"If he does, we will deal with him," Calla growls. "Though as Quevven says, we will likely have to deal with him in any regard."
"Keep an eye on the guards he spoke to," Arca cautions.
The Drow Wizard taps his fingers against his belt and grimaces.
"We may have to kill him," he sighs.
Lefrik in his drow form was looking calm and secure. Uncaring as if he were unafraid of feeble threats of intrigue. And that was easy, because in actuality he was focused on NOT being weirded out by the animation of the dead.<P>
"I will try to keep an eye on them," He says simply.
"They will be able to discern who causes his demise, but maybe we play that to our advantage. Certainly no others will be so bold if they know there are consequences for questioning our credentials." Kel feels a strange connection to her early days in getting work at the Golden Goblin, a weird parallel between cultures of less than stellar morales.
"I think we're out of our depth here," Calla says. "If -- no, when -- we're confronted, we say this was an object lesson. Let the rest of the driders know what awaits them should they misbehave. They suffer the harshest consequences, which the House can tolerate because it doesn't ever lose their contributions this way."
There's more to be said, but we're likely being watched even now. We need to move toward our goal while we still can.
A quarter of a turn passed before there was movement in your direction. Slavemother Undamesta was striding in your direction, with the scout and soldier in tow. The offending soldier had a wild look in his eyes, but even the terror you could see there did not completely mask his hatred of you. Behind them was a squad of ten soldiers, in full armor and bows at the ready.
The Slavemother stopped before you, looking you over before moving her eyes to the zombie driders. She hissed in anger, then motioned to the drow behind her. A humming sound filled the air as a dozen arrows, then a dozen more flew into the drider zombies. Within moments, the reanimated corpses were motionless once more on the ground.
The Slavemother turned her glare to Anklebiter, "What excuse do you have for this travesty? Do you deliberately lower the good status of our House by parading undead through city streets? Do you wish to have us known as the lesser copies of House Vegaran, who robs from the corpseyard to eke out its spot at the very bottom of the city hierarchy? You have one chance to convince me why you should keep your head attached to its body."
"We were... belatedly informed that you wished to retain the driders, rather than have them eliminated," Arca replies.
"As they were already dead at that point, my thought was to preserve as much of their utility as I could. I could not return them to life and did not have the time or facilities to turn them into flesh golems, so I did the only thing I could.
My only thought in this was to serve the House, not shame it. I agree that the undead are pathetic, but this was the best I could do with the materials and time available to me at the time. Had we been told before we went to face the driders, I would have taken them alive."
Arca's eyes shift momentarily to Pastheos -- and glitter bright crimson.
"I would dearly love to demonstrate my ability to take a target alive. At length."
Arca squares his shoulders and faces Undamesta.
"I have erred only due to a petty intrigant's measly attempt at intrigue and achieving leverage. I am a skilled and useful agent. You know this, Slavemother. I have not intentionally made trouble for this House or started infighting, I have been obedient, diligent and shared with you the fruits of my labour and studies. I would continue to do so, if you will let me."
"Retain the driders? I do not care about the driders. They ran, they die. Those are teh rules and all know them. They hold for the lowliest goblin to the highest house servitor. Whatever gave you the...ah, Pastheos. Yes, you would try that, would you not?"
Slowly a huge grin split Undamesta's face as she turned to face the fearful soldier. "Indeed, and it was a worthy play indeed. Suitable for one of the Third Daughter's favorites. Gain some leverage, put the newcomers in their places. Yes, a worthy plan indeed."
Again she turned to face Arca. "But, even not knowing the House's rules against necromancy, you can hardly be left unpunished. Rules are learned best when the punishment is swift and certain. Kill him!"
You flinched back, hands going for weapons, but the drow accompanying the Slavemother were faster, and had their weapons already out. A pair of sword ripped into Pastheos' back, and another took his head.
Undamesta smiled eagerly. "That was too quick by far, but the looks on your faces were almost worth it. You see, you may not have known the rules, but Pastheos certainly did. He should have corrected you immediately, rather than tarnish the reputation of this House for his own gain. Still, the earlier statement holds. Ignorance is no excuse. A flogging will instill the lessons learned today. But, I will be lenient. A single lash per lesson will do. For all of them. Take them to the place of punishment and prepare them. I will be there as soon as I change into something more suitable."
Undamesta walked away as the troupe of soldiers advanced on you.
The watch captain of the soldiers saw your hesitation and said, "Resistance to lawful punishment set forth by the Slavemother or any of the House nobles is punishable by death. Death by torture. I suggest you submit, take your punishment as drow, and live to plan your resistance at a later time."
"You know what?" Arca says. "If you want us to respond like proper Drow, then so we shall. Submit my siblings to punishment for something which was not our fault, just so Undamesta can get her daily whipping-jollies? Here is a proper Drow response to that notion."
Arca takes a step back to stand among his family and ... smiles. Except the expression is about as funny as that on a shark, approaching a swimmer at speed. His eyes glitter red.
Waves of dark lethargy ripple outward from the Wizard, touching eight of the soldiers with a feeling of futility and weakness.
Quevven's hand is drifting towards his rapier as the watch captain spoke. At his reminder of the punishment, he narrowed his eyes, looking for any sort of suggestion of a power play at work.
The watch captain appears to be sympathetic to your plight, and is offering good advice. He is also not going to hesitate about doing his assigned duties.
Arca hisses a frustrated sigh, but does hand over his shortsword and daggers.
"A pity he is already dead," the Wizard notes with feeling, glancing at Pastheos' corpse.
Calla grits her teeth and nods her head in acceptance of the punishment.
Kel concedes to the guards, hoping the party survives the lashings.
"Yes, let's get this over with," He strips his chest bare, "Do what you are -required- to do." with an unspoken by clear 'and no more'
The guards grabbed your weapons and carried them, respectfully it seemed, as their captain gestured for you to walk. He took the five of you to a large audience chamber, one which none of you had seen before. The floor of room was sunken about ten feet down from the first row of seating, which surrounded the oval chamber. in all, there were three tiers of seating, the uppermost being almost hidden from the floor of the chamber. The floor was of sand, with a large wooden post set in the middle. Manacles hung from the post on thick chains. More hung from the stone walls about the room.
As you entered, a scarred troglodyte approached, its stench making it hard to breathe. As it reached for Calla, the guard captain held out his hand.
"These are going to the post willingly, under Slavemother Undamesta's instruction. She will see to them personally, and they will not be bound over."
The troglodyte huffed in irritation - disappointment? - and moved to the side.
Moments later, Undamesta appeared, clad in a skintight dark silk suit that looked to be all of one piece. The outfit showed off every curve of her well-proportioned body, and the sensual nature of it clashed horribly with the look of bloodlust in her eyes as she played with the nine-tailed lash in her hands.
She motioned, and the captain indicated that Calla was to strip to the waist and go forward.
Looking around, you see that the seats have suddenly filled with drow, from the lowest servitors to the highest levels of the nobles. How the seats could have filled so quickly with so little sound, you did not know.
Undamesta indicated that Calla was to grasp the post as she detailed the punishment.
"Let it be known that House Vonnarc will not be made mock of, even within its own walls - especially within its own walls. Necromancy in the city is forbidden this House, yet these five have practiced it, parading zombies through the city as if they were the lowest of House Vegaran necromancers! The only reason they are not yet dead is that Pastheos, to whom they were given over to perform a task, allowed it to happen without informing them of the House Rules. Let this day's punishment be a lesson for all here. The House Rules exist to strengthen House Vonnarc and to keep us in the high place of honor that we are accustomed to . Violators of the Rules will be punished, and ignorance is no excuse. He who unknowingly violates the Rules and brings the House's status into question is guilty. He who knowingly brings the House's status into question will be killed, by torture or by expedience."
"These have stated they will undergo their punishment willingly, for the good of the House, and thus, will receive the lightest sentence. One stroke for their ignorance. One stroke for performing public necromancy. And one stroke for their foolishness in allowing Pastheos to goad them into unwise action."
She paused for another moment, then grinning a seductive smile at Calla.
"And two strokes because they seriously considered putting up a fight before submitting to their just punishment."
She shook out the cat o' nine tails and swung it through the air. It gave an evil hiss as it flashed in, then struck Calla's bare back with a snap of leather on flesh.
The five strokes were given with unholy zeal, a gleam in Undamesta's eye, and every throat in the chamber chanting the count. Calla finched with every blow, but did her best to not cry out. When the five lashes were done, she took the tunic offered her by teh soldier captain, and stepped back to the others.
Then it was Anklebiter's turn, followed by Bruendor, Lefrik, and finally Kelendra. By the time they were done, all five were bleeding and sagging from the wounds torn open on their backs.
Slavemother Undamesta gave you instructions that you were not to use any form of magical healing on the wounds for at least a day cycle "that you might take the lessons to heart", and then you were sent on your way back to your rooms, where you found all of your gear returned in neat piles.
Calla takes 25 damage
Anklebiter takes 21 damage
Bruendor takes 23 damage
Lefrik takes 23 damage
Kelendra takes 27 damage
calla
anklebiter
bruendor
lefrik
kelendra
Calla grits her teeth but bares the pain of the lashes. She stands proudly -- caring little about her nakedness, especially in this strange body -- to show her strength as the blood drips down her back before finally putting her tunic back on.
"Now what?" she growls once the five are back in their room.
Staryth makes a note of the strokes of the pain, and the insults. His jaw is set grimly, and he does his best not to cry out.
when it is done, he rises.
And goes with the others, taking up the rear of the walk should someone try for another strike against the backs of the others- he would take it instead.
"Now what?" she growls once the five are back in their room.
"First, we check to be sure we're not being spied upon," He says looking about
One thing dominates Kel's thoughts as she endures the pain. Vegan Necromancers? This entire race is insane!
Arca grits his teeth while he is being whipped, and maintains silence to the best of his ability. He even stays silent while the group is returning to their quarters, but once the door has closed behind them, his face just seems to.... crumple.
"I am sorry," the Goblin-turned-Drow whispers, his voice hoarse and cracked. "I have failed you all. You are closer to me than my own blood, and I.... Sorry. So sorry."
The Wizard staggers over to a corner of their quarters, takes off his shirt, exposing the seeping, weeping wounds administered by Undamesta, and pulls out a sheet of parchment. Having propped the sheet up against the wall, Arca - Anklebiter goes to his knees and runs two fingers through the blood running down his back. And he draws on the paper.
A dripping leaf, sign of Gozreh.
An Osirian mask with male features.
A feminine mask with a rune on its forehead.
"Gozreh does not forgive such things as I have done for nothing," Anklebiter whispers, his eyes distant, staring -- and dripping tears. "I will have to seek out his/her priests. But I do offer this apology.
Nethys allows almost all magic, this we know. He would not understand why I regret what I have done. He will not help because to him, I have done no wrong. But I say to him that this magic felt wrong to me, like a perversion of my craft, and beg for guidance so I may keep my art pure.
It is to you, Lady Brigh, to be my scourge, my cleansing crucible. Hear me. I have forged pot metal. I have blended filth. I have stained my hands with bad labour. I have crafted broken things. And so doing, I have harmed my friends. Whisper in the Bronze, I have made what I knew to be bad work, and felt it stain my soul. Help me. Help me...."
The Goblin-turned-Drow lowers his head to the floor and starts to whisper what sounds like prayers in his native language, his body wracked with periodic sobs.
Calla and Lefrik spent a good few minutes attempting to ensure that there was no one spying on them, before discussing future plans. As they did, Anklebiter made his obeisance to his gods.
Calla purses her lips as she listens to Anklebiter's prayers.
She walks over and whispers, "Don't forget the Savored Sting. It is she who will give you vengeance for what you have been forced to do."
Turning back to her companions, she says more loudly, "We need some sort of plan. We are out of our depths here and simply making misstep after misstep."
Quevven simply endures the thrashing, the cat tearing flesh from his back in ragged, bloody slashes. He briefly thinks about offering some sort of obsequious remark to the Slavemistress, but decides against it, reasoning that it would likely just give him another lash for speaking out of turn. He too remains silent all the way back to their shared quarters.
"You did what you thought best at the time, Arca," he says in reply. "As loathsome as the magics you used were, it was the only option you saw forward in the position we were put in. We're all going to do things we'd rather not here. May the gods have mercy on our souls for the damnable work we do."
He sits down on the bed, removing his tunic as well, wincing as new pain shoots through his back as the bloody cloth sticks to the fresh wounds. "We might be denied magical healing, but I'll be damned if this gets infected. Kel, can you help bind this?"
He nods in agreement with Calla. "You're right, we're getting nowhere fast. What do we know, and what do we think we can leverage?"
Arca - Anklebiter - gradually finishes his prayers and sits up, face still wet with tears.
"The boy they have me working for is weaker than I am, but he knows the spells I have access to - in my book. He knows nothing of what is in Nolveniss' book. We might be able to subdue him, seduce him, or perhaps incriminate him, now we know necromancy is forbidden here.
There is that illicit affair going on. We might capitalize on that, if we can figure out a way to get at the ones having it.
And" -- Arca's voice turns to steel and his eyes blaze bright red -- "there is Undamesta. If that captain's attitude is anything to go by, she does not have universal approval. Perhaps we could subvert her to move ahead. As long as I am sinning, I would REALLY like to aim it in her direction. I have a spell fit to charm monsters. I would like to use it on her."
He is sympathetic to Anklebitter's laments, and his friend's frustrations, "Surface elves are resistant to charms I hear, would dark ones be any more vulnerable?" He thinks, "We are assuming there is a list of rules...but this is a society built on evil. there is no pursuit of true justice here. Just the lie of it to give false hope that can lead more to despair. We must bear that in mind. Who is over Undamesta? It is she we must impress, she we must bring 'evidence' of Undamesta's failings too. Even if we must concoct that evidence." An admission "this will allow us to progress up their twisted ladder and get closer to influence of this house so we can take down the House that is the greater threat to the surface elves." A scowl, "How, I'm not sure. Like many of you, I feel illsuited for this mission, but we are all the sun elves have, all the world above has. What choice beyond trying and trying until we win...or die?"
Kel tends to the party's wounds with a healer's touch, never calling upon magic as decreed.
"We need a course of action, the longer we delay the more trouble will come our way."
You spent the rest of the day plotting your next courses of actions and trying to ignore the pain from the suppurating wounds in your backs. In the morning, a banging on the door to your room heralded a House slave with a message. There were only two lines on the note he bore, besides the signature.
Heal yourselves, and dress appropriately for an interview with the House Nobles.Meet me at the mid-morning bells in the main hall.
-Undamesta
Calla growls, but prepares herself once Kel does something about their wounds.
"You," Arca says, catching the slave before he can leave. "Bring us clothes appropriate for just such a meeting. Our own is more functional than decorous," he adds with a half-sneer. "Hop to it!"
"Finally," Quevven says with a brutal smile. "Our usefulness is being noticed."
Kel provides healing to her companions after the allotted time of suffering has passed.
He grabs his axe. "Bring the note with us, if it turns to be false, we will kill the forger and receive a reward for it"
Calla stops the slave and eyes him closely.
"This note came from Slavemother Undamesta herself?"
The goblin slave stammered, "Y-y-yes mistress. I got the letter from the Slavemother's own hands. I don't know if we have any formal wear available, but I'll go check."
The goblin scampered off before anyone could say anything else.
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He glances at Ankebitter, he can feel the anger in his friend at the abundance of goblin slaves. Frankly, it troubles Lefrik. A year ago, he'd have not even considered the goblin's lives of much worth, let alone their freedom. It's not something he's proud of. Yet his friend is exceptional, other goblins... they haven't earned his trust. Still, he'll help his friend when the time comes even if it's to help the goblins. That much has been more than earned... Lefrik , son of Oleg...died while wearing dark elf skin trying to free goblin slaves. Oh that'll get a laugh at the lodges.
Arca glances at Staryth -- and for a moment, Anklebiter looks into Lefrik's eyes and grins without humour.
"Something else to think about," he says, cryptically. "Let's ready ourselves for the worst possible thing. Yesterday a whipping and today a meeting with nobles? This could go any of a number of ways."
The longer they stay in the city, the more ashamed Kel feels for her distant relatives. Even half blooded, and that of the surface elves, her ancestry shares a common core to this abusive culture. "Let's hope opportunity shows itself at the meeting, and let's seek it out if it remains hidden."
"Indeed," Calla agrees, with a nod.
Before the group departs, Arca uses Prestidigitation and Mending to make them presentable, just in case the Goblin slave cannot find any formal wear.
Startyh is happy for the cleaning/mending and goes on when they are ready
The goblin slave soon returned with simple, but clean clothing and bade you dress quickly, for the time of meeting was fast approaching.
You arrived at the appointed time to find Slavemother Undamesta waiting. She looked you up and down with an disapproving eye, then nodded. "Very well. You look like you took a little initiative. That bodes well. In all my years, I have never set foot in the First Daughter's tower, nor have I heard of any slave that has. I have no idea why First Daughter Alicavniss has demanded your presence, but I swear to all the dark unholy ones that if you disgrace yourselves, I will flay every inch of skin from your bodies."
Anklebiter had heard of the Tower Solacas. Raised by the first archmage of House Vonnarc, the spire of spell-shaped stone and glistening crystal rose above the rest of the House. Within, the most promising of the House scions - markedly excluding Anklebiter's current "superior", which likely led directly to the man's attitude - trained in the wizardly arts at the feet of well-established mages.
Undamesta led you to the tower, but seemed perturbed that her House sigil was not sufficient to gain access. Her knock at the door was greeted at once by a drow noble in the robes of an apprentice wizard. The drow thanked Undamesta for her service, and then bade her begone. The tone was one of indifference, rather than malice, which seemed to make the Slavemother puff up with fury even more. With a final glare at you, Undamesta stalked off.
The apprentice bade you be seated on the couches in the lobby of the main floor of the tower, with instructions to remain so until someone came for you. Any trespass into the tower without a guide would, he explained, result in immediate death.
In passing, Arca hisses/barks a soft query at the Goblin slave -
The Wizard does not verbally respond to Undamesta, but a brief smile does ghost across his lips when she is sent off in a huff.
As the group sits waiting, he says in a quiet voice: "This tower was raised up by the House's first Archmage. It is the place where the most promising students are taught. Wandering about unsupervised might land us on a laboratory table."
Quevven nods in agreement to Arca's assessment. "This is reconnaissance right now, nothing more. Keep your eyes peeled for signs of where we might want to explore at a later date." He's silent for a moment, thinking of how the last few days have gone. "Unless it all goes pear-shaped. Then we do what we always do - make it up as we go along."