Atlantic Roleplay Community Boards

Zilvaonar · Adventurer Joined: 15 May 2010 Posts: 38

Firelight danced over the smooth stone walls of the cavern, painting shadows over the entrance hall, and giving Jar'ffyn darkness to gather his thoughts. The leather mask was cool to the touch, the dark crystal orbs that served as the eyes stared back at him as is waiting for the task to be begun. It wasn’t that Jar'ffyn had doubts. He knew the plan was well thought out, though not without great danger. If Tor’und or her mistress Lloth ever found out what he had done, more than just Jar'ffyn’s life would stand forfeit. The House of Hun’afin must fall, its Matron must be punished along with her mother line before her for the crimes against his drow brothers. There was only one way to assure this came to pass, one way to gain the power to control a house like Hun’afin, one way to assure Tor’und and her eldest daughters were cast from favor. He must breed them out.

Jar'ffyn remembered the fate of his older brother, when Tor’und grew tired of him warming her bed and gave him to Lloth at a whim. Hate surged through him as he remembered the sound of his brother’s screams as his body was torn apart and his will claimed, the stoic artist transformed into a hideous dryder right before Jar'ffyn’s eyes. It was on that day Jar'ffyn swore his allegiance to the Masked One, that day he made an oath to his brother’s lost soul that he would make Tor’und and her house pay. Now here he was on the edge of that promise, the moment when he would lite the spark that would bring the House of Hun’afin crumbling down. He must just put on the mask, sacrifice his body for one night, long enough to plant the seed that would grow into a tool of destruction, a tool of vengeance.

He breathed deep, the scent of spice and cooking meat from the party beyond his hiding place filling him. They danced, they drank, they ate, the fulfilled their darkest desires, unaware of the serpent in their midst. Jar'ffyn played the part of the subservient lover well. None of them suspected his true devotion lay not with the Matron, not in any devotion to the wench Spider Queen whom they celebrated that night. No, his faith, his servitude, was all to fulfill the will of Vhaeraun, everything he did, everything her suffered, was for the good of his fellows, the good of the drow people. All of the drow, not just the women who could sleep and murder their way up the social tower.

His child would learn a better way. His child would carve a path through the oppression of the matriarchal houses and free the slaves so that they might join Vhaeraun’s followers and return the drow to their rightful place. Rulers of the above and the below. This had been foretold by the Brotherhoods finest oracles. He need only carry out his part. Release his will, his body to the cause. He heard Tor’und’s low, sultry laugh and his hate churned anew. The time had come.

Jar'ffyn smiled and closed his eyes, slowly, lovingly raising the mask until flesh met leather. Icy tingles washed over his face, flowing like the tide over his body. He shivered and moaned as the cold entered him, filling him with virility and adding to his determination. Vhaeraun was with him. It had begun.

Zilvaonar · Adventurer Joined: 15 May 2010 Posts: 38

Discordant music mingled with laughter and Matron Tor’und massaged her aching temples. These parties were necessary to maintain the morale of her sisterhood, but if truth be told she found the entire affair rather tiresome. The minstrels were more inebriated than her guests, and the cacophony of noise made her want to retreat from them all as quickly as her legs would carry her. There was nothing to be done about it. It was her House, and for the sake of etiquette she should play hostess for a while longer.

A familiar figure appeared in the doorway. Even wearing the well crafted masquerade half mask she recognized the well sculpted body of her lover from beneath the black silk that draped his frame. Jar'ffyn was a fine specimen of a man. Not only was he a pleasant playmate in the bedroom, but his skill with storytelling and song was beyond measure. He was obedient, complimentary, as a whole he was the most perfect mate she’d ever had. The Matron new like the others she’d tire of this one too, but for now she was satisfied.

She raised her gaze to Jar'ffyn’s eyes expecting to see his black eyes fall submissively but instead she met the black crystal orbs of his mask. There was something disturbing about it, the inability to read his expression, the inability to look through his eyes to gauge his thoughts and feelings. Disturbing but exciting too, a new challenge, added mystery to their passionate relationship. He drew a tongue across his lips and stood there, his body moving to the disharmonious music teasingly. Etiquette be damned. It was her house and she would have her pleasure.

Jar'ffyn did not utter a sound as she gripped his hand and dragged him through the tunnels, toward her bed chamber. He resisted at the doorway, playfully pulling away from her. The black orbs meet her gaze, and he didn’t turn away. She knew she should be angry, but her excitement grew at each added surprise.

Tor’und grabbed him by the throat, and tossed him onto the oversized bloodwood bed. She crawled across the spider silk sheets toward him, her movements predatory, her heart pounding. Jar'ffyn smiled. She reached to remove the mask from his face, but he held it in place. She struck him across the mouth for his defiance. Once. Twice. Three times. His grip on the mask never wavered, nor did his smile even as the blood seeped over his full lips. The Matron never dreamed such defiance would excite her this way. Her passion became wild, violent. Her need to possess him irresistible.

The bed that had withstood the passions of generations of Matron before her stood no chance against the gale that rocked it throughout the night. Never once did Matron Tor’und suspect the true nature of her lover, nor did the triumphant smile fade from beneath the shadow of Jar'ffyn’s mask.

Zilvaonar · Adventurer Joined: 15 May 2010 Posts: 38

The two young drow princesses lounged on the swaybacked loveseat, eating the sweetbread and watching the closed double doors with narrowed eyes. Loud moans spilled from within the chamber, deep guttural music known to women throughout the ages, the choral intonation of childbirth. Jar'ffyn paced the outer room, aware that he was forbidden to be present for the birth of the child, though sorely tempted to challenge the midwives rule. True, he’d been allowed some additional freedoms since the evening of the child’s conception, but he knew not to push the Matron’s tolerance too far. Just a little more patience and he would see the fruits of his work and suffering. Soon the child would be born and the next stage of the plan would begin.

It was impossible to tell how long the labor went on, though it seemed to Jar'ffyn that he waited a lifetime. The Matron’s other daughters had long since retired to their beds when the midwives exited the bedchamber, wiping blood from their hands and muttering in low voices. The scowls they women wore stirred panic within him, drawing his gaze involuntarily to the blood stained cloths they gripped. “Such a shame,” one of them said, shaking her head. “And a daughter at that.”

Had something went wrong? The child…his child… Jar'ffyn could not bear not knowing. As soon as the women were out of sight he entered the room and closed the door behind him. The silence made his heart catch in his throat. When the sound of a baby’s whimpering call broke the stillness at last, his fear was eased. Curiously he drew near the bed that had for so long been his prison and found the Matron asleep, her dark skin a pale grey and her breathing shallow. The baby lay alone in the spidersilk draped bassinet, her cries becoming more insistent as the seconds passed.

Jar'ffyn wrapped the silver embroidered black silk blanket around the infant and lifted her gently out of the cradle. At first the child seemed like any other. Her skin was more grey than black, but then that would darken with age, and her hair was more silver less white then that of him or her dam. It was not until he looked unto the child’s eyes that he understood what had disturbed the midwives so. There was nothing but a sea of luminescent white there beneath the silvery lashes, no iris, no pupils, nor did the child look toward him until he made a sound with his tongue and teeth that her drew attention. His child, his glorious tool for vengeance and domination, the child that had been prophesized as the downfall of the House of Hun’afin, she was blind, was imperfect.

He stared into the sea of light that was the child’s eyes, and the hate he expected to feel never came. His despair washed away like sand against the evening tide as he was enveloped in his daughter’s gaze. She could not see him, instinctively he knew that, but even so her cries quieted as he held her in his arms, as if she knew who he was, knew that he would be the one to care for her the way no one else in this house cared for anyone.

This house. The reality of where he was and their situation hit him hard and the panic returned. She was blind. The Matron would never let his daughter live, never allow someone seen as imperfect to be daughter within the Hun’afin motherline. The priestesses would come and give his daughter’s soul and body to the Spider Queen, a sacrifice of youth and innocence. No. He could not allow that. But what could he do to stop them? Where could they go? Suddenly the fate of this house, the future of the Brotherhood, nothing mattered to him but the fate of this one child.

The shadows in the room shifted and moved about him, and a familiar voice whispered as if upon a unseen wind. “Quickly, hide. They are coming.”
Jar'ffyn obeyed the voice without question, thankful of the shadow guardians’ presence in his time of need. Even now, when all other gods would have deserted him for his weak sentimentality, Vhaeraun was with him.

Expecting to see the priestesses, Jar'ffyn was surprised to see the drow princesses, Aun’stra and Url’kacha, creap into the room. The shadows hid him and the baby completely, and much to his surprise the little one did not make a sound. Even she seemed to know the seriousness of their situation.

He watched the girls move around the bed. The eldest, Aun’stra, stared around the room with narrowed eyes, her gaze finally resting on the empty bassinet. Her younger stared at their sleeping mother. Before Jar'ffyn knew what they were doing, Url’kacha drew vial of clear liquid from the pocket of her over robe, and Aun’stra pried open the Matron’s mouth. He almost pitied Tor’und as her eyes opened to meet those of her daughter for the last time, moments before she breathed he last breath. This was the disease weakening the drow people, the desire for power so strong that child turned against mother to possess it. He swore his daughter would never learn those lessons, she would know the truth, that only through unity could the drow people become strong again. Only through unity could the drow claim their rightful place as masters of the above and the below.

“It is time to go.” The voice commanded, and Jar'ffyn knew it to be true. With the Matron gone the sisters would rule the house, and any protection he had would be just as dead. Even if his daughter had been born normal, the sisters would never have let her live. She would have been a threat to their reign. A threat of one day they too ending up like their mother.

The scene before him faded away and Jar'ffyn found himself on the surface near a pool of clear water, the moon reflected in its surface. Two drow women stood near the water’s edge, and a third a few paces away. One of the two held out a grey blanket and Jar'ffyn saw a silver mask tattooed on the inside of her left palm. She smiled when she saw where his gaze rested and the woman beside her held out the her right hand and revealed same tattoo there.
“Let us help you with the child, Jar'ffyn. She must be bathed and fed if she is to live through the night.” The third woman moved forward and motioned the other two to follow. Unlike the others, he saw no mark of Vhaeraun on her hands.

“Who are you.” Jar'ffyn demanded, taking a step away from then all and holding his daughter close to his chest. The baby protested wearily. “Stay back.”

The unmarked woman held up a hand to stay the other two, and smiled at Jar'ffyn. “To the eyes and ears of the drow houses I am Ssz’lyn, priestess of the Spider Queen, but in my heart I serve only the Masked One. My real name is Irr’yl. Vhaeraun has sent me to help you. He says the child is important to him, and that nothing shall be allowed to harm her. It is his will.”

Irr’yl. He’d heard that name whispered among the brotherhood. She walked among the most lofty of drow houses as a priestess of Lloth, and carried their secrets to the Brotherhood of the Masked One . It was said she was the most skilled of the Masked One’s deceivers, traitor priestess to the wench Queen and one of the most dedicated of Vhaeraun’s followers.

With a nod from Irr’yl the other women moved forward again and this time Jar'ffyn reluctantly let them take his daughter from his arms. He watched as one woman held the baby over the water for a bath, while the other woman gingerly scrubbed the receiving blanket. Jar'ffyn released he’d been so lost in the wonder of her, he’d never noticed that the baby had not been cared for after the birth, not even to cleanse the birth blood from her. How much he did not know about how to care for a child.

“Have you thought about what she will be called?”

Jar'ffyn looked up at Irr’yl, and considered the question. At the same moment the name came to him, he heard the voice of the Shadow Master echo the words as well. “Akor’nolu.” He replied. Yes, he thought, her name is Akor’nolu, for she is my beloved treasure.

Never did Jar'ffyn suspect that even as he watched the babe swaddled in the fresh blanket, nursing from the breast of the laundress, that this particular treasure was no longer his alone.

Zilvaonar · Adventurer Joined: 15 May 2010 Posts: 38

The next few years passed without contact with the House of Hun’afin, and unavoidable necessity of their continued survival. The girl was easily accepted by those with the Brotherhood, many of them were outcast themselves, and Akor’nolu’s charming smile and quick mind gained her favor among them. As comfortable as he was among his spiritual brethren, Jar'ffyn dared not stay in one place for too long. Vhaeraun’s followers were scattered, many in hiding themselves for various “crimes”, their ranks not solid enough to protect the child should Lloth decide to send assassins against them.

Jar'ffyn and the child moved from place to place, he applying his trade as a skilled lover as often as that of a minstrel, and Akor’nolu soaking in all the knowledge anyone was willing to share with her. Even among the matriarchal houses the girl found ways to charm their hosts. It helped to have an ally like Irr’yl, who in her persona of the priestess Ssz’lyn proclaimed it was the will of Lloth to spare the blind child, and that the Spider Queen had a sacred plan for the girl. No one but Jar'ffyn and his brethren knew the truth about with whom Akor’nolu destiny lay.

The child herself had her own secrets, even from her beloved father. Though she could not see the shadowy shapes that were her constant companions, Akor’nolu had the comfort of knowing she was never alone. She could often be seen chattering away happily to her “spirit friends”, uncaring of the jeers and taunts of the other girls. While her intelligence and dedication in both combat and scholarly endeavors brought her favor among the adults she had contact with, the girls saw her as odd, her blindness as a exploitable weakness. It angered the girls when Akor’nolu outdid them in sparring training, or proved them wrong about a fact or equation.

Akor’nolu took the teasing with an air of unconcern. She had her father and her special spirit companions. She cared nothing about the girls she saw as pathetic in their backbiting spite. In fact the only time she paid the other children any notice at all was when the drow girls were “playing grownups” and abusing the little boys. Akor’nolu was generally a good-natured child, but her calm demeanor quickly shifted to unchecked retribution when one of the little boys was being beaten by a girl peer. The shadows and her father had schooled her well on the oppression of men within the drow culture. Akor’nolu was unwilling to stand by and allow such things to take place if she could do something to stop it. Though her father often warned her of the folly of revealing her disapproval of the drow ways, none of the other drow girls dared admit they’d been bested in combat by a blind girl.

It was not until the eve of Akor’nolu’s eighth birthday that her happily nomadic life drastically changed. Jar'ffyn had been invited to perform for Matron Mother Cal’aere, and though he said he was honored and thrilled to have the chance to play for such a high status house, Akor’nolu could sense his nervousness from the moment they set foot upon the royal caverns. Until recently they’d kept to associating with the lesser houses, never staying anywhere too long, nor drawing to much attention to themselves. The last time Akor’nolu spoke to him her father was summoned to Cal’aere's chambers for a private concert. The girl assumed it must have gone well because he’d been gone all night and everyone kept talking since then of the Matron Mother’s great pleasure, and how she favored the handsome minstrel.

Itching with curiosity, Akor’nolu slipped free of the royal appointed caretakers and set herself to finding Jar'ffyn. She missed her father’s company and wanted to see how the performance had gone. The smells and sounds of the huge underground city were like nothing she’d known before. For a while she enjoyed her rebellious adventure, but after a time the chattering voices and mismatch of scents overwhelmed her acute senses, becoming frightening rather than thrilling. Even with the guidance of the shadows Akor’nolu was quickly lost in the deeper part of the market. People pushed and nudged their way through the crowd, and the small girl was batted about like a delicate leaf in the wind.

After an hour of struggling her way through the shoppers, she found refuge in a large building. The shadows told her this was the high temple of the Spider Queen, that Akor’nolu should get away, find another place to seek shelter. The child did not want to leave. She was bruised and exhausted, dreading the chaos that awaited her outside the heavy double doors. She would only rest here awhile, she promised, just until the marketplace was less busy.

She’d meant to keep her promise, meant to only stay a short time, but her physical and emotional weariness carried the child away into a slumber that lasted into the mid-evening. The sound of voices stirred Akor’nolu from sleep, and she scrambled under the stone altar, fear and her training reminding her to breath softly and quietly. The air grew cold as her companions gathered around her, swearing they would hide her from all sight.
Her heart beating frantically, Akor’nolu waited, and listened.

Zilvaonar · Adventurer Joined: 15 May 2010 Posts: 38

“I’ll not keep you much longer. Just a little more of your time is all I require, minstrel.” The deep woman’s voice carried across the expansive room, the power of her manner and station etching itself into each word she uttered. Her tone was calm, even casual, but Akor’nolu’s sensitive ears detected a tinge of venom.

“I am honored by your attention, Matron Mother. As always I am your servant. If you would just allow me to check on my daughter, I would be pleased to surrender myself to your whims for as long as you desire.” Her father’s voice was smooth, and carried the tone of one used to talking his way through most situations. Only Akor’nolu could hear the fear that his underneath the charm.

“My servant? I do so like the sound of those words coming from your delicious lips, minstrel.” Cal’aere’s heeled boots clattered across the stone floor, a rhythmic sound, one that would haunt Akor’nolu’s dreams for years to come. “Too bad your beautiful words are as much of a lie as your proclamations to honor Lloth.”

“What?” Jar'ffyn’s voice shook for no more than a heartbeat before he regained control over his shock and it returned to a casual tone. “Surely you jest. My family have served the Great Queen for more generations that the drow scholars have records. I’ve never shirked in my duty to Lloth, or to the glorious houses under her favor.”

“Yes, I know you are a model of male obedience and decorum. A fine example to the rest of the lesser gender. But I did not gain the status I now enjoy by being as easily fooled by a pretty face or a firm backside as the rest of my sisters seem to be. I have suspected the treachery of our priestess for some time now, and with the help of some wily allies have the proof I need to expose Ssz’lyn for the traitor I know her to be.” The Matron Mother’s manner took on a lethal aura as she came to a halt just a few feet from Akor’nolu’s hiding place. “They were only too pleased to share what they knew of your betrayal, and the true nature of that abomination you call daughter.”

“Please.” All pretense vanished from Jar'ffyn’s voice, and there was a loud slapping noise Akor’nolu recognized as the sound of flesh against stone as he fell to his knees. “I do not know who told you these lies, but whatever you do to me don’t hurt my daughter. She’d done nothi--.”

A crack tore through the air and a thud resonated over the floor. Jar'ffyn moaned, and Cal’aere’s laugh drowned out the sound. “You need not worry about your precious treasure, minstrel. I will see that she is dealt with as she should have been long ago. In truth, you need not worry about anything ever again.”

To Akor’nolu’s sensitive ears the blade being released from it’s sheath rang out like a sharp bell. The girl tore from her hiding place, ignoring the cries of her protectors to stay out of view. There was a grunt as she collided with the drow woman and a cry of surprise from both Jar'ffyn and the Matron Mother. Rage swallowed the child’s mind, her only thought… protecting her father.

When the fury finally released Akor’nolu gentle hands were on her shoulders, pulling her away from the still body of what had once been Cal’aere. The temple was filled with the coppery scent of fresh blood, and Jar'ffyn’s voice was heavy with emotion. “What are we going to do? The guards will know what happened. They’ll kill her.”

Irr’yl’s voice was gentle and sad, not the hard commanding tone she wielded when acting in her role as the priestess of Lloth. “It is the will of Vhaeraun that she be protected, and no matter the cost that is what we must do.”

Jar'ffyn arms tightened around Akor’nolu, and he whispered hoarsely in her ear. “You love me, don’t you, little one.”

“Yes, father,” she said, confused by why he should question her love now.

“And you’re devotion to Vhaeraun and his vision for the future, it is unshakable. Is that correct?”

“Yes.” Akor’nolu was at a loss for why her father asked these question, but the answer came easily enough. They were words she'd heard her whole life, words that were as much a part of her as the air she breathed. “I am the hand of Vhaeraun, his sword of dark fire that will forge a path for the unity of our people.”

Jar'ffyn kissed her forehead, tears choking his words. “You must promise to obey what I now ask of you. Swear it upon your love for me. Swear in the name of the Masked One himself.”

“Yes, I swear. Whatever you ask.” Her father was beginning to frighten her. Akor’nolu wanted to leave this place, to go away with him now. Whatever she must say, she was ready to say it.

“You must swear upon your love for me, upon Vhaeraun’s name, that no matter what happens here from this moment forth, you will never reveal to anyone outside the Botherhood what transpired here tonight. No matter the price, no matter the suffering, you must promise to keep this secret.”

But, father….I--.”

“No.” He snapped, he voice taking on a tone of anger he’d never before used toward her. “Swear it. Now! Just as I have told you.

Akor’nolu lip trembled as she spoke, but not knowing what else to do, and fearful of what might happen if she refused to make the oath, she said the words that would tear at her soul for the rest of her days. “On the name of Vhaeraun and my love for my father Jar'ffyn Rilyn'mtor I swear I will not speak of the events of this night to anyone but those faithful to the Masked One himself.”

Zilvaonar · Adventurer Joined: 15 May 2010 Posts: 38

Raised voices rumbled from the other side of the heavy doors and Akor’nolu hugged her bed sheets to her chest, arms wrapped around her knees to calm their shaking. She was bathed and back in the bedroom her father and she shared, but she had not seen Jar'ffyn since she was taken from the temple. She had kept her promise. The guards and then the priestesses had questioned her, but Akor’nolu said nothing. Irr’yl told them the girl must have been frightened by the crime, or had not understood what was happening, that with her weakness she could not tell them anything useful. No one questioned the high priestess’ use of the word, even though she had until then called Akor’nolu’s blindness a gift.

In the end it was their own belief of the blindness marking the girl as no real threat that cleared the murderer of her crime. The stricken expression on Irr’yl’s face would have been the first sign something was very wrong, but Akor’nolu never saw that omen of doom. She heard footsteps on the stone floor and Irr’yl’s voice shakily introducing those with her as the house Patron and the house’s high magistrate.

The magistrate’s bored and monotone voice carrying out over the room. “On the fifteen day of the high holy month of our glorious goddess, Jar'ffyn of the house of Rilyn'mtor had been sentenced to punishment for the murder of our beloved Matron Mother and for acts of treason against the drow empire. The traitor’s soul and life are forfeit, and all ties to his house will be severed. All belongings of the criminal known as Jar'ffyn will be turned over to the Council of Sisters for redistribution as they see fit.”

Numbness set in as Akor’nolu listened the scraping sounds as the magistrate rerolled the scroll. It was done. There was nothing she could do to save him. Her father, the man she loved more than her own life, was gone, and it was her fault. She wanted to tell them, wanted to shout that it was she who bore the guilt, but her promise to her father stilled the words on her tongue. If anything in meant as much to Jar'ffyn as she did, it was his devotion to Vhaeraun. Akor’nolu had made her oath in the name of her love for her father and the Masked One, there was no breaking that promise. The truth chilled the girl to her core. She would never see her father again.

But little did she know, the worst was yet to come.

Zilvaonar · Adventurer Joined: 15 May 2010 Posts: 38

“It is time to prepare the child for her journey. Servants from House of Hun’afin will arrive by ten bells to claim the girl and take her to serve their family.”

The Patron’s voice startled Akor’nolu, who wiped her face dry of tears and raised her head from Irr’yl’s leg. The priestess growled low in her throat, but her tone was calm when she spoke. “I was promised the child would serve my house. You yourself swore this would be done.”

“Priestess Ssz’lyn, if I could have made the arraignments as you requested, I would have, but the Council of Sisters has spoken. My house owed the House of Hun’afin a favor and the Matrons called in their claim. You will have to take this up with them on the next high holy day when they meet. I am sorry. I cannot help you.”

Irr’yl said nothing until the door closed. Shehe grabbed Akor’nolu’s arm and jumped off the bed pulling the girl to her feet. “Get you things together quickly. I have to get you out of here.”

“No.” The words came from Akor’nolu’s lips before she even released she was saying them. “They will take you too. They almost did before. I heard the Matron Mother, she said she had something proving you were a traitor, and that she was going to expose you. If you help me now I’ll lose you too, just like I lost my father.”

Arms wrapped around Akor’nolu and the priestess whispered in her ear. “I will go see the Sisters, I will do whatever it takes to get you back. I swear it.”

All cried out and emotionally drained beyond any moment she’d ever before known, Akor’nolu simply nodded obediently. She did not care where she went. She didn’t care what happened to her. She was living the worst moments of her life, and nothing could bring her more suffering then she felt right now.

She was wrong.

Zilvaonar · Adventurer Joined: 15 May 2010 Posts: 38

It was hard to tell how long they walked down the damp tunnels. Akor’nolu’s legs ached, but each time she began to slow one of the escorts would bark “Mumbaro reztorm.” telling her to “move along”. Her shadows companions begged her to run, to get away from these women, not to let them take her to the house of her mother’s kin. It was no use. Akor’nolu’s spirit was broken, she did not care where she went or what happened to her. Grief and guilt hung heavy on her young shoulders.

Akor’nolu’s stomach rumbled with hunger long before the group stopped at their destination. The shadows again entreated her to run, to save herself now before it was too late. Before she could even mentally respond to their request rough hands grabbed her arms in a iron grip and yanked her forward. Heavy iron door clanged shut and there was several loud clicks as locks were put into place. It took a few moments for Akor’nolu to realize that her lifelong companions had grown suddenly silent. She called out to them, but there was not answer.

Pain shot through her arms as again she was pulled forward, her toes barely reaching the ground. Panic filled her as again and again she called out to her guardians to no avail. Anouther set of door creaked open and air rushed past her ears as Akor’nolu was tossed forward. She hit the floor hard, pain tearing through her knees and hands upon impact. The room was filled with laughter; harsh, cruel, mocking laughter.

“So this is the traitor spawn the Council wished so badly to be rid of?” A sharp woman’s voice said amidst the laughter. “Such a pitiful little thing to be causing so much trouble.”

Another woman spoke, her voice lower and without mirth. “They do not know the extent of the sin of the father like we do, Url’kacha. They do not know how he fowled himself and our mother by forcing her to birth his abomination.”

“Look at her, Aun’stra.” Url’kacha sneered. “Look at her eyes, so unsettling. And her face. How could mother give birth to anything so ugly and fowl?”

Aun’stra snorted. “I suppose the same reason she bedded that filthy man. I’ll never know. Now the traitor is where he belongs. I’m just glad our own father did not live to see his brother become one of Vhaeraun’s pets. I hope they give him to Lloth to be slowly tortured.”

Without thought Akor’nolu lunged toward the sound of Aun’stra’s voice, hands outstretched, fingers grasping for any potion of flesh to punish for the words against her father. The iron hands returned and soon Akor’nolu was on her knees again, being held with her chest against her bent legs.

Url’kacha's voice came from just to the right of Akor’nolu, whispering in her ear. “Oh no, little sister. We’ll have none of that. You will behave, or there will be consequences.”

Akor’nolu struggled but she was too small, and the adult arms were strong. “Don’t talk about him like that. I’ll kill you!”

Url’kacha laughed, but when Aun’stra bent down to whisper in the girl’s other ear there was no humor in her voice. “You will behave because we have been given certain powers over those you care about. Yes, the traitor Jar'ffyn is lost to all salvation, but he is still living. That could change as a single word from my sister or I.”

“On the other hand.” Whispered Url’kacha. “We still have the power to reveal Priestess Ssz’lyn’s crimes against the Spider Queen. We really should have brought our proof to the Council, but out of sisterly duty we’ve decided that we’ll allow you the chance to save your precious priestess.”

“You will do what you are told. You will follow our every command. If you displease us you will be punished. If you again try to attack one of this house, or try to escape, your father and the priestess will pay for your treachery. Are we understood?”

Aun’stra grit her teeth, hate seeping into every part of her mind, but she nodded. There was nothing she could do. If what the woman said was true, the fate of the two people who meant the most to her rested on her controlled temper and obedience. Such was her fate, rather than the dark sword her father always claimed she would one day become, in the end, because of her sin she was now no more than a slave.

Zilvaonar · Adventurer Joined: 15 May 2010 Posts: 38

“What about the mark?” A woman said from someplace behind the two sisters.

“Oh, yes.” said Aun’stra, a dangerous quality to her voice. “If the tales are true we must be sure.”

All humor left Url’kach’s manner. “You don’t really think it's true, do you, sister? We knew the man was a deviant of the Hated One, but what the prisoner told us...”

“Say no more!” Aun’stra commanded. “Priestess. Tell your initiates to search her thoroughly. I want to know if the mark is there. I want it done now.”

“As you command.” The priestess replied.

There was no warning as her silks were removed and the priestess’ search began. Sharp nails cut her flesh as the initiates frantically searched her body for the mark that seemed to have them all so worried and Akor’nolu hissed in pain. She did not know what they were talking about. She had plenty of scars from rough play and the few fights she had been in. Was that what they were looking for?

“Nothing, Matrons.” The priestess said. “A few faint scars, some bruises and cuts from her arrival, but nothing of his brand as you were told. I am sorry.”

The room grew silent and then a tentative voice asked. “He is a master of deception. Wouldn’t it be carefully hidden. The inside of her mouth maybe, or under her…”

“Her hair!” Url’kach shouted.

Akor’nolu cried out her hair was pulled into a tight bunch and yanked upward. “Shave it all.” Aun’stra demanded. “Leave nothing unsearched!”

Her hands were bound as were her ankles, and before she understood what was happening chunks of her hair tickled thier way down her arm and shoulder as they were sheared from their roots. She held back tears with a ferocity birthed of the desperate desire not to show weakness to her enemies. Soon the rough hands moved to the back of her neck and her shorn head was yanked from side to side.

“There!” Url’kach said in a triumphant voice, but Akor’nolu sensitive ears could hear fear hidden beneath. “Right there, to the left of her ear.”

“Orthae quar'valsharess.” Aun’stra hissed, calling upon her goddess for courage. “It’s right there. Unmistakable. His mask.”

“A tattoo perhaps.” The priestess said, a hopeful quaver surrounding her words. “or a ritualized scar?”

Aun’stra’s voice grew hushed, as if she feared to say her own words.“No. It’s a birthmark. Look at it. There’s no other explanation. But how?”

“We should kill her. Rid out house of this abomination. Now, before it corrupts us all.” Panic rose in Url’kach’s voice. “Take her to the altar. Send this creature to Lloth.” There was a loud crack and Url’kach cried out in pain.

“Foolish sister! Hold your tongue” Aun’stra shouted, then her voice dropped to a whisper. “If she is tied to the son by blood or by magic, then she is tied to Lloth herself. We dare not spill her life blood on sacred ground without knowing what this means.”

Url’kach voice dropped as well. “Yes. Yes. If you are right we have something we could use to gain us favor. Don’t you see? We have a tie to Him. We possess something of His. Who knows what she may be worth should the right bargain be reached in the future. She is likely meaningless to Him, but to the Hated One’s followers she could be used as a pawn, bait to lore then into a trap.”

“I don’t want anyone knowing she is our sister. They might think we are tainted too. If we are tied to her filth it could lose us status.” Aun’stra snapped, but kept her voice low. “No. It is best she stay hidden. She is no threat unless we allow her to force us into making rash decisions and mistakes. No one outside of those in this room knows the truth, and even they do not understand the full implication. We will tell out servants the mark is a taint of her father’s crimes. Nothing else. Find a slave child somewhere. Stage a fire, an accident, anything that will mar the body beyond recognition. We will tell the Council the girl is dead. We shall swear every member of this house to silence of the girl's existence. Understood?”

Akor’nolu listened intently to the sisters’ conversation. She suspected they had meant their words to go unheard by anyone but each other, and did not understand how sharp her hearing really was. She did not fully understand the him the sister were talking about, but their fear was unmistakable. It was not really her they feared, but something about this mark. Her they saw as weak. A creature without teeth to rend and tear at her abusers. Akor’nolu swore she would prove to them the folly of this belief. No matter how much time it took, no matter how hard she had to train, she would make them pay for it all.

Zilvaonar · Adventurer Joined: 15 May 2010 Posts: 38

She had not been locked away in some dungeon cell as Akor’nolu had expected she would be. Instead she was left in a small room with no windows with a single small bed and dresser. Sleep did not come easy for the child that night. It was not just her dangerous predicament that disturbed Akor’nolu’s slumber, but the severe burn that throbbed over a fist sized spot behind her right ear. Whatever mark that frightened the house Matrons had been seared away by a heated Llothian blade, according to the priestess that preformed the “cleansing”. Alone for the first time in her young life, Akor’nolu had sobbed herself into an exhausted sleep.

Hunger awakened her the next morning to find the pain in her head was gone. When Akor’nolu reached to touch the spot of the burn she was surprised to find not only was the wound gone, but her hair had grown about an inch overnight. She ran her fingers over the spot and her hand hit a raised area. It was subtle, barely noticeable to anyone without her textile sensitivity, but the shape was there. Strange, Akor’nolu thought, that she had never noticed the shape before when she washed or brushed her hair. It was odd, full of angles and dips, not a shape she recognized by touch.

A young boy brought her breakfast later than morning. He spoke in halting tones, his voice full of fear. She spoke to him in a gentle manor, thanking him for a wonderful meal and inviting him to eat with her. In truth the meal was meager at best, consisting of dry fungus flour biscuits, some mushrooms, and meat she guessed to be rat or some other rodent creature. Even so, she had heard many horrors regarding how male servants of the House of Hun’afin suffered, so she shared what she had. He accepted gratefully.

Later than morning Akor’nolu learned that the house priestess had been tasked with her “reeducation” in the ways of Lloth and the proper behavior of a drow woman. When Priestess Quar’ree arrived for Akor’nolu’s first lesson she was dismayed to find the mark had returned. Once again the girl found herself kneeling at the feet of the house matrons, who demanded to know how she had healed herself. Akor’nolu told the truth. She did not know. Again they tried to remove the mark, this time by cutting the skin and then burning the wound clean. By evening Akor’nolu was back in her room, wincing in pain, her head filled with the priestess’ rambling about the glory of Lloth, and the fate of anyone who dare stand against her.

The one pleasant part of her whole day was that evening when the servant boy returned with her dinner; cave fish, mushrooms in a spicy sauce, and some watered down wine. The boy’s name was Kren’diirn, and he’d been a slave of the house for as long as he could remember. Akor’nolu did not speak much about herself, but Kren’diirn seemed thrilled to have someone interested in what he thought or had to say. He happily chatted away with her about himself and the goings of within the household. He was eleven, so three years her senior, with a great love of sculpting and exploring the lower tunnels.

The two talked well into the late evening, and Akor’nolu found herself thinking about how useful it would be to have a friend who know the under workings of the house as well as he did. As an carefully planned cue she mentioned fearing getting lost in such a big place she did not know well. Kren’diirn promised to take her on a full tour the next chance he got, to be a pair of eyes for her whenever she needed. She did not admit to him what a quick study she was, or how she planned to get to know the house so she did not need another “pair of eyes” at all.

For the next several days every morning the mark grew back, along with the newly healed flesh that contained it. By the end of the week the priestess stopped trying to remove the mark, and in fact after the second regrowth had not told the matrons of its return. Akor’nolu overheard Priestess Quar’ree talking to another woman about how she swore the mark became more visible each time it was cleansed away, and she feared it would be impossible to hide if they continued to try. Each morning as well her Akor’nolu's hair returned, growing an extra inch a day, and by the end of the cleansing attempts the her hair reach down to the nape of her neck.

One morning while Kren’diirn talked about a party he had heard the Matrons were going to in three nights, Akor’nolu ran her fingers over the area behind her ear, and explored the surface of the mark. The priestess had been right. The shape was more pronounced than it had been before, easier for her fingers to read. It still was not a shape she easily recognized, but there was something about it that was distantly familiar.

“They’ve had seamstresses and jewelers coming and going for days now. I don’t know what’s the big deal about this thing, but the Matrons are sure making a fuss about it.”

Akor’nolu smiled. Yes. This was the perfect chance. “They will be gone all evening?”

Kren’diirn chuckled. “If it’s anything like some of the other parties they’ve gone to, I’d be surprised if anyone saw them for days.”

“Perfect. When they leave it should be safe for you to take me on a tour of the house like you said you would.” Akor’nolu leaned toward him. “You still want to be my eyes, to show me the secrets only a master explorer like you would know?”

He agreed wholeheartedly, and while he talked about some of the places they could go to, and some of the things he could teach her about the house, she only really half listened. Akor’nolu’s mind raced with the possibilities. Once she knew the layout of the house it would give her more freedom, freedom to learn the Matrons’ secrets, their weaknesses. Freedom to find whatever proof they had over her father and Irr’yl.

Find it and destroy it.

Zilvaonar · Adventurer Joined: 15 May 2010 Posts: 38

The night of the party came and true to his word Kren’diirn arrived at Akor’nolu’s room for the evenings adventure. He talked about each object they passed, but she let his words play in the background of her mind while Akor’nolu focused on the number of steps from room to room, hall to hall. She asked him details most people might have found strange, but he did not seem bothered in the least. Kren’diirn did mentioned a few times his surprise that she wanted to see all of the house, since much of it he found far too boring for exploration. Akor’nolu didn’t want to leave anything to chance. The better she knew the holdings of her enemies, the more of an advantage she would have.

When they passed the entrance to the catacombs, Akor’nolu insisted she wanted to go in, but her guide seemed hesitant to enter. It was a taboo place for someone of low station, especially a male, a sanctuary for the high rank women of the house to be buried. A place where Kren’diirn’s body and that of those like him would never know the as their final resting place. As he told it there was no man that had ever been buried there, and if a man was caught within the sanctum of the dead their punishment would be severe. At her urging he finally relented and led her inside.

Though those buried within were long passed from this life, the scent of arcane components and taint hung in the air, thick as molasses. Akor’nolu explored the surfaces and wall with her fingers, tracing each carving and rune with careful precision. She wanted to remember this place in detail. Something told her that many secrets were hidden here if one know how to look for them. Names embedded themselves into her memory, women of her mother’s house, matrons and priestess whose glory was long lost from this life, despite the evil they created in an attempt to cling onto their power.

Akor’nolu paused before the newest sarcophagus, tracing the name over and over, a melancholy curiosity stealing over her. Tor’und. Her father spoke often of her, the mother Akor’nolu would never know, the woman her father had hated beyond all others. Sadness pulled at her like a parasite, sucking away the intensity of purpose that had led her to entering the forbidden place. She never should have come here, she told herself, she never should have risked her friend’s safety… Akor’nolu froze as her hands found familiar scrawl etched on the bottom of the sarcophagus. Her father’s style of writing. She was sure of it. She followed the letters one by one, her fingers reading what her eyes could not. Akor’nolu. The dead keep secrets the living must never reveal. Unlock your past and find the answers you seek.

Unlock your past. Akor’nolu considered those words, but before she could even begin to grasp their meaning she heard voices in the hallway outside the cavern. “Kren’diirn,” she whispered in a harsh tone of urgency. “Hide. Now.” She could hear the voices drawing near and new the only way to save him punishment was to give them something else to focus on. With a last longing touch over the message left by her father, Akor’nolu held her head high and walked boldly from the catacombs.

Right into the midst of Priestess Quar’ree and her initiates.

Zilvaonar · Adventurer Joined: 15 May 2010 Posts: 38

“What were you doing in the catacombs?” Priestess Quar’ree asked again, her voice shrill with rage and fear.

Akor’nolu did not answer. The arms around her shoulders tightened from either side of her and the leather whip cut into her back. Six, she counted in her head, keeping her mind focused, detached. She refused to cry out with pain, refused to give them the satisfaction.

“Who took you there.” The priestess demanded. But again, Akor’nolu remained silent.

And again... the whip found its mark. Seven.

Akor’nolu refused to reveal who had helped her find the catacombs or why she was there, so by the count of twenty three the priestess gave up and ordered the girl cast into the “pits”. For three days Akor’nolu sat in a hole dug deep into the ground, shivering from the damp chill. She was given neither food nor water, and by the time the initiates retrieved her from the cell Akor’nolu was half delirious from fever due to her untended wounds.

Priestess Quar’ree ordered the girl bathed and dressed, and soon Akor’nolu was again facing the Matrons. They did not ask about the catacombs. Instead they spent hours questioning about whom her father associated with since he left the House of Hun’afin. What places he frequented, and if he stayed mostly in the underneath lands, or on the surface. Even if Akor’nolu could have answered though her weary sickness, she would have refuse to tell them anything.

“You are pathetic, you know that?” Url’kach snarled. “We give you a place in our glorious home and you defile our trust by sneaking around the sacred tunnels like a thief. You don’t deserve to be our sister. You don’t deserve to be of our kind. You are nothing but a pitiful animal. Look at you, weak and pale, like a sickly cave fish.”

“Then that will be her name. Fil’aufein. Pale Eyes.” Aun’stra said. “It is forbidden for anyone to call this creature by another name. Forbidden for anyone to treat it with any act but disdain and disgust. And if it wishes to behave like a filthy thief or a slave, then it shall live like one. Take it below.”

Zilvaonar · Adventurer Joined: 15 May 2010 Posts: 38

Akor’nolu slipped in and out of consciousness on the journey down to the slaves’ quarters, most of which she was dragged since she had little strength left to walk on her own. She heard voices as she was tossed onto a rough blanket covering a cot, but no one came near her until the initiates were out of the room.

“I need clean cloths and some warm water. See if there’s any witch hazel in the storeroom.” Kren’diirn said. “And broth, wine, anything that is gentle on her stomach.” The shuffling of many feet responded to his stern commands. Gentle hands pulled the scratchy robe from her back and he hissed in sympathy. “Oh, Akor, what did they do to you?”

“You shouldn’t help me,” Her voice sounded so far away to her. “You’ll get in trouble.”

“Hush.” Kren’diirn he said with a gentle tone. “No one pays attention to what goes on down here. They think of this place as punishment, but away from the constant demands and supervision, this is preferable. We have freedom here, at least as much as slaves can.”

Footstops. Voices. Pain as something was poured into the deep cuts in her back. Most of the voices she heard sounded male. In her fever she heard her father’s voice. She remembered…she remembered…

“Akor’nolu?” Kren’diirn said. The words sounded strange to her. Not quite familiar. The voices again and then a soft cloth was placed over her back. Something warm in a cup touched her lips and reflexively Akor’nolu drank.

“The fever is severe.” A man said. “We should call a healer.”

“No.” Came Kren’diirn’s reply. “You have heard the command. No healer will come to her aid. We’ll have to do what we can. It's up to us now.”

For the next few days Akor’nolu slipped in and out of awareness, often unsure of where she was from moment to moment. Kren’diirn and the other slaves tended her night and day, until finally on the eve of the forth day she was able to sit up and eat on her own.

“Why did you help me?” she asked him while she sipped some dark green tea that tasted dreadful but that one of the old men insisted was good for her.

“Because you were kind to me.” Was Kren’diirn’s reply.

“So, why did they help me.” She motioned with a hand toward the room at large.

Kren’diirn chuckled. “Because you were kind to me.”

Akor’nolu returned to drinking her tea, confused by his reply, but too tired to discuss it further. For tonight she would rest and heal. Tomorrow she had questions, and something told her the people here might hold some of the answers.

Zilvaonar · Adventurer Joined: 15 May 2010 Posts: 38

For the first time in days Akor’nolu was able to eat solid foods, and she relished each bite of the day old biscuit, not even bothering to dip it in the plate of honey provided. She took a long drink out of her cup and was surprised to find something thicker within rather than her customary bitter tea. “What is this?”

“Milk from a giant bat.” Kren’diirn replied through mouths of food. “Some of the slaves breed specialized livestock and plant gardens in the lower tunnels to supplement our food rations. Between Dhaun’onim’s gift for farming, and Micar’thrae’s skill in the kitchen, there are times we eat nearly as well as the women above.”

“Plaque Wand? Poison Charmer? Hardly the names that I’d expect of slaves.”

Kren’diirn laughed. “Did you really think the slaves all wear their given names? I was not born Foolish Brother any more than you are Fil’aufein. Those are slave names given to us by the Matrons that hold our chains. We don’t use our slave names around each other, just in the house above.”

Warmth filled Akor’nolu as she realized that by using the real names of the slaves that were his surrogate community, Kren’diirn was saying she was a part of that too, one of them. Accepted. “So, you have another name? Might I know it?”

He was silent for what felt like a long time, and she feared she might have offended him. Just as Akor’nolu was about to take back her request, Kren’diirn answered. “When I was born my mother was very unhappy to find she'd borne a son. As the story is told she bid her servants to take me away so she didn’t have to look at the failure of my father’s blood. The eldest of the slaves say that before my father Alak’diirn was taken to be given to Lloth as punishment for not giving the Matron the third daughter she had wished for, my father named me. Bae’drin.”

Akor’nolu nodded. Fate Stealer. Yes, that was a fine name. She considered the rest of what he had told her and a question formed in her mind. “The Matron. You mean Tor’und? Are the Matrons your sisters?”

“Halfsisters.” He replied. “My father became Matron Tor’und’s lover after their father was given over to the Spider Mother. Micar’thrae told me this was when Dhaun’onim was the house wizard, and he claimed status as an alchemist of some skill within the household. Alak’diirn was a well known swordsman at the time, gained some favor with the royal house. In the end, it wasn’t enough to save him.”

Akor’nolu could hear the bitterness in his voice. She reached out and lay her hand on the back of his. Her friend flinched at the touch but did not pull away. “Then I shall no longer call you Kren’diirn. From now on you are Bae’drin.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.”

“So, is that why the other slaves listen to you, even though you are young?” Akor’nolu asked. “Because of your blood tie to the house?”

“That’s part of the reason.” Bae’drin admitted. “But in truth we’re a family. We’re the cast offs of drow society for the most part, most are those who have fallen out of favor with the matriarchy of their houses. Others? They are captive from the surface, elves and humans who’ve fallen prey to our people.”

“There are elves and humans? Here, in the Below?” She asked, a mix of excited curiosity and disgust in her tone.

“Some.” Bae’drin said. “Those normally don’t last long. Outside of a few exceptions they keep to themselves, away from the drow slaves. It is the loyalty of the slaves to each other that keep us strong, allows us to survive longer than the rest. Those that remain outside of the rest of us, are doomed to an early death.”

Akor’nolu chewed her lower lip in a nervous gesture. “And I am a part of the group?”

“Yes.” Bae’drin turned his hand and squeezed hers. “You are part of us now. Not many drow female attain the lowly rank of slave. You are a bit of a oddity in this place. The older men have been asking about who you are, where you’re from. They say there are rumors…” he paused, and seem to reconsider his words. “I told them not to pester you with too many questions. All that matters is that you are like us now, part of the Below. We take care of each other here.”

For a time Akor’nolu was content getting to know the slaves she now shared a common fate with, but after the first few weeks shut down in the deep Below, she grew restless, the desire to again seek the answer to the message left by her father was a constant nagging thought. Finally she admitted to her friend her forbidden wish.

“I don’t know, Akor. It’s awful risky.” Bae’drin said. “Since our last visit they’ve kept the area around the catacombs guarded by regular patrols. I’d be quite a feat to get past them while they are still on alert. Might be best to wait. I'm not saying what you ask is impossible, we'll just have to carefully plan how to manage it without risking capture. Now that both of us are low caste, either might not survive the punishment being caught there with earn us. ”

Akor’nolu found herself often amazed by the change she saw in her friend here in the sanctuary of the Below. Above, among the nobles and priesthood caste, he was quiet, submissive, often overlooked as being beneath notice. Here, he was confident, clever, full of intelligence and experience. It was men like him the women feared the power of, feared they might steal away the power the Llothians desperately clung to. “I just get the feeling whatever I’m looking for is there in the catacombs. The answer.”

“The answer to what?”

Akor’nolu shrugged. “To everything.”

Zilvaonar · Adventurer Joined: 15 May 2010 Posts: 38

Akor’nolu ran her fingers once again over the letters carved in stone beneath her mother’s resting place, listening closely for Bae’drin’s call of warning. It had been almost three months since she had come to live in the far Below, and even now she knew a great deal more about the other slaves then any of them knew of her, including Bae’drin. She felt guilty at times, keeping secrets from all of them, but even worse would be if those secrets got them hurt, or turned them away from her.

The dead keep secrets the living must never reveal. Unlock your past and find the answers you seek

The dead. Secrets. Her past. Akor’nolu let the back of her head thud several times against a stalactite carved with images of spiders and symbols of the matriarchal power, willing the answer into her mind. What did the words mean? What was he trying to tell her? Akor’nolu banged her fists in frustration onto the lid of the sarcophagus, and was answered by an odd sound. Was that…a whisper. She banged the lid again, and again the distant voice was heard, a sound so low and indistinguishable no one but someone like her could have heard it.

Frantic, she pushed against the heavy lid of the sarcophagus, but it didn’t budge. Again and again she tried to force the container open, but she was too small, her strength undeveloped. “Bae’drin.” She called out in a loud whisper. “I need you.”

It was several minutes before her friends’ footsteps were heard upon the stone floor. “I’m here. Vlon’zyr set an light alarm sat the entrance to warn us if anyone is coming. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“I don’t know.” Akor’nolu admitted. “I think it might be in here, but I’m not sure. I can’t get the lid off.”

There was some noise as Bae’drin searched for something that would help them pry the stone lid away, and after some searching he returned. “This might do the trick. Now, when I give you the signal pushed from the top corner and I will work down beneath. Ready?” At his cue she got her hands in place and braced herself. “Now.”

Slowly the lid slid aside, just enough for her to get her arm in. The contents were dusty and bits crumbled at her tentative touch. She swallowed a cry of glee as her fingers felt a familiar slender rope, soft and delicate, like that her father used to employ when he was teaching her how to map her way using counting and touch. Akor’nolu allowed her search to follow the spidersilk string, knowing now that she’d found what her father had meant her to.

She grimaced as her fingers moved over a rib bone, grazed an arm, but it was not until she reached the indention of her mother’s pelvic bone that she found something that felt promising. It was a package of heavy silk, with something contained within. She gingerly removed the package and held it close to her body. This was from her father, but how? He had not been in this house since the evening of her birth. Had Jar'ffyn really left it for her that long ago, knowing she would come here and find it one day?

“The alarm,” Bae’drin whispered. “We have to go. Quickly.”

She reached inside and snatched the spider silk rope out of the grave, refusing to leave any sign of her father behind for the enemy to find. As Bae’drin slid the lid back into place, Akor’nolu covered the precious cargo with her over shirt and the two scattered back toward the tunnel of the sanctuary below. She could hear Vlon’zyr’s voice, talking to the patrol in a simpering tone, presenting some distraction to assure their successful escape. She would have to repay his quick thinking later, once she’d learned what treasure their risk had birthed.

Back on her cot, Akor’nolu held the package in her lap. The silk covering whatever was inside was warm to the touch, not what she expected from something she pulled from a grave. Bae’drin described the cloth as a dark purple, covered in black runes he did not recognize. She focused, willing herself to see “purple” in her mind. Micar’thrae had tried many times to describe colors to her using Akor’nolu’s other senses as a base for her to understand the foreign concept. If she remembered the lessons correctly, purple was like the way good wine felt soaking into her taste buds, cool and rich. He’d brought her some high grade wine left over after a party the Matrons threw a few nights before, to help her understand the concept. Yes, that felt right.

Akor’nolu drew her fingertip over a section of runes, hesitant to open the wrapping in front of her friend. This felt private, something meant only for her. She knew she was being selfish, but she wanted to seek her answers without prying eyes or questions. Her friend seemed to sense this, for unexpectedly Bae’drin muttered an excuse about needing to help Micar’thrae in the gardens, and left the room.

The stillness told her the sanctuary was clear of anyone but her, so gingerly she pulled the silk away. Layer by layer she peel the covering from the mystery until finally it lay open, waiting. Akor’nolu ran her fingers over the slick leather surface, focusing on the bumps and indentations. For an instant she sat confused, unsure of what the treasure could be and then the shape and a memory clicked within her mind and she gasped. Her fingers moved excitedly to touch the raised mark behind her right ear, and then returned to compare the shape in her lap. When her hand slipped under the object to explore the underneath she finally understood what the shape was.

A mask. It seemed batlike in proportions, each half shaped much like the wing of the giant bat Micar’thrae had taken her to visit in the stables of the lower tunnels. There were ovals of smoothed glass or crystal where the eyes should be, and leather ties on either side to hold it on. Akor’nolu wondered what it felt like to wear such a mask. Had her father warn this? Why had he left the mask for her. What answers could this hold? She found herself more confused than before, her frustration mounting.

Inspiration stuck Akor’nolu and slowly she raised the back of the mask toward her face, waiting expectantly for the coolness of the leather to touch her skin. To her surprise the leather was hot, making her hiss from the shock of it. Despite being startled, she did not take the mask from her face. Laughter filled her ears, not the cruel laughter of the Matrons, not the gentle chuckle of one of her fellow slaves, this was deeper, full of resonance and power.

So, child, you have finally found me. Good. Then lets begin.