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"Evanuris," she offered after a moment of pause to let the question breathe between them, "and it depends on the meal." Some flesh was better tenderized, but there would always be something sweet about the moment that preceded success. Nothing was ever sweeter than those lingering seconds before victory and satiety, if only a few moments could be stretched into eternity, they, however, existed solely in hindsight. It was impossible to know how perfect something was until it was over and behind you, time was fickle like that, the greatest moments of your life were always behind you, even as they passed you by. "So tell me, Prospero," he'd brought Hell into the equation and over the last few months she'd garnered a fair understanding of what this realm perceived as Hell. "have you ever seen it yourself? Hell, I mean."

"That's one hell of a way of putting it." Prospero couldn't remember the last time he'd used his magic without feeling the effects of it soon after. It always felt like he was a second away from losing what little of his own mind he had left. And that could only be a bad thing for him. The last thing he ever wanted was to become everything his mother had tried to shield him from. That wasn't what this conversation was about though. This woman was here for some reason and he would have liked to know why. Other than the obvious curiosity about his so-called gift. "You're right. I don't." His head tilted. "If you wanted to kill me, you would have already. Unless you like to play with your food before you eat it. I'm fine with that, too," he stated as a corner of his mouth curled up in a smirk. "Prospero. And you?"

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"Dear, sweet, daughter of the night, power belongs to those who take it." Evanuris could understand a young devotee's desire to walk along the path of Night, but there were many roads through the Dark. "Lloth cares little for your ascension, so long as you remember to praise her name while you climb; continue to do so and she'll allow you to ascend and ascend." Talks of devotion were all well and good but among the Priesthood they were surface level and Evanuris did wish to delve a little deeper into the breadth of this one's workings. "How much of the mortal realm have you seen?"

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The depths of her cravings would only ever be known to the dark where they have dwelled since she was young, yet her ambitious sentiments seemed to be on display for all to see. Was it something about the way she spoke or did the shadow of her devotions truly glow more intensely than others? Sinbyrn didn't know, nor did it matter because regardless, her rise would only continue so long as her ear was bent towards the Weaver. "There have always been many standing ahead of me, that has been my reality for as long as I remember. Yet in spite of this, more stand behind me than before me now." Or beneath her, but it was in poor taste to speak ill on those she's crushed underfoot. Sinbyrn, for all her viciousness, still had manners. "Lofty ideals do not burden me for my lot is easy. All I need to do is keep faith and follow the path spun before me as I always have. I act in accordance to Lloth's will, and if it is her desire to see me step over others once more then I shall."

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"There are a few words you should learn, Lloth hears our prayers best when we prove ourselves to her. Elliya, Llolthu," Evanuris recited with practiced ease, "you're not expected to learn elvish, it means, 'test me, Lloth.'" There were a dozen rites that the Handmaiden could have reviewed, but one principle would cut Blair above the others, and should the need ever arise demonstrate her allegiance to Lloth's followers who might night recognize the halfblooded as a friend to the Dark. A decanter of infernal wine, black as pitch but sweet as the night was produced from the altar as Evanuris delicately poured the drink into the basin before her. "There Great Goddess, Mother of the Dark, grant me the blood of my enemies for drink and their living hearts for meat. Grant me the screams of their young for song, grant me their helplessness for my enjoyment, grant me the wealth of their houses for my bed. By this unworthy sacrifice, I honor you, Queen of Spiders, and beseech of you the strength to destroy my foes." Evanuris tilted her head towards the sacrament, "Drink, if you're so inclined."

Prayer is something she is terribly familiar with. Done in public with the convent in the vast chapel, done at morning breakfast, before bed, randomly throughout the day. In secret to Tisiphone, Joan of Arc, Persephone, Athena, strong women she read about in books, that she dedicated altar's to all tucked away in the corner of the library. When the nuns had figured whatever was wrong with her wasn't something they could exorcise, they'd turned to futile prayer as if that would somehow erase her demonic heritage. Even before all of that, her mother had worshipped something unholy. She'd long ago told herself that she wouldn't pray to any man, not anymore. But another woman? It feels right standing there before this priestess, in the dimly lit room. Maybe it's the need for stability at the moment, a return to normalcy that is also a step forward that makes her feel like this is a right choice. Slowly, Blair turns her attention from the altar, all of the cobwebs, to the woman who made her feel....Like she mattered somehow, and offers a nod of her head. "I'll do it."

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Evanuris had held Blair's gaze for a time now, and manipulating blood into physical constructs was a rare gift. A sewing needle was generally all Evanuris cared to fight with, stitching enemies together like a macabre seamstress might sew together a gruesome quilt. Still, she used this very needle to open her palm and with a flourish a sword manifested from a sudden rush of the daemonfey's blood that spilled out. "Fascinating," Evanuris commented as she turned the blade with simplistic ease, like a dancer who fell quickly into a step she'd been rehearsing since infancy. "You can solidify it, strengthen it, sharpen it." Evanuris wasn't informing, merely commenting and appraising. The greater the force behind it, the more knowledge of the properties within it, the stronger it would be. "Useful indeed. " The blade dispersed, "There is a place for talented women in Lloth's church; she's a Goddess who rewards the individual and the ambitious. All she asks is you recite her prayer."

It feels a little bit like she's standing her both being riddled and appraised. Not for anything other than ability, something gave her the vibe that this woman cared far more for what she could do than who or what she was. That's something she can understand and without hesitation she reaches inside her jacket and grabs the pocket knife kept there. Nothing fancy, it's simply for utility, but Blair flicks it open and presses the tip of it to the fingers of her left hand. In an actual battle she was picky, but not this delicate. Showing off is different than fighting, it's not something she's gotten to do in a long while.

Knife tucked back into her jacket, she steeples her fingers together, blood gathering at the tips of the fingers of her left hand. And from that blood, she pulls her hands apart and four perfectly formed red needles maybe ten inches in length stretch between her fingers. Exhaling slowly, magic coursing through her, with a little extra help from some telekinesis, she flicks them towards one of the nearby webs one by one. They skewer four threads that she's staring at intensely to the wall only to go from a solid to a liquid as she lowers her hands back to her sides, the blood staining the web. "It's useful." She explains, almost nonchalantly, her focus on the silver of the web that's now crimson.

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People would always do what they wanted. This was true, but such was the beauty of catching a fly in your web; predictable people behaved predictably. The surest way to get anything out of someone was to make them believe it had always been their idea. Evanuris had wandered into a net long ago. This creature she'd become suited her because it served her long-held ambitions. Not so coincidentally, it also served Lloth's. Evanuris's mind wandered briefly toward the night in Lloth's temple; it had been long since she'd felt much of anything for anyone besides herself, her sisters, or her Lady. "And what do you need?"

"So you say," he stated idly, absently, as if his mind were already someplace else. Perhaps he had anticipated that she would have already made quick work of this realm. In some form, or fashion. She did indeed seem like the type. Yet, he hadn't been wrong about her extensive knowledge, as she proceeded to explain of a species similar to his own. It indeed was an intriguing thought, to not have venom within his fangs. Would he have been favorable, to those whose necks he sunk them within? Perhaps to certain individuals. Such as her, though he wondered which she would have preferred. "I find that most people do what they want to do, and some just need a little guidance. But since you're keen on asking so nicely, maybe I'll do what you want me to do." That is, once he knew precisely what he was offered in return. A little venom gifted was hardly any concern to him, after all.

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As ruthless as the drow could be, they weren't without their own hearts. Evanuris would not placate the other's grief, though the rage inspired by it was something of a fascination to her. In The Weaver's web, they all had their parts to play. Araushnee had been a Goddess of prophecy and foretelling, a prodigy of the Graeae, and as the leader of the Dark Seldarine, it made her all the more formidable. Evanuris would never assume to speak Lloth's secret desires, but in her heart, she recognized that her ancient and deified friend would have hoped that Ayi'ig would someday be the vessel she'd call home. What else would the Queen have been conditioned for? Why else would Lloth have helped her for so long? Still, it was the chaotic nature of Evanuris' patron to be consistently misunderstood, so where this thread would lead was ultimately beyond the driver's understanding.

"I began searching for a suitable place when I arrived, spent some time carving away an appropriate antechamber, and slowly but surely converts have found their way here." The creep of Lloth's influence over a domain previously absent of her devotion was intoxicating in its own right. She looked sideways at the man on his knees and saw some humor in the vision of the dragon brought low. Had he no pride? Then again, even Lloth's fellow companions within the Dark Seldarine were made to kneel before their dark leader. "It won't surprise you to hear that people in this realm are desperate to have their ambition acknowledged and rewarded. The fringed find their way into Her web sooner or later." Evanuris and Níðhöggr were astute examples of souls that had been ostracized from a world that didn't understand all that they were, or could have been. "Things are changing once more, Lloth was the first to awaken from her Uthenera with Ayi'ig's appointment, but the others stir too. Eilistraee has already interfered in Lloth's affairs, not once now, but twice; Kiaransalee also turned her mad gaze upon Her web. Vhaeraun, the cutthroat son, is skulking about." Naturally, the Handmaiden had threads laid everywhere, and her spies laden along these silken strands. "Have you felt them?"

An ancient creature who had long dwelt in the confines of the Underdark, Níðhöggr was woefully out of place within the mortal realm. The Otherworld, now overrun with Abyssal creatures offered some familiar resonance, but the dragon soon turned to something that would offer the starkest remembrance towards what his life was currently missing. Clumsy in his anonymity, the dracaenae turned divine never attempted to conceal his presence in this world; the shadows often aided him if ever someone attempted to confine him to this world.

He walked further into the sanctum, taking in each carefully laid out detail, some which replicated the temples deep within the Underdark, and some newly established; a nod to the fresh foothold in this world. Shadows shrouded him, falling over his shoulders as he walked further towards the altar, pausing before it as the dragon noted the iron miasma of dried blood, noted the rust-colored ichor which stained it. A pawn, that was what the Founder had called Ayi'ig and Níðhöggr attempted not to grimace before the statue of Lloth as he was reminded of such comment. She had wrought salvation from the mindless beast he'd become and it was time for Níðhöggr to choose his next step; the Queen would not come to be miraculously resurrected, she'd done her part under Lloth's guidance and the dragon was now alone.

In spirit, not in presence, Evanuris now sweeping forth from the shadows; another creature who found comfort within them. Matching her energy, Níðhöggr was well-versed in the almost petulant pendulum swing of drow politics, he knew when to firmly respect something and when to nudge and agitate, "Some would say I'm more dragon than man." How long had he writhed and wasted away on the shores of Náströnd feasting on the flesh and bones of other oath breakers? This was the part where he'd ease into the customs of respect, he was still a pillar within dark elf society and Lloth was their Goddess; Níðhöggr kneeled. "And how long have you been holding worship?" It seemed the Handmaiden had already found a rhythm within this fresh temple for the spider goddess.

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Where Menzoberranzan had been the gleaming gem of the drow's empire, now this Court amidst the Otherworld had come to replace it. The rigidity of the drow's caste system had been structured in such a way for years now that it did not lend itself to the immersion of other races. In truth, the disease of the spellplague had left the continent far too ravaged to consider things like trade or further conquest. Evanuris had come to understand the motivations of many of the creatures within the Court, what they wanted, and what they'd do to achieve their ends. Vengeance, greater power, and beyond. So long as Nyloth held Lloth's great favor, there was little she had to fear from cloaked assassins or scheming sorcerers, but no one was infallible. "I've no doubt, Mother." The last of the maleblood trickled from the body and Evanuris' eyes gleamed, "Now, let us feast."

The bite of a Myrlochar, something which could permanently sap the strength from the offender, invigorating the spider cleric's of Lloth even further. Where once they razed Underdark communities for nonbelievers, Ayi'ig's society had become so tightly knit they'd found other uses for the Abyssal entities; Nyloth seemed fond of the reminder. Where a dark elf could deflect, shift to Oberon's decree, a Myrlochar was an eternal follower who relished in the violence and destruction that was at the cynosure of drow beliefs. "Ayi'ig often swayed from any influential counseling," it was the only unsavory comment Nyloth would make out of respect for a Queen whose purpose had been fulfilled; as Kthanid's former companion, Nyloth understood the feeling of being cleansed from a society once one no longer served it. Her piety had been wasted on the Elysian gods, on Yidhra and Titania; but the Devout had been salvaged by Lloth and her tenebrous decree; she owed the Weaver her all. "There are few notable enough to adopt the helm, but I will ensure proper preparations are met so you and your Handmaidens can set your sights on other societies in need of your aid." Ayi'ig had stumbled, that much had been clear before her death but as Evanuris backed up the very reality, it became apparent that the Queen had been stumbling for quite some time and her life of royalty and use had come full circle. The ritual had not taken, but it had certainly not been Nyloth's time to ascend; the time would be right when all was corrected in the Underdark and the Devout would will it so for the society she'd reared alongside Ayi'ig and the other original drow.

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In the catacombs below Rome, a new temple to Lloth had been dedicated as Evanuris silently wove her Weaver's will into the foundation beneath the ancient city. It was here that Lloth's foothold would take root in previously unconquered territory, and it was here that the Goddess of spiders' influence over the mortal realm could begin. Naturally, some players needed to be removed; the elves had ostracized themselves from this realm, and the false Gods who previously held dominion over the creatures here had been scattered. The Great Old Ones had been foiled, and in the absence of faith came the vacuum for worship, a need for ambition, and a desire for certainty. Gloriously calculated chaos, it was a privilege to stand amidst it all. The Handmaiden cared very little for platitudes; worship was for the Weaver. "Ambitious," Evanuris remarked, "but many stand in line ahead of you." Order and hierarchy were there for a reason, if Sinbyrn truly wished to ascend she'd have to do so by crawling over the bodies of those who were presently her betters.

who?: @evanurisx where?: somewhere the people are, just want sin to see auntie being auntie ok?

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Sinbyrn had seen members of a house cut down, in fact she'd participated in doing so herself. But she knew that she'd never achieved the same level of grace that was on display for her now. How one could be so vicious and so beautiful was beyond her, but Sinbyrn aspired to reach the level of the drider one day. It was an incredible honor to bear witness to Lloth's will in action like that. "My Lady, that was an impeccable display. I'm quite honored to have seen this message delivered firsthand. Thank you." Sinbyrn knew it wasn't for her, but for anyone who's loyalties wavered. The society they were heading towards had no room for weakness, and she too believed that rot was best cut out before it had a chance to spread. Hearing the pleading of her inferiors cut off by the retribution of a true devotee was a thrill Sinbyrn hoped she'd get to experience more. "To be at your level is a goal I shall achieve for myself. My devotions have always returned potent blessings, but I know that I must stretch my web even further still. Removing dissenters from our ranks is an important step, so I hope I get the chance to do so with your efficiency and skill. I am truly in awe."

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Nurture opposed the nature of her sisters, but Evanuris had a soft spoke for the broken things of this world. The discarded and the disregarded, she wondered if Ayi'ig knew what she had with this one, or if she'd woefully underestimated him. Drow were born into their graces, their fates determined by how their ambition paired with their intellect and talents. It was not Evanuris' intent to soothe Harellan but to reforge him; if one happened to be a byproduct of the other, that could hardly be helped.

"Envision the most powerful person in the world." Evanuris tilted Harellan's chin to lift his gaze from his hands and fix it upon her instead as she spoke, "What does he look like? How does he behave?" She thought about how the hollowborn had suffered and lost, how the nature of all immortals seemed to be put through agony after agony until their shapes were definitively similar. "What will it take to become him. What you do to achieve your goals defines you, your worth, and how this world will come to perceive you. Decide what you want, and don't let anything stand in your way."

Evanuris had never particularly been an open book. Neither was Harellan, but her mind was something that he never quite delved into. He'd never had a reason to for as long as they had known each other. When the hollowborn had first been brought to this court by the now deceased queen, he hadn't really needed to know anyone. He could easily figure out someone's entire life in a matter of seconds. However, that would only make him lose his own thoughts and memories even more. He could take and take and take, but it would always come back to bite him in the ass. So he was careful with who he used his ability on. He was always taking a memory or giving one to someone that would benefit him. That was what Ayi'ig had taught him. After everything that had happened when he was younger, he had to learn quickly who could be trusted and who could not be. And, within the world of the drow, he was always leaning more towards the latter.

That was why he had been reluctant to ever let anyone in. The people he had been told to trust, the woman who had told him he could trust her, had only used him in the end. That was one thing he could trust with Evanuris. She would tell him the truth. Harellan couldn't quite remember a time when she had lied to him. He would be able to tell. Still, she had given him words that would stick with him. She had done more than Ayi'ig ever had. Where the queen had used him for her own goals that had nothing to do with him, Evanuris had done the opposite. He'd never know a time where he actually knew himself. Even when he had been younger, his father had sheltered him from the hollowborn he was because it was easier. Ayi'ig had made him aware of who he was, but she had used him as a weapon to get into the minds of those that she didn't want to bother with herself. Evanuris though? She had no ulterior motives to being here with him. What could she ever need from him? She was just...here. Somehow, that felt like all Harellan ever needed.

His glowing eyes lifted towards her as she stepped into the shadows of his true form. Fear was not something she had and it was not something Harellan wanted for himself either. The ones who had done this to him had been eradicated. Harellan could remember the fear in their eyes, how he had reveled in the feeling of watching the light fade from them. He'd never known himself to be as vicious as that before, but they had made him into a monster so that was what he had become. Turning back now was not in the cards for him and he didn't particularly want to. He'd learned a long time ago that goodness was subjective. He could have been good, but it would never amount to anything. It would never be good enough. In the eyes of anyone who could look at this form and not see beauty like Evanuris did, they would only see a monster. And he would be one. For Harellan, the only person he cared about and the only person he wished to look out for was himself.

The shadows dissipated back into him, shallow breaths leaving his mouth as his gaze met the floor between them. Then it lifted back up to Evanuris. A disgruntled sound left his mouth as he moved to his knees. His eyes fell to his hands. There may not have been blood on them at that exact moment, but they were drenched in red. Brows furrowed, he let out another breath. "I don't know who I'm supposed to be." Half of him was Ranaghar and the other half was some person he had never even met. Part drow and part eladrin. Or elf now, he guessed. "How am I supposed to figure that out?" He still had not looked away from his hands, but he wasn't even sure who he was asking the question to now.

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this is a torch song;

touch me and you’ll b u r n.

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@nidhoggx location: New Temple to Lloth, Roman Catacombs notes: as promised kiss kiss

Delicately laid threads about the catacombs let the drider know of an intruder, though Evanuris would have Níðhöggr's presence from an event greater distance. It wasn't as though the dragon did anything to disguise himself, but as he walked, the silken fibers discreetly pulled taut again in case anyone followed him. In a strange, foreign realm where Evanuris sought to give a distant Goddess something of a foothold, one could not be too careful. She had survived more wars than Evanuris cared to remember and taken the lives of plenty, both in her own name and the Dark Seldarine's.

Evanuris remained in her chambers for a time as her threads alerted her to Níðhöggr's travels as he ventured deeper into the sanctum, seemingly drawn towards its altar. The catacombs were scarcely reminiscent of the Underdark, much less hostile, but Evanuris had taken some delight in bringing forth fauna and beasts that felt more like home. Fungi and lethality, the dark was far more entertaining when it was deadly.

She stepped from the shadows of an alcove and quietly wondered only to herself what might have brought the dragon from whatever cave he'd been slumbering in. "A man's place is on his knees when in front of our Lady's devotion," Evanuris commented playfully as she rounded the statue of the spider, a pendant of her holy symbol draped fluidly across her neck. A small cult was beginning, a meager beginning, but a beginning just the same. Harellan and perhaps Blair among them; it seemed Lloth's message appealed to the outcasted and alienated. "you missed worship." The blood that stained the altar had already dried.

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Evanuris felt her lips tilt at the offer; it was a generous offer but also a familiar one. She took the careful patience necessary to bring the body lower, "Ayi'ig welcomed any man from childhood into her priesthood; naturally, this was a mistake. Devotion from a boy is impossible to discern from their youth, in the last age Lloth permitted their presence after a proving. The Militant Myrlochar, raise one fanatic, and the rest fall in line." Evanuris wouldn't need to explain as much to Nyloth; even as a High Elve, the woman would have known of the dark paladins that led campaigns of udadrow alongside Lloth's priesthood. "Lloth cares very little for who stands at the helm, man, woman: dark, calculated chaos is her wish." Naturally, Evanuris had prejudices, but it was not for her to decide. Evanuris spoke plainly; the Matron had done well to make an example out of her son, but it would not be enough. Two men stood as Nyloth's equal within the triumvirate, a Court of three at the pinnacle of drow society. "It's not only Lloth's gaze that has fallen on this Court, but the entirety of the Underdark and the empire you helped shepherd from a dead, faithless age. What happens here will have far-reaching consequences. It's time for you to consider legacy; you were the bride of a God, and you've led this priesthood for thousands of years. You are the Matron of all Mothers, but surely your ambition doesn't end here. There's a place for you among our order, perhaps even higher, but succession must be secured, and the future of the Courts, however you envision it, will first need to be achieved."

The blood dripped strategically over the molded curves of the altar, something the Devout had seen a million times over, but something that was equally as therapeutic each time the familiar sound echoed subtly into the cavernous temple. Between the two of them, a certain comfort resounded as their paths and will both aligned faithfully to Lloth, trust bloomed as a result, "As staunchly devout as a I am, I foolishly overlooked the necessity of stretching Lloth's influence to this realm." So preoccupied the the drow court, so disinterested in the mortal realm, even the Devout could fare to learn new things when they presented themselves. "I'd hope to be of assistance to you in anyway." A slight bow of her head, she was the matron of all mothers, but it was the Handmaidens and feminine royals of this world she respected deeply; humility could often be vital even in cutthroat udadrow society, it didn't dilute her lethality. Evanuris continued and Nyloth offered a glint of a smile, coy as her eyes followed the pallored body as it was lowered once more upon the slab, "Suitable? There may be none of the sort, but there are those we can come to accept worship from." A small pause at the final question, nodding, "Indulgence in this world is a given, it's fruits are still ripe for our taking, after all." It was certainly new to Nyloth, and it was clear the mortal realm was fresh for Evanuris, too. "I'll be sure to seek out some courtesans I can gift to you, it'd only be a small recompense for all you've done and still have yet to do."

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Evanuris was the twelfth-born daughter of an emperor who thought a daughter's purpose was to marry for alliances; she knew all too well what it felt like to be trapped. "Scathing eyes ask that we be symmetrical, one-sided, and easily processed." Evanuris considered Lloth and the rebellion that had turned into the bloom of her rites, "Yet every misshapen spark's unseen beauty is greater than its would-be judgment." They weren't her words, but Araushnee's, long before the elven daughter ever took on the title of Lloth. Evanuris pivoted, "Show me what you can do."

That's where she was now, she supposed. An escaped fly, free to do what she wanted and yet, morbidly she thinks that she's there in another web. In a way it's different because while she'd stumbled upon this place, she'd chosen to be here. The woman looks at her with this knowing in her eyes and that's a weakness of her own. Back at the convent, she'd been a monster as far as those nuns had been concerned, but there'd been those that came through that gave her the same look. Like they were so curious about her and what she could do, knew she was something more. "And you? Have you ever been trapped?"

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— i sing the body electric, especially when my power’s out. // andrea gibson

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