apparent on her face, for it was nearly on mine, despite me seeing a fraction of these things once before.
Everyone - drow from every house and commoners alike - was present to witness Telin's Champion and his companions enter the compound. Some 60,000 of our kind and ten times as many slaves littered the streets from the Mandibles to the Spinnerets, scattered around and above the markets to stare with wide eyes and gaping mouths at the gates. Still, I was pulled onward beyond the gates of the house. Into the realm of those who Have, and onward into the realm of those who Have Not, we moved forward on our mana disk to meet with the High Matron and those like her, in the highest balconies looking out the surrounding sea.
They knew not what they saw when they turned their gaze into the chasm above. Their minds could not imagine what the gaseous cloud was. They couldn't even realize the glowing motes of golden light brought them no harm. Not even the present monks felt their ki resonating with the spatial twilight. They only saw the Nebulous Lane. They only heard the calls of the divine, and they did not compute. Therein lie my job. Translator. Interpreter. Weaver of nebulous threads. I was a teacher, and so I was to teach. Yet I waited for the high-pitched whines and chirps, whistles, and trills to pierce every present ear before beginning.
"Blude," I called, eliciting a high squeal from a creature so large that a mere fin eclipsed the ogre slaves working the gate. As I called off the rest of their names, high chirps, and whistles answered before their blubber sizzled, froze, or bubbled away to reveal their humanoid forms, clad in pristine suits, crowns, and gilded neckwear. "She is the Prime Matriarch of the Orcinus Mafia. An extended house of professional rogues who claim dominion of the realms seas."
"How does one become a 'professional' rogue?" Raki, Ruel's twin, asked.
"By assimilating into the societies and businesses of the surface dwellers to where they can run their schemes in the open, with such renown that few would believe any tales of wrongdoing."
Feral snarls, yips, and howls stole any words from any readied mouths present. Again, their eyes craned above. Again, their minds could not compute. Red and blue. Fire and ice. Sun and Moon. Summer and Autumn; Winter and Spring. Geri and Freki and their packs of seasonal wolves bounded down the walls as if they were racing down the chasm. Having seen them be cursed herself, the High Matron needed no introduction for the wolves. She only watched their forms halt on the sea to freeze and boil the waters, occluding their transformation into human forms behind a dense cloud of steam.
"The strange goblin we've heard so much about." was one of the many calls made to the rider of a winged, bone-plated feline, halting its descent with powerful flaps of its umbral wings. "Leary, the Faithful," I told them.
"Faithful to whom?" Many asked.
"His creator, the Destroyer. He is a goblin paragon. That is to say, he has been brought to the end of the goblin species' evolutionary path, becoming the perfect goblin."
A screeching roar beckoned a force never-before seen by the eyes of Zimysta. Light. Born from the fires of Iris' descent, a harsh blue light poured over the many crimson eyes attuned to the dark, regretfully forcing their eyes away from the display of Iris Cole arresting her fall just meters above the water before her burning nubs sent her rocketing toward the gates with a slight spin. In one fluid motion, the fires ceased from her legs to permit the pair of mechanical talons to rotate into place while she flipped in midair and came to a landing on the wall.
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I chuckled at the sight of the great blue-black wings attached to her shoulders as I reopened our channel. {"They think you are a harpy."}
"Is that… a harpy?"
To answer, Iris stood on the vertical surface and gave her onlookers a cheeky smirk as her wing-tips unnaturally rotated and peeled off, forming ribbons that disappeared into streams of blue particles as they raced up her arms, ending at caps of metal. Then her original arms screwed into place in reverse fashion, giving them a two-fingered salute before she skipped down the wall.
"What the fucking fuck?"
Rickley descended next, thrumming a dreadful tune as she rode the giant undying owl that was Reina, carrying what appeared to be a hairless minotaur in one claw and Wilson's undead knight in the other, the latter of which cradled the brooding baby lich in his arms, even while they were carelessly dumped into the waters.
"The human the black armored knight carries is Wilson Koorb."
"The Wilson Koorb?" Ilar, versed in all things alchemy, asked. "He was rumored to have gone mad. Obsessed with creating everlasting potions."
"He is mad. His obsession has expanded into something new."
"Then he has succeeded?"
"He has." I teased just as the man in question surfaced to levitate above the waters, yet I turned to the one hopping off the petrified owl's head. "Like Leary, that halfling is a paragon. Rickey Ravenbrook, the Destroyer's Bard." Her name elicited a deep rumble that coincided with the appearing motes of light. Shells of darkness, rather, surrounded by golden light that seemed to ebb and flow off the undead owl as it shivered, decaying, or rather, shifting its form into the petrified half-elven mother of flesh. "Reina Featherfall."
One by one, they entered the Falls unprompted. One by one, those motes behind and above them descended onto the waters and popped, expanding into boats that held the drow monks from above. Some changed and some not, all rocking as they eased their way to the gate. Including the most recent graduate.
***
Amun
28th of Quintetas, 1492.
Upper Chamber, Zimysta Falls. Shujen Kingdom Dark Sky. Depth: 243,018 km.
17:10
***
There were many things open to my senses. That had been true before my ascension. In a place like this, that only increased tenfold. The lingering stench of death permeated the walls like water in an aquifer, and the ever-present darkness was like an ocular sea for my sorcery. Akin to that time in the lost gray dwarven stronghold, I could see all. Some 60,000 drow and 10 times as many slaves were trapped within a subterranean spider-shaped terrarium, pitched up on an incline, sealed against the Darkworld by the roots and sunken crowns of three divine trees.
Even without my [Divine Sight], I could see what was so desperately kept hidden beneath the folds of their hearts. I saw it above, in the coiled Halls of Nydorden, from the head down to the tail. So too did I see it here; a sea of hope, blotted by continental islands of chaos incarnate. Likewise, I could sense the depths of their schemes even without the [Void Devil's Eyes] and [Ears.] Fundamentally, it was simple, their schemes. Chaos for the sake of chaos. Uncertainty, fuels uncertainty, in turn, fueling chaos. A perpetual feedback loop of pointlessness.
These things, which had been noticed before, had only been exacerbated by the perks of my classes. [Divine Sight] made their visages unignorable, for I could see their faith in me growing. The [Void Devil's Ears] made the thousands of whispers unignorable, for they collectively pleaded for the same, vile things. The [Void Devil's Eyes] often saw the need for me to cast judgment when all I wanted to do was observe. The [Diadem of Empyrean Facultas] gave me a taste of madness, more so than the madness I gave my warlocks.
My clerics. My priestesses. My holy symbols. Those who uttered my name. Any act of worship towards me. The Imperators. Everything within ten kilometers of those things was open to my senses. Sometimes indefinitely, other times, periodically. Up to a hundred sources for more whispering souls; even more with the means to [Survey] and [Relay] with the souls I've dealt with.
I could sense. From above this lake, moat, or whatever body of water existed outside the gates, I could sense much of the strange rock formations of the interior, giving me a mental map of shadows and obscurity to describe the place they called Zimysta Falls. A vertical shaft some 300 meters deep, equally expanded in width and half as much in height on a not-so-sheer slope. In true zealous fashion, the cavern was shaped like a spider crawling up the slope to guzzle down the ever-present falls. Much like an Uma, plateaus, gorges, stalagmites, stalactites, and other features made a facsimile of the internal organs in their anatomical positions, held in place by thick bridges of web-encased stone. The cascading waterfall that gave the place its name pooled in a basin and eventually gushed from the anus, so far below, monitored by embrasures and watchtowers in the spinnerets, making the terraces and bridges Etyl, Etan, and hundreds more drow were standing on the chelicerae.
Striated plains and mycelium meadows straddled the wide rapids pouring from the gates like mushrooms growing on trees, filling the abdomen beyond. Rothay herds and other fauna lapped at the banks of the wide ponds and streams branching off from either side, tended to or hindered by the uncountable slaves trying to catch a glance at the precession or slip in some rest while their overseers were distracted. Indeed, it seemed they were all here before me, as the markets, workshops, farms, and other buildings on the arching plateaus above them were utterly unoccupied. Even the houses, manors, and estates carved into the walls and ceiling motionlessly flickered in the radiance of the faerie flames limning the structures below.
At 87,000 kilometers cubed, the 'abdomen' was vast indeed. Perhaps even double the space was hidden beyond those great webbed highways skirting the walls and ceiling, however, the most prominent being the massive edifices, stalactites, or tunnels placed around the eyes and legs, connecting them to the twin towers further down, the spinnerets beyond them, and here, in the Demon Spider's maw.
"I welcome you, Destroyer, to Zimysta Falls. Eldest drow-city in all of Nonus." High Matron Etyl gestured to the hundreds of drow scattered amongst the treasure-filled balcony as if she intended to offer them to me. I couldn't help but smile at the thought as I landed in a traditional Eomen salute- with the hands morbidly cradled above the chest, touching the first knuckles together.
"I am welcomed by you, High Matron Etyl of House Za'Darmondiel." I customarily replied, then gestured to the Troupe assembling behind me. "I am in your hands, as are my guests."
"As are your guests." She said, closing the formalities with regal calmness. "Come." She then said, stepping onto an intricate dais of thrones, made of pure arcana conjured by an elven slave.
I could virtually feel the desire bleeding off the matrons and their priestesses as I stepped onto their altar just as much as I felt their disdain for the males of both the troupe and the spectators. It was like a foul fume that bled from their lips as the one adorned in the most trinkets and jewels leaned towards me to say. "I've been told of your walk across the surface, Destroyer. Never in all my years have I heard of a wake of death so broad."
"And this robe of feathers. Is this not the garb Eiriol was tasked with giving you?"
"Indeed, it is." I smiled at her before gesturing to my copy of the Owl's Robes. "Do you like it?"
Though she said nothing, that caught many side eyes and side remarks from those marching on the bridge below. Etyl either didn't hear them or, more likely, paid them no mind. Instead, she introduced the first one as Barrdones Casia-Psellus, Matron of the 2nd house. A short, youthful appearing drow with more jewelry than clothes. Likewise, the one to inquire about the robe was an old lanky crone of a drow, Matron Khaless Noqutyl of the 3rd house. Subsequently, the other five women on this floating throne of ours were matrons of the other ruling houses of Zimysta, occupying the eyes of the vast cephalothorax-cavern. Matrons Syndyrran Illistyn, Z’ryliss Hun'ana, Alauran Abaeir, Phyrryn Yril'Lysaen, and Eralyth Jusztiir.
We arrived at the pedicel shortly after they explained their stations and proudly pointed out their houses. Then we stopped to gaze upon the great waterfall cascading into the voluminous chamber beyond. Yet it was more than a mere junction. It was a funnel born from the likes of two deeply rooted towers, each large enough to dwarf a 21st-century skyscraper or even an arcology, despite being partially buried into the stone.
On the left was Mii'etus Praesyris, the Tower of Might, a massive edifice carved with an array of balconies and catwalks to make a relief of a faerie flame-lit shield and crossed scimitars surrounded by a wreath of daggers. Opposing it was a massive glowing crystal resembling a spider's heart, held in the claw of a demonic arm that poured from the formless face of Arcanis Praesyris, the Arcane Tower. Both were the only prospects open to the nameless drow in the abdomen. For those in the cephalothorax, it was a requirement.
While those of the ruling houses dwelled in the cavern's forward ceiling, occupying the Eyes, the eight 'lesser' houses dwelled above the branching tunnels that were the Legs, wherein slaves, mercenaries, and other classless individuals worked, resided, or staged to delve deeper into the dark. In turn, that led to house-owned marketplaces on the grounds below, auspiciously placed to permit as many prying eyes on the visitors who came to trade as possible. Contrary to my expectations, many a gray dwarf and deep gnome could be seen wandering the streets below, albeit with a constant eye looking above.
Our precession thinned ever-more as we passed over that market. The 'lesser' matrons guided their expansive families toward their massive gates, fashioned into the overhanging peninsulas and stalactites without ever removing their eyes from me and my Troupe. Naturally, so too did the other matrons guide their masses to the eyes, arranged like that of a tarantula. Houses Jusztiir and Yril'Lysaen in the radial eyes. Houses Hun'ana and Abaeir in the lower left pair; Houses Noqutyl and Illistyn in the lower right, beneath the massive spherical jewels that were Houses Casia-Psellus and the one that was our destination, House Za'Darmondiel.
"Welcome to the Queen Demon Spider's Domain, Amun of the Nox."