#writing: aurellyn wives

[iironwreath]

Nether [Vierna]

[cw: drug use, vomiting at the end, cult behaviour, spiders]

“The Spider Queen wishes to see you.”

Vierna had the pad of her foot on the floor when Athalia shrouded the doorway. Her voice and expression were mostly flat, marked with the barest shade of derision—Vierna almost didn’t understand. Athalia said it like it was mundane.

The Spider Queen wanted to see her? When she lived in her temple, under her many eyes? Vierna’s head throbbed.

Nepenthe swaggered in after, her gaze thrown over her shoulder and grinning at someone she’d exchanged greetings with. Where Athalia was all poised and narrow, Nepenthe was broad and expanded to fill the space, bracing a shoulder against the doorframe as she swung that easy smile on Vierna. She wasn’t in her armour, instead wearing comfortable clothes that covered her to the wrists, her pale hair pouring loose over one side of her head.

“Follow me,” Athalia instructed, snapping her fingers thrice like she was waking Vierna from another trance. “Nepenthe will help you.” She pivoted, the click of her heels following her like a second set of footsteps.

Nepenthe crossed the room. Vierna felt more ambushed than gracefully awakened—she didn’t have time to brush her hair or dress, forced out of bed in a simple shift. She counted herself lucky to slip on her shoes. She wondered if Athalia did this on purpose as a means to throw her off-guard or if she was just waiting for Vierna to wake up and didn’t have the patience for touch-ups.

It must have shown on her face, because Nepenthe said, “This is the highest honour, so it’s best not to keep her waiting. We’re going further down, but there’s no lift for it.”

Vierna and Nepenthe spoke like Vierna had no choice, at least not one that left her looking respectable. She doubted they would drag her kicking and screaming to—wherever it was—but refusing would have amounted to sacrilege.

The fog in her mind made talking feel like she was speaking around a mouthful of ooze, anyway. The only reason she could think semi-clearly was Athalia’s greater restoration and Lolth’s presence chipping away at Tharizdun’s efficacy.

Why had she accepted Dumaran’s help at all, if not to lean into Lolth? Was the voice of dissent her own, or planted by the Chained Oblivion?

She accepted Nepenthe’s elbow. Nepenthe hoisted her to her feet and they set off after Athalia, who waited beyond the ambulatory in front of one of the chapel alcoves. Tal’dorei’s refugees were housed in the Heart of Malice cathedral until they figured out who responded best to treatment and could be moved to different lodging.  

Athalia vanished into the stone, the alcove wall hiding her from the civilians trickling in and out of the nave. Vierna started, but Nepenthe tugged her arm. They proceeded through an illusory wall.

They descended a spiral staircase into what must have been the crypt. The ceiling bore down on them, more foreboding, and the crystals were spread further apart, creating a blend of lavender hue and monochrome. Vierna thought this was where she would converse with Lolth, but Athalia led them further, yanking a wall candelabra down on a hinge with a crack. A section to its left ground open, leaving an arched void with more plunging darkness beyond.

Of course. Lolth was a master of deceit—it could never be anything but a labyrinth. Vierna was her own vault of secrets; she never faulted Lolth for it, only saw her as intelligent and doing as she should, a goddess to take example from.

There were no proper stairs, only an uneven stone path on an incline. Vierna began to sweat between Nepenthe’s body and the closed air pressing in on her. It was claustrophobic after the high, vaulting spaces of Dumaran and the cathedral. Nepenthe offered to carry her on her back, but Vierna shook her head—each step strengthened her resolve. Her ankle was sore, sure, but her exhaustion was much deeper than that.

Some interminable time later, after a handful of twists and stretches, the tunnel opened. A church—less grand than the Heart of Malice, almost modest by comparison—waited at the end, set into the rock. They entered through a set of double doors.

Inside was more intimate than the cathedral. The architecture was similar, but shorter. On the far wall was an effigy of Lolth, cut in sharp, flattering shapes. The spider legs of her lower half extended from the wall and curved above a circular pool in the ground. Red gemstones sat in the place of her eyes and decorated her neckline and crown like drops of blood. She looked at ease in her power, eyes half-lidded and mouth drawn in an elegant smile, one of her humanoid arms resting over her chest while the other ascended.

Athalia crossed to a wooden table set against one of the aisle pillars. There were sundry items—ceremonial daggers, vials, a mortar and pestle, sheaves of dried herbs. Nepenthe followed, but casually, allowing Vierna to catch her breath and absorb the temple.

“It works best if you undress,” Athalia said without facing them, voice still a deadpan. Did she have any other tone? She poured from a decanter into a hand-sized bowl and turned to Vierna. “You’re to drink this, then lie in the pool face-up. It’s not deep. You won’t sink.”

She passed the bowl. A murky mud-brown liquid filled it halfway. Vierna lifted it to her nose—she couldn’t place the scent, but it smelled as appetizing as it looked, somewhere between sour and tart. It could have been poisonous.

“What—”

“A broth,” Athalia interrupted.

“From?”

“Bones,” Athalia said, approaching irritation. Vierna couldn’t tell if she was mocking her or not.

“No need to be curt, Athalia,” Nepenthe chided, but sounded amused. “I don’t think Vierna is asking because she won’t drink it, but because she’s curious.”

It was half-true, but Vierna wasn’t going to argue semantics if it got Athalia to explain. She couldn’t do it well, besides, through sign or voice.

Athalia sighed, shoulders dropping. “It’s a mixture of broth made from demon bones and some tea made from mushrooms we grow in the city. It has a tranquilizing effect—it will help open your mind and facilitate a connection.”

So not poison, then, but Vierna hadn’t thought to try anything from a demon because it might have acted like a toxin regardless. When they died, their ichor resembled the unending shadows of the Chained Oblivion. All the same in death. Maybe she should have—maybe she could have used it to her advantage. Maybe—

Moot now. Pointless, too-late ideas.

Vierna didn’t strip, but cupped the bowl in both hands and closed her eyes. The air quivered, plucked, like Lolth lurked in the hidden recesses and Vierna had landed on her web. Did she ever leave?

She sipped the broth first, sputtered, then asserted herself and quaffed it in a few short gulps. It burned, though not to the point of pain. It shifted into a tingling bordering on numbing, warming as it slid down her throat and branched across her chest.

She stepped over to the pool, backing out of her shoes. The water—if it was that—was an impenetrable black. She dipped a toe past the lip. It was the same temperature as her, lukewarm, and had a consistency slightly thicker than water. She eased her feet in. It was ankle-deep, with a shallow dip in the center that might have gone part way up her shins at best.

She lowered herself onto her hip. The broth affected her balance, putting torpor in her limbs—the room had smudged at the edges like charcoal—so she gripped the outer rim of the pool. It looked like she was being swallowed, no longer able to make out her lower half. Nepenthe and Athalia knelt on either side of her.

“Lie down,” Athalia said, more gently now. “Spread your arms and legs.”

Vierna did. It would have been easy to float—her body was weightless—but she refused to let go of the edge, her fingers hooked. If she let go, she would fall, and she didn’t know how far or what waited at the bottom.

“Let go,” Nepenthe urged, her voice a whisper. 

Vierna lowered the back of her head into the liquid. The second she did, the noise from the room was snuffed. Underwater had sound, but even that was gone—no burble of bubbles or murmur of the flow against her ears. Her chemise and hair eddied around her.

She released the edge. It didn’t feel like she was in water, but suspended in air. She wasn’t falling at all.

Nepenthe and Athalia faded from view. The rutilant gems in Lolth’s effigy were the last thing she saw, burning at a low glow. The stone spider-legs wrapping the pool above her were like an embrace—or a cage. She couldn’t decide which.

She wondered if this was what it was like to die without pain, the only way she had ever wanted to die.

—

Losing consciousness had been a lazy drift down a river, but she came to with a jolt like she’d been dropped in a glacial-fed lake. She was lying on cold, hard rock. There was no difference between her eyes being open or closed, so much that she was frightened she’d gone blind. The darkness was absolute. It reminded her of parts of Ruhn-Shak, ruins consumed by writhing shadows. Maybe she had never left after all and the Chained Oblivion was toying with her. Maybe Dumaran was a place of non-existent hope she’d dreamt up out of desperation.

She had her body, though. She groped her way onto her hands and knees. Gradually, silhouettes appeared in the gloom. A cavern gaped around her, the ceiling far out of sight. Pendulous strings of web arced between each other and the walls like banners, noticeable only by the pearly sheen whenever they caught an unseen source of light.

There was a massive entrance—exit?—both in front and behind her. She had no sense of how deep she was; she could have been in any tunnel in the Underdark. No—she’d gone beyond the Underdark and entered the Abyss itself. She was in the Dreadnest.

“Oh, Vierna. My heart sings to see you.”

Vierna snapped her head in the direction of the voice—because it did have direction, coming from the maw of the cave in front of her. A set of eyes opened, the same carmine-red she had passed out under. Then a second. And third. And fourth. Column-thick spider-legs unfurled from the hole, and Lolth emerged.

Vierna had always been tall for a drow, but she was utterly cowed by Lolth. In simple terms, she was a drider—a black spider below the waist with a woman’s body riding on top. Except in addition to her spider appendages, eight humanoid arms branched out of an extended torso. She was layered in a chitinous armour and topped with a heavy, jagged crown. Bone-white hair drifted endlessly into the darkness, seeming to join with her webs.

Vierna felt like her eyes deceived her, but she didn’t want to rub them. Staring without blinking, Lolth’s proportions seemed a little too long, a facsimile of humanity. There were darts of movement on her armour—spiders that, for Lolth, were small, but must have been the size of Vierna’s head. There were an untold amount of eyes on her.

Lolth beamed as she approached, her canines a set of thin, lengthy fangs. Her lips were peeled back over her teeth—it wasn’t a welcoming smile, but a possessive, predatory one. Vierna was frozen to the spot.  

“Come, now,” Lolth cooed, and two middle arms reached for her, plucking Vierna off the floor and setting her on her feet. She didn’t let go straight away, helping Vierna find her balance. Vierna was too stunned to resist. “Poor thing, that’s better.”

Her voice wasn’t what Vierna expected. It was befitting of a queen, regal and mellifluous, wafting to her sweetly and wrapping around her like a shawl of silk. She could see it being as intoxicating as wine, meant to win her over in slow swallows rather than all at once. But then, what had she expected?

Lolth dusted off Vierna’s shift with two other hands and then another took a tress of Vierna’s blanched hair, letting it cascade through her fingers. “Your hair used to be dark, didn’t it? And your magic so much more potent.” All hands left at once, but her face blocked the space in front of her in a sudden snarl. Her eight eyes made it difficult to focus, like Vierna’s vision had quadrupled. “Tharizdun will pay for what its done.”

Vierna croaked, then clutched her throat. The words were still clogged up there.

“Hmm.” One of Lolth’s primary hands came to hover in front of Vierna’s throat. A tapered nail strummed at an unseen tension. She tugged, and something snapped—Vierna gasped, words rushing in.

“Is this real?” she panted.

Lolth chuckled, and it echoed above and behind Vierna, skittering away. The webs and Lolth’s hair shivered around them. “I’m very real. But this—“ she flicked a set of fingers to her den, “—is only real insofar as visions are. You’re not truly in the Dreadnest. I’ve woven this space in your mind as an in-between. You opened the door—I stepped inside.”

Vierna wondered if a simple yes or no would have sufficed.

Lolth’s chuckle raised into a cackle that made Vierna jump. “Oh, but you know things are rarely that simple! A yes or no wouldn’t have satisfied you. Don’t pretend I don’t know you, Vierna.”

So none of her thoughts were private and belonged to her here. Lolth’s smile endured, as if agreeing, but it was logical—Vierna submitted herself to her. They were connected.

“Why did you wish to see me?” Vierna asked.

Lolth drew away. “To help you, my sweet. I despise the Chained Oblivion—I take hope through you that not all is lost. Where the Luxon conceals my children in a light I cannot see into, the Chained Oblivion does the same with a darkness I cannot penetrate. I should be the ruler of darkness, I was banished from the surface—and yet.”

There was a quivering anger under her words that spoke of a loathing that was as ancient and immortal as she was.

“Am I cured, then?” Vierna ventured.

Lolth gave a slow shake of her head. “Not fully. I've done more than a greater restoration can do, but I can still see the Chained Oblivion’s…mark, in you. But you’re where you belong, closer to me; the more time passes here, the more its influence will erode. You will be yourself again.”

“Will I?” Doubt clouded her voice.

“I've been watching you for longer than you know, Vierna.” Lolth’s hands clasped in front of her, then expanded, and like a cat’s cradle strung to her fingers, a web formed between them. “I can trace your bloodline back—families are webs to me as much as they are trees to others.” Little flecks filed along the strands, in and out, expanding and spiralling. “You’ve travelled so very far. You have always struck first. You’re accomplished; where others would squander their gift of magic, you use creativity and resilience to not just survive, but elevate yourself. My Children of Malice need that.”

She closed the web with a booming clap. “I see an auspicious future for you, Vierna. I want to help you get closer to it, to who you’re meant to be.”

“I—” Vierna swallowed, clutching the words, hoping to make them stick. It wasn’t lost on her what Lolth’s blessing meant, how many would have killed for it in Tal’dorei. Above all, she was grateful to be closer to being free of Tharizdun. She bowed her head. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Lolth leaned in again and tipped Vierna’s face up. The back of another hand caressed her cheek. Lolth’s skin was marble smooth, but her knuckles were bony and her touch was chilly. “I cannot stay—occupying your mind puts stress on the body. But fear not, for I’m never far, and we’ll speak again.”

Two fingers closed her eyes.

Vierna thrashed awake, flinging water. She tasted salt, then bile as she bent over and vomited violently onto the cobblestone. It was a torrent of black goo and whatever broth she’d consumed before. She heaved until she was empty and nothing but spittle and acid drooled out—it was then she noticed someone rubbing soft circles into her back, and another keeping wet hair away from her face. The palm between her shoulder blades belonged to Nepenthe, thicker, and the one holding her hair was Athalia.

Lolth was right—she wasn’t fully free, and would likely never be the same again, but it felt like several more fingers had been prised from the hand around her throat.

“Welcome home, sister,” Athalia whispered.

[iironwreath]

Silence [Nepenthe]

[context: the gilded thorns had a brief encounter with a weakened avatar of lolth and her clerics & paladins ended up losing their powers for about two months b/c we fucked up her plans]

Nepenthe wasn’t in Dumaran when it happened, but in the aftermath, she could have imagined what it was like: a fortress falling to its knees, crying out as one.

It was like having a vital organ wrenched away from her. There was blinding, deafening pain, and no part of her was spared. Nepenthe didn’t remember falling, but she was on the ground, writhing as a scream ripped out of her throat. In almost four centuries, Nepenthe had never known agony like it.

The pain didn’t let her down gently—it rolled away from her like a stone down a cliff, picking up speed before it slowed to a halt, broken apart and smaller than before. She hadn’t passed out, but she wished she had—her nerves twitched in shock like she’d been struck by lightning. A swift death would have been kinder.

Her armour weighed twice as much, pinning her to the floor. She gulped in air, her throat raw and her lungs feeling half their size. Someone laid a hand on her arm and she struck out wildly at them, snarling.

Directed at her: “Nepenthe, Nepenthe—“ Then, aimed up: “What is happening to them?”

She wanted to tear off her armour and lay on the cool, sweet earth. Her world returned in inches. They were underground—on their way to intercept one of the Dynasty’s little contingencies that “spread the word” of the Luxon to neighbouring communities. She focused on that—how she’d planned to imbibe Lolth’s blood, revel in her might, and slaughter them for her Queen.

The blood. Lolth’s blood. She found the will to sit up, supported by one of the hobgoblins. The floor trembled as a few others ran between the people who had collapsed, including Arjun.

She fumbled for one of her vials and laid it in her shaking hand. Lolth’s blood, usually a lustrous silver, had faded to the dull, flat grey of old iron.

Its pull was gone. Wine, reduced to water.

She dropped it and tugged the cord of her holy symbol at her hip. The acid-green gemstones of the spider had lost their clarity. Rust had infected the limbs and it looked brittle enough for a child to crumple in their fist.

Her dread mounted. She tried to cast a basic spell—a cure wounds. Nothing happened. She tried another—a holy shield. Nothing. Another, this time not a spell, but spreading the fingers of her divine sense. Her awareness stayed firmly within herself. She had called into the dark and only her voice echoed back.

Nepenthe had not known true silence since she lived on the surface, before Dumaran. Even when the world around her was silent, she had always had a reliable connection to Lolth, creating music and song in her blood, waxing as Nepenthe's power grew. Without her as her bulwark, she was stumbling into empty air.

Who was she, without her?

“To Dumaran,” she growled, stroking her neck. “We’re going back to Dumaran.”

[iironwreath]

Brood [Nepenthe]

[takes place during and a bit after ‘nether’]

In the pool, Vierna’s eyelids fluttered and danced, and her lips had softly parted. Nepenthe didn’t dare touch her. She and Athalia remained kneeling, switching to balance their weight evenly on their knees in supplication. Athalia watched as closely as Nepenthe, but with an added intensity, like she could listen in if she strained her ears hard enough.

“Do you think Lolth will ask to speak with all of them?” Nepenthe asked.

Athalia didn’t glance up. “I won’t claim to know what the Spider Queen wants for our new brood. We’ll have to see.” Nepenthe thought that was the end of it, but Athalia added, “But if I had to guess, I think the answer is no.”

Vierna awoke flailing, then lunged to the side of the pool to retch. Athalia quickly snatched her hair away from her face and Nepenthe laid a hand between her shoulder blades, smoothing circles into the soaked shift. 

When the vomiting ceased, Athalia leaned by her ear. “Welcome home, sister.” 

“The bones,” Vierna coughed. “How did you get demon bones? They turn into—” Her eyes flicked to the slester between her hands. 

Athalia and Nepenthe stared at each other. Nepenthe grinned wide.

Athalia cleared her throat. “They were gifted to us by demons who are alive. Glabrezu. Sometimes others.”

Vierna gave a minuscule nod. She slumped sideways into Nepenthe, who wrapped her in her arms. 

“Grab her a blanket,” Nepenthe whispered to Athalia. “Some water, too.”

Athalia shot to her feet and hurried off.

[iironwreath]

Sooth [Nepenthe]

“You’re picking at your food, bluebell,” Nepenthe said.

Azul blinked, coming to. Her spoon was perilously close to slipping from her fingers. “Huh?”

Nepenthe gestured to Azul’s bowl—she’d prepared her favourite surface dish, a stew made from mushrooms and the boiled spit of a horizonback turtle. The mushrooms were easy to come by and plentiful, but horizonback turtles cost a leg to import, with Dumaran being so removed from the surface. Azul normally savoured it, but she’d been pushing chunks of mushroom around since Nepenthe had served her.

Vierna sat across from Nepenthe and their daughter made up the head of the table, creating the three sides of a triangle. Vierna paused as well, laying her spoon aside.

“Something on your mind?” Nepenthe asked. “I can get you something else if you don’t want it.”

“Oh, I—“ Azul scooped a spoonful of broth and let it drip back into the bowl. “You know how Sister Athalia has an aunt? Do I have any extended family? Aunts or uncles? Grandparents?”

Nepenthe’s gaze flicked to her wife. Vierna’s lips thinned.

“The Children of Malice is our family,” Nepenthe said, unsure how much to divulge. While answers could sate, they could also beget more questions and Nepenthe didn’t want Azul to go searching. “Blood relations aren’t everything.”

“I know that, but I’m just curious, because if they were living here, I’d know about them already, right?”

Nepenthe slowly lowered her silverware, her appetite withering. “I can’t speak for your mother, but in sooth, you do have aunts, uncles, and grandparents on my side. They live on the surface.”

“Oh? Where?”

Nepenthe crushed her molars together, anger flaring—not at her daughter, but the memory of her family and how they’d wrenched away from each other. “I can tell you, bluebell, but you have to promise me not to seek them out without understanding the risks. They worship the Luxon.”

A collective shudder passed over the table.

Azul quickly shook her head. “I promise. That means it’s a place to avoid, right?”

“Not exactly. It’s the Many Hosts of Igrathad. It’s not that they’re all bad, it’s just that my family fell victim to the Dynasty’s proselytizing. Not everyone in Igrathad did.” Her family was unique—most of the townspeople had no interest in the Luxon or the Dynasty's affairs.

Nepenthe didn’t often ruminate about where she would be if her family hadn’t thrown themselves at the Luxon. She liked to think she still would have ended up by Lolth’s side, but her path to the Spider Queen was partially paved by her personal vendetta against the Dynasty.

Azul nodded, intent now, bracing against the table.

“My family was quite large. So, you have grandparents and four aunts and uncles on my side, if they’re alive.” 

“Each?”

“No, altogether. Two aunts, two uncles.” Nepenthe gave Vierna another glance, her feelings kindling warmer, with hope. “Maybe it’s not too late to give them a visit and see if they’d be interested in joining our side.”

Vierna's expression wrinkled. “I would say it depends on what’s happened since you left.”

“It’s been some time,” Nepenthe agreed. She smiled at Azul. “I’ll keep them in mind next I’m on the surface, if I have the time. But remember, you don’t need them when your real family is here.”

Azul swung her gaze onto her mother, bright-eyed and expectant. “What about you, mother?”

Vierna twitched, a shadow passing over her face. Nepenthe watched her chew over what to share, like she had—sorting through the memories that inevitably floated up.

“I wouldn’t spare them your thoughts, love,” Vierna said coolly. She picked up her spoon. “I doubt any of them are left alive.”

[iironwreath]

Keloid [Vierna]

Vierna helped Nepenthe remove her armour when she returned to Dumaran. It had started from a place of intimacy, but now, Vierna wanted to catalogue changes to her wife’s body. Each fighter who used Lolth’s blood had unique experiences. With the others it was a matter of pragmatism and collecting raw, empirical data—with Nepenthe, it was rooted in concern, pointing her towards her next target like a compass.

Nepenthe allowed her this without comment or complaint. It didn’t feel like she was indulging Vierna so much as she understood Vierna and her need to do it.

Nepenthe sat in front of her, all of her hard, layered plates removed. Vierna unlooped the knots of Nepenthe’s arming jacket, sliding it off from behind and baring Nepenthe’s arms and torso to the chamber. Her hair was still swept up in a ponytail, and Vierna thumbed the short, crisp hairs at the back of her neck. She hung the garment and returned to her inspection.

Her memory of Nepenthe’s body was both mental and physical. Vierna would always run her fingers over Nepenthe’s tattoos, tracing refined muscle and ink. There was comfort in familiarity, the worn-in, but something distracted her—there was a new scar at the peak of her right deltoid. She set her fingers at the top of it. It was a pale, thin river, raised into a faint keloid. It flowed down and vanished into her tattoos.

“What is this from?” Vierna asked, sharper than she meant. She was protective—angry that someone could have landed a blow. Nepenthe’s pauldrons generally shielded her from harm.

Nepenthe hummed, turning her head but stopping part way. “Is it symmetrical?”

Vierna leaned left. Her blood went cold, dread cutting into her like broken shards of ice. She traced a twin scar. Nepenthe could have checked, sounded like she knew the answer from her question, but had chosen to let Vierna find it.

“Yes.”

“Might be chitin,” Nepenthe said. “I can’t see my bare shoulders while I’m in my armour, and that’s the only time I’m really a drider, but I’ve felt more…fortified, than usual. I think it was itchy, but there are a lot of sensations happening and I’m more focused on fighting.”

Chitin that disappeared when she reverted to her humanoid form, then, like the added rows of eyes on her forehead. Vierna smoothed her palms across Nepenthe’s skin, focusing on her upper back and the outside of her arms. They were naked to the eye on the tattoos, but her skin was raised in more fine lines like a field of hills. There was a pattern to them, something that, put together, would have looked elegant and purposeful rather than haphazard.

“Chitin,” Vierna repeated, squeezing Nepenthe’s traps for balance. She wished she knew more driders who had made the change permanent—or had their bodies. But driders were unpredictable, in her experience. 

Back in Tal’dorei, nobody would have blinked if she’d asked for a dead one to study. In Dumaran, they were considered esteemed, even if they did guard Lolth’s blood from them. A request like that likely wouldn’t be met with any enthusiasm.

Maybe if they killed one out of necessity, then gave them to her…

Nepenthe cupped the top of Vierna’s wrists and drew her arms over her shoulders, folding Vierna into an embrace of her. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like them?”

Vierna stiffened, despite Nepenthe’s touch. She pressed her chest to her back, hoping to sponge up some of Nepenthe’s confidence and nonchalance. “Your scars have always made you handsome, but they do remind me that you’re infallible. They’re inflicted by someone wanting to do you harm.”

“Not these,” Nepenthe said. “These are different. Good, even; chitin protects. Nobody’s inflicted them on me.”

Lolth has, Vierna thought, unbidden. Or I have.

[iironwreath]

Wanted [Vierna]

Vierna had never felt rain before. 

By living inside Dumaran, she and Nepenthe forfeit knowing what the weather would be like without word passed from the guards posted at the surface. It was prone to vagary, she realized. The weather could harm her as much as anything else, but not out of malevolence. It just acted as it was, dictated by the moons, the planet’s position relative to the sun, the winds, sometimes magic or where the gods or primordials had touched the ground—all forces with no intent. It charmed her.

Nepenthe took her to their usual spot, a less heavily guarded entrance further up the mountain that gazed out over the fortress walls. Two hobgoblins there retreated further in and sat as Nepenthe and Vierna approached.

The sky was a slate grey and fog crept up the hills. The Vermaloc Wood, with its thick, red-hued canopy, shuddered like a rolling fire. The pattering sound of the rain over the dirt paths drowned out the usual chitters of spiders and hiss of wind.

Nepenthe waited with her under the mouth of the cave as Vierna stuck out a hand. The rain kissed her skin in clear drops, cool but not cold, different from the water that dripped from cavern ceilings and ran off cliffs from streams. The rain itself looked thin and sharp, but it didn’t fall quickly enough to sting.

Before Nepenthe, Vierna had also never seen the resplendence of the night sky, clouds, and sunshine. The sun she could live without, but the sky was never the same twice. She preferred the consistency of living underground and knowing what to expect from her surroundings, but her visits to the surface were healthy and played a role in untangling the mess Tharizdun had left her with. 

“It crystallizes when it freezes, you know, turns into something called snow,” Nepenthe explained, also sticking out a hand. It made a tinny sound against her gauntlets. “It covers everything in white. I think I prefer rain to snow, beautiful as it is. Snow makes everything too bright and too quiet.”

“Did it snow at the Many Hosts?”

Nepenthe nodded, gesturing vaguely at the scenery. “It’s further west than south of here.”

Vierna stepped out from under the shelter. She didn’t go far, just enough to submerge herself fully. She hadn’t known whether to expect unease or bliss, but she experienced neither. It was refreshing, cleansing, and she was wet in short order, her hair and dress forming to her skin and reducing her to her smallest size. 

“Careful,” Nepenthe warned, but sounded more amused than worried. “You could get sick if you stay in wet clothes.”

“I can dry myself after.”

“Oh, good. That means you can dry me, too.” Nepenthe followed before Vierna could protest. The water streaked over her plate armour, leaving her shining like a beetle’s carapace. She removed her helmet and smiled at the sky. Her lipstick held firm, but her eye makeup began forming smoky rivulets down her cheeks.

“Pits,” Vierna swore, touching her own cheek. When she withdrew her hand, black-tinted water and clumped mascara sat on her fingertips. Nepenthe wore a modest amount of makeup compared to her; she must’ve looked ridiculous. “Magic can’t replace this.”

Nepenthe beamed at her. “You still look beautiful, if you’re worried.”

“I—” Vierna cleared her throat, face warming in spite of her overall temperature dropping. She moved her cane into two hands. “I was more concerned about presentation, I suppose. If I’m dry but my makeup is gone, I look—tired. I look less intimidating.”

“Ah.” Even if Nepenthe was honest about herself, she could understand outward appearances. She understood the purpose of deception and taking steps to avoid being taken advantage of. Nepenthe rubbed her chin, walking closer. “I don’t agree that you look less intimidating, but it’s important to feel sure of yourself.”

“Well,” Vierna said awkwardly. “Thank you. Your confidence has meaning; you’re a hard woman to intimidate.”

Nepenthe laughed, her whole upper body jostling with it. “You don’t intimidate me, Vierna, but I know what intimidates others.”

Vierna cracked a smile. “That you do.”

Nepenthe drifted into her personal sphere of space, dropping her voice. ”Would it be welcome,” she broached, “if I kissed you?”

Vierna stalled. The question wasn’t unexpected—she had noticed Nepenthe’s attention.

Originally Nepenthe had shown her around and explained Dumaran to her, but it progressed, Nepenthe going beyond her call of duty to spend time with her because she enjoyed it, not because it was required. She had revealed the wonders of a world Vierna had never known. From the beginning, Nepenthe had been her saviour, the hand guiding her out of a devouring darkness. Magic had helped, broken the core chain Tharizdun had collared her with, but most of the heavy lifting had been Nepenthe, Nepenthe, Nepenthe.  

Vierna had spent a lot of time convinced she couldn’t be loved after Tharizdun—from Lolth, from others. She had thought herself tainted, filled with grease that could never be wiped clean.

“You want to kiss me?” she asked, hardly audible. 

Nepenthe raised an eyebrow. “Why else would I ask?”

“No, I mean—” She gave a clipped sigh. “You want to kiss me.”

Nepenthe’s eyes widened. “You don’t think so poorly of yourself, do you?”

“It’s not that I think I’m incapable or unattractive. It’s…” She turned her head, allowing the barest slouch. “I’ve been touched by the Chained Oblivion. You could have someone…closer to home. Better for you, more of a match.”

“I don’t want someone else. Vierna, look at me.” Nepenthe curled her fingers under Vierna’s, tracing her thumb along the swerve of her knuckles. Vierna didn’t want to comply on principle, but Nepenthe was always persuasive. Vierna normally shied away from natural light, but Nepenthe’s eyes were bright in a way that soothed—she met her gaze. “You’re as sharp as they come, so I can’t fault you for complicating things, but it’s really much simpler. Do you feel for me the way I feel for you?”

Vierna flushed. Nepenthe had wiles perfectly suited to get past her defenses. Her straightforward way of thinking was an arrow that cut through the noise and clutter in her mind.

“I—yes.”

"Then 'better for me' be damned. I decide who's a match for me." Nepenthe smiled. “So I’ll ask again: would it be welcome if I kissed you?”

Vierna closed her eyes, swallowing hard. If she was going to accept Nepenthe this way, she had to accept her own vulnerabilities. She couldn’t control everything, and that was okay—welcome, even, because Nepenthe would keep her safe.

“Yes. It would.”

“Keep your eyes closed.”

Nepenthe’s hand exited hers, but those fingers found her jaw instead, the soft padding under the armour stroking from ear to chin. It wasn’t skin, but it was her hand. If they’d come this far, then there would be kisses without Nepenthe’s armour.  

The thought lit a fire in her chest and set her heart racing faster. Nepenthe’s lips met hers, moist with rainwater, kissing her lightly. 

Vierna was stiff at first, unused to kissing or relaxing. The two seemed like they paired together. She had never had an active romantic life in Tal’Dorei—too paranoid. Not for lack of want, but she’d always operated under the logic of ‘the closer someone got to you, the shorter the knife they’d need.’ Even letting women into her bed was rare, and they were never allowed to stay and trance. The closest person she’d ever gotten to was—

Well, she was as dead as the rest. Vierna had rules, but those rules didn’t mean a damn thing in Xhorhas, where so much was different. 

Nepenthe was patient, fingers tracing in reverse along Vierna’s jaw. She relaxed, lower teeth separating from her upper teeth. Vierna leaned into it, moving her lips to catalogue the texture of Nepenthe’s—not chapped, but not perfectly smooth, either, just faintly ridged. She remembered Nepenthe’s piercings and sought a little lower, parting her mouth so her bottom lip could brush their edge. They were cool, slick from—

Nepenthe drew back, grinning wide. “Oh ho, you do want me.” 

Vierna glared. “Yes. I just established that.” She was closer than she realized, curved forward over Nepenthe. Nepenthe looked smug, like she knew exactly how difficult it was to woo someone like Vierna, simultaneously triumphant and cherishing what she’d received. Had it been anyone else, Vierna might have wanted to slap them for being insufferable.

“It’s nice to be wanted,” Nepenthe said, expression softening, “isn’t it?”

“It depends on who wants you.”

Nepenthe hovered a hand over her waist, seeking permission. Vierna moved her hip so they connected. This time, Vierna didn’t tense. This time, she initiated the kiss, cupping Nepenthe’s face. In the distance, thunder growled.

[iironwreath]

Moribund [Nepenthe]

moribund: adjective. (of a person) at the point of death.

Nepenthe understood the necessity of withholding the truth. She didn’t like to deceive her daughter, but there were truths that couldn’t be told in full for her protection. Sensitive information was a weapon, and any weapon brought to a fight was one that could be used against you. Secrets had a habit of slipping away—the fewer people knew, the less likely they were to reach ears they weren’t meant to reach. Azul wasn’t old or strong enough to carry that responsibility.

But Nepenthe also couldn’t leave saying nothing. She had to try.

She knocked on Azul’s door. A muffled “come in” sounded and Nepenthe slipped inside. Azul was tucked into bed, but had a single lantern lit at her side and a book spread in her lap. She didn’t need the flame to read; it was more for colour and ambiance, spilling warm light in a room decorated with cool purples, blues, and silvers. Cookie crouched in the crevice between the far wall and ceiling, tracking Nepenthe as she moved to the bed, otherwise still as death.

“Hi,” Azul greeted, closing the book and setting it beside the lantern. “Been a while since you said goodnight. I missed you.”

Nepenthe sat by Azul’s hip. “I’m sorry, bluebell, we’ve been busy. We never forget, we just haven’t had time.”

“I know. It’s okay.”

Nepenthe chewed her piercing from inside her lip, considering. Vierna would’ve had a hundred and one variations on what to say and how to say it, but ultimately decided it was for Nepenthe to broach. Vierna could phrase it as tactfully as she liked, but her delivery was often clinical and dispassionate even if she felt the opposite. Azul knew how to feel Vierna’s warmth, but Vierna was the reason Nepenthe was in line to become a drider. Vierna felt responsible, she had said, and worried about Azul’s resentment if Nepenthe died.

Nepenthe tried to assure her that their shared grief should bring them closer together, but they had talked in circles, never reaching a conclusion beyond ‘just do it.’ 

“You know how I’m doing something important tomorrow, right?” Nepenthe asked slowly.

“Right,” Azul confirmed, waiting.

“I don’t know if we’ve conveyed the actual gravity of it.” Nepenthe figured a direct approach would work with her daughter when she could reinforce it with patience and compassion. “What I’m doing is very dangerous. It could kill me.”

Azul frowned, the words not quite landing. “What?”

“I’m saying what we’re doing tomorrow may kill me,” Nepenthe repeated. “It’s a possibility, that’s all. Not a guarantee.”

“What? No. Mom—”

Nepenthe held up a hand. “But every time I leave, my death is always a possibility, so this isn’t so different from normal.”

“But—you don’t warn me the same way when you leave, so this is different.” Azul ricocheted between expressions; she had the dawning look of someone who’d never had to think of a parent’s death with any sort of tangibility before. She stared down at her hands, covers clenched into folds in her fists. “Why are you telling me this now? I had no idea.”

Nepenthe shook her head. “Our reasons won’t satisfy you, but we didn’t want to worry or distract you, above all.”

“But now I will worry. Why can’t I be there?”

“I've already told you, it’s not safe. Your life is too precious.”

“If it’s as dangerous as you say out there, then leaving the house poses the same risk. Leaving Dumaran would.”

“You’re capable enough to defend yourself outside of Dumaran, and safe inside it.” This wasn’t strictly true, either—there were dangerous parts of Dumaran, but they were off-limits to youth and adults alike; they weren’t even allowed to know those dangers existed to keep them from prying. It was no different from warning your child away from a cliff’s edge or too-deep water. Curiosity was natural, so keeping people unaware never gave it room to seed and they could live as normal. “This kind of danger isn’t commonly found. I won’t risk it.”

Azul’s shoulders hitched, tears glinting in her eyes as they caught the light. “I don’t—I don’t want to accept it.”

Nepenthe reached for her, guiding her into her arms and cradling her head. “You don’t have to accept it, but it won’t change whatever happens.” She pet her hair, imbuing as much love and confidence as she could into her touch. If there was something that would keep her holding onto life tomorrow beyond Lolth and her own strength, it was the promise of seeing her wife and daughter again.

Azul cried into her chest. Nepenthe rocked her.

—

Four hours later, plus the time it took Nepenthe and her family to get ready, Azul and Cookie met them at the front doors. There were deep blue half-moons under Azul’s eyes. Her eyelids were swollen and her complexion was wan. Vierna stroked Azul’s cheek with her thumb, saying nothing, before she stepped outside.

Nepenthe couldn’t help a bittersweet smile. Azul had Vierna’s height, but she had Nepenthe’s eyes, her hair, her structure—she was a warrior with divine magic rather than one who wielded spellbooks. If Nepenthe succumbed to madness or died to Vierna’s antidote, this was Nepenthe’s last time seeing her as much as it was Azul’s. She always looked on her daughter with pride, but it peaked in that moment, singing under her skin.

Azul lurched forward, crashing into her with a hug. “Don’t go,” she whispered. “I still need you.”

“Your mother will protect you, too.”

Azul squeezed her fiercely. Nepenthe thought she might cry again, but her voice sounded dry and wrung out. “Not like that.”

Nepenthe stroked the back of her neck. “I know, I know. With time, Azul, I think you’ll be even stronger than me. You make me proud.” She gently pried Azul away from her but kept hold of her upper arms. Azul folded over on herself. “I’ll be fighting the same as I always do, so have faith in me, and faith in Lolth. If all goes according to plan, I’ll be home for supper.”

Azul tried to smile, but all that came out was a grim line that thinned her lips. Nepenthe brushed aside Azul’s bangs to plant a kiss on her forehead. She relished it.

She did come home, but she came back changed.

[iironwreath]

Verklempt [Vierna]

Arjun came running at the sound of shattered glass. Vierna half expected Azul to show up behind him since they’d been training but he was, gratefully, alone. She didn’t want her daughter to see her this way. She couldn’t let Nepenthe, either.

“Vierna?” he asked. His gaze fell to the entrails of her toppled test tubes, flasks, beakers, and their liquid. Some popped and sizzled on the stone, others changed colour—there was even a spilled line of Lolth’s blood shivering in the crystal light. She could spy it immediately not just because of its unique consistency, but its subtle call to her. 

The way Nepenthe described its effect didn’t match what Vierna felt, though—for her it was subdued, like it didn’t want to fully commit to her. It either wanted someone physically stronger, or the Chained Oblivion had diluted any chance of a full, unbroken connection she could have had with Lolth. 

She towered over it all, heaving, nails cutting into her palms, ready to pull her hair from her roots. She’d redirected that energy at the lab equipment instead. 

“What is it?” Arjun prodded when she didn’t answer to her name. 

“What’s not to get?” she asked hotly.   

He shrugged at the mess. “I’ve never seen you destroy your equipment before. I can’t think of what could make you lose your temper.” He pointed at the trickle of Lolth’s blood following the shape of the crevices between stones. “That might even be considered a crime.”

Vierna scoffed. He wasn’t wrong, but he also wouldn’t tattle. Some drow—driders, mostly—would have happily licked it off the ground. Would Nepenthe? The thought of her wife drove a fresh stake of anger through her chest. 

“It’s useless,” she spat. “Give me a thousand years, and I’ll still never be able to fully unravel the secrets of Lolth’s blood.”

His brows fell flat over his eyes. He stepped lightly on the broken glass to reach her; it crunched like gravel, grinding her nerves into powder. “Vierna? Explain.”

“I can’t make a cure,” she claimed, a note of desperation creeping in. “Not a proper, permanent one. Lolth is a goddess. She can never be understood, and so my solutions will always be imperfect. I sometimes wonder if the reason it even partially works is because Lolth allowed it. She gave her blessing for my tests, but she never specified if they would fully work. Wouldn’t she enjoy it? She enjoys pain on behalf of devotion to her. Nothing proves loyalty quite like it.”

“Don’t say that. You’ve come this far, I don’t see why you can’t. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”

She sliced a hand through the air. “I don’t care if you believe that, it won’t make it true. Once her blood is consumed, it alters you forever. You become close to Lolth in a way that can’t be undone; she’s part of you, and you her. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve already lost Nepenthe.”

“But you haven’t,” Arjun argued. “You can’t give up on her like that. She’s important to me, too, Vierna. To Azul, to a lot of us.” One corner of his nose creased upwards. “And if she ends up closer with Lolth, how is that bad? That’s not lost.”

“The version we know of her would be,” Vierna clarified, but she realized how she sounded; doubtful, weak-willed in her belief of Lolth. In Dumaran, that was nearly as dangerous as her experiment. “She would have to leave Dumaran. You see how she’s changed physically, and it’s affecting her mentally. She’s in—some kind of pain when she’s not a drider, always thirsty. Not giving into that does damage to her psyche over time.”

Arjun thumbed his holy symbol, a sharp-limbed, bejewelled spider sitting on his collar that was identical to Nepenthe’s. “Maybe that’s a more perfect form? She understands something we never could.”

Vierna wanted to scream; that was part of what infuriated her. She didn’t like being in the dark. She agreed; maybe driders were meant to be just that, and not somewhere in the grey between drow and monster. “You’re not wrong. All I know is I don’t want that outcome, but it’s already too late. All of this is mitigation, nothing more.”

Arjun took hold of her upper arms, squeezing. “If that’s your goal, don’t give in to despair. You’re afraid and angry because you love her deeply. Use that, let it be your strength and your motivation.”

Vierna felt brittle, ossified and ready to crumble. Arjun’s grip held her upright. “Precipatory fear is still fear, Arjun. All of this is too new; I don’t know the rate of acceleration, I don’t know how much time is on the clock I’m working against. I feel like I’m grieving every day.”

“All the more reason to keep trying. I refuse to give up hope, but if it's as useless as you claim, then appreciate the time you’ve had with her, and will have. Celebrate. You are making a difference whether you agree or not.”

She bit back tears, leaning her head against his chest to hide her watery eyes. “I was confiding in you. Don’t tell Nepenthe any of what I’ve shared.” Azul, too, but he knew that; she had no idea what Nepenthe turned into, what went on in Vierna’s lab. 

“She doesn’t need to know,” Arjun agreed. “She has pride in who—and what—she is. I don’t know that she sees herself as something to be cured. She worries for you. No matter what happens, she loves and appreciates you.”

Vierna didn’t know if that made her feel better or worse. She didn’t know that anyone here, her wife included, would understand her point of view. Arjun was wise and a physical comfort, but he had known Nepenthe longer than Vierna. He was on Nepenthe’s side. He revered Lolth unconditionally; Lolth was their first love before Vierna had entered their lives. Maybe she was being selfish the more she tried to hold onto her.  

Azul would understand, perhaps. She was the closest to understanding by not having the full truth. Vierna wasn’t certain what depth Azul stood in her faith with Lolth—whether it was ankle-deep, waist-high, or like her wife, an oceans-worth of water above her head. Would knowing that Nepenthe became a drider make Azul feel more secure? Less? Her lack of insight made her question things—would having an answer ruin that?

More questions she wouldn’t have answers to because Azul wasn’t allowed to know. Not yet; there was the distant, very-real chance that her daughter would join her wife among the chosen who drank Lolth’s blood and then suffered her palliative remedy. 

She burned. If she couldn’t save her wife, then she had to forge ahead for her daughter. No matter the size of the chance, she had to.

Vierna drew away, drying her eyes and retrieving her cane from its alcove in the desk. “Thank you. I’ll clean this up. You should return to Azul before she gets curious.”

Arjun held up a hand. “Let me; you should take a break and eat. Azul will be curious regardless.”

Food and tea didn’t sound unappealing; they’d probably help. “I have magic.”

He wiggled his fingers. “I have gloves.”

“Fine. You can help, but I'm not leaving.”

[iironwreath]

Argent [Nepenthe]

Arjun led Nepenthe down a complicated warren of tunnels. Anytime she thought she had a grasp on how deep Dumaran went, they led her further in, expanding the map of her mind. The more she invested in Lolth and trusted in them, the more they trusted her. 

After pledging herself to Lolth and receiving her blessing of divine power, Arjun had told her it was time to show her something—their greatest, most prized asset, and part of why they had settled in the Penumbra Range. 

The tunnel gaped into a wide, open cavern and they stepped onto a small outcrop overlooking the area. Damp, earthy smell gave way to something iron-like she felt on her tongue. A few sentry towers lined what appeared to be an underground lake. It wasn’t a usual lake—its surface was argent, completely smooth, more viscous than water. It shimmered like polished metal, free of any colour or reflections. She covered her mouth.

Hobgoblin sentinels were posted along the shoreside, facing any tunnel mouths. With them were ashen-skinned behemoths with thick, rope-like muscles. They had bone-white manes and four distended arms—two thicker on top, two thinner ones below, all ending in claws that could rip armour to ribbons. She sucked a breath in through her teeth. Draegloths. There weren’t any drow except her.

The air had a heavy, sacrosanct quality to it—even with the patrols, the cave was bereft of acoustics, swallowing up sound instead of amplifying it. It wasn’t much blood by Lolth’s standards, but it was more than the full amount in Nepenthe’s body and everybody else around combined. It was magnificent. 

The pool called to her, snagging her on a reel as fine but strong as web. Tiny legs of sensation skittered up her spine, ending at her ears in a quiet but insistent ringing and indistinct whispers in a soft, maternal voice. She shook her head, but they availed. The longer she looked, the drier her mouth got, the more parched she felt. If she could just drink it, then the longing would end. 

Arjun looked at her sideways, sympathetic.

“You hear it?” he asked. 

She focused on his voice—the whispering fell away, becoming docile. She kept her voice low. “Is that what that is?” 

He nodded. “It’s not so bad in smaller doses, but it’s intense here. Drow are called to it, so we can’t let them guard it for their own good. We don’t even show it to most of the city. We tried to drink it, but it kills us.”

“And there are pools like this around the world?”

“Yes. Wherever you find driders, you'll probably find a pool. As far as I know, we’re the only ones that guard one, but I think trying to explore all of the Underdark is about as fruitful as trying to explore every corner of the ocean.” He laid a mentorly hand on her shoulder. “Now that you know it’s here, if you ever feel lost, literally or figuratively, you can follow its call and it will bring you home.”

Nepenthe smiled wryly. “I won’t end up at another random pool?”

“Maybe. There’s a finite amount—I feel like you know which one will be yours. Don’t you agree?”

She stared at the pool. It continued to entice her with the promise of a warm embrace, encasing her heart in burning devotion. “I do. Thank you for showing me.”

[iironwreath]

Heal [Nepenthe]

The teams rested in shifts, maintaining a steady and inexorable momentum. They had three carts—guards who tranced did so on the frontmost cart while those awake walked alongside or steered the diatryma. The half-dozen refugees from Tal’dorei were seated or supine on their second cart. The third carried provisions, laden with enough to keep them fed for a gruelling amount of time. They could restock at the surface, but only at night and not altogether.

It seemed a long way to travel for six people, but Nepenthe would have counted even one a success—it was one fewer follower for the Luxon and one more sibling reunited with the Spider Queen. It didn’t have to end with them, either—the head matron could send more teams, if she thought it was worthwhile. Ruhn-Shak wasn’t the only drow city in Tal’dorei.

But, it also made sense to look closer to home and save the resources. Her interest seemed more about thwarting the Kryn than helping their own.

They kept a careful vigil on them, watching for signs of lucidity or aggression. They’d had to knock out two of them in those instances, but most of the time, they seemed like hollowed out people who hadn't had the full ick of Tharizdun replace them yet. They kept a wide berth between each other and their rescuers, wincing at unheard sounds and voices. Anytime they were given food, they scarfed it down messily without savouring it. Some of them were catatonic, unable to sit up.

Nepenthe and her team were troubled, unsure what to do or say to them. Their job was to bring them home, not rehabilitate them on the way. That was for their stronger clerics and arcanists. They had read up on what to expect, but that only got them so far. She hoped, with distance, they would show the first signs of improvement. 

The woman Nepenthe had ferried out on her shoulders sat near the back. She had slept sloped to one side for almost a full day, but while awake, stared vacantly at the cavern walls crawling by. Every so often, she chewed on the skin around her nails or rubbed her leg.

Nepenthe hastened to walk behind her, her clanking armour joining the gentle clicking of wheels and talons through tunnel. 

“Do you want me to have a look at that?” she asked. “I might be able to heal it.”

The woman narrowed her eyes.

“You don’t strike me as the type to go down without a fight,” Nepenthe said. “So I think on some level, you trust us.”

She said nothing, nose crinkling. Nepenthe hummed, then motioned her hands in an undercommon sign language as she spoke. Not a perfect translation, but: ���Do you understand me?”

The woman’s eyes lit up. She nodded: yes. Nepenthe grinned, relieved it was universal and not unique to Wildemount. In the underdark, communicating noiselessly wasn’t just smart, it was necessary for survival. That it spanned oceans amazed her. Drow always were stronger as a united front.

She continued: “You can hear, right?”

Another nod.

Asking why she spoke with fractured words seemed stupid when Tharizdun was right there for the blame, so instead she asked: “Can I look at your foot?” Her hands hovered. “Don’t make me say please, please.”

She conceded with a sigh, offering her leg. Nepenthe hopped up onto the back of the cart, her own legs dangling, delicately transferring the woman’s ankle into her lap. She shed her helmet and gauntlets and palpated oh-so carefully along the joint with her bare skin, searching for abnormalities.

“A malunion,” she clicked. “You have a break that healed, but your bones weren’t lined up properly.”

“Obviously,” she scoffed.

Nepenthe almost laughed. Personality, that was good. Despite the sarcasm, the woman’s eyes had softened, watching her face closely through her curtain of damaged hair. “If you want it to heal properly, we can re-break it, use magic, splint it—”

She snapped her foot up, spitting daggers with her eyes. “No.”

“I don’t mean right now,” Nepenthe said, raising her hands. “It’s an option for when we get back to Dumaran. Think on it. Right now I can probably ease the pain, though, if it bothers you.”

Silently, the foot lowered back into Nepenthe’s lap. She dipped into her pool of power and spread it outwards; a dusk-purple glow limned her palm, then faded. The woman sighed.

“Vierna,” she said wistfully after a moment, like it was an unearthed memory. She tapped her own clavicle. “Vierna Aesinor.”

Nepenthe smiled. “Lovely to meet you.”

[iironwreath]

Slim [Nepenthe]

[cw: dead bodies described]

Aberrations, it turned out, were like hydra heads—cut one down, two more took its place. They were dead for now, the top floor cleared, but Nepenthe suspected there were more not far behind. Ruhn-Shak didn’t belong to the drow anymore—it belonged to the Chained Oblivion.

The heavy bedroom doors closed with a groan. She helped her team push and drag a dresser, chest, and desk in front to barricade them. The grinding of furniture legs over stone floor melted into a heavy stillness, punctuated with panting and quiet casting to close wounds. They could catch their breath.

A noble family must have owned the castle; tall, yawning spaces were filled with broken glass and ruined finery. Nepenthe thought a few monsters looked eerily like they might have been drow, once, but they all started to merge together. The drow who hadn’t turned glutted alleys and gutters or were draped against the indoor walls, perforated with stab wounds and slit throats. 

The deeper in the city they went, the fewer survivors there were. Nepenthe was determined, but even she was reaching the limit of her strength and the dregs of her hope. They had to leave now or they never could.

The reprieve didn’t last long. A boiling beam of energy glanced off her pauldron, nudging her shoulder. No damage to her, but it blackened the metal further. From a closet a woman lashed out; Nepenthe couldn’t catch more than a tangle of hair and long, unclipped nails before they were clawing at her face.

They got a few good scores in on her cheeks, but her helmet shielded her eyes. She scrabbled for a second, locating the wrists and prying them away, shoving the woman back while keeping a firm hold on her. She resisted, hissed and spit like a feral cat—but she was weak, cornered instead of one that waited in the dark before striking. What Nepenthe thought would be another difficult fight on her hands fizzled into her holding a writhing, rampaging woman. 

She was taller than Nepenthe, but hunched—her wrists were slim and sharp, and she was an unhealthy sort of thin, like she might slip through the cracks in the floor. Her complexion was wan and ghostly, her hair a shock of white that covered half her face. A crack of hyaline eyes peered out, midnight-dark makeup smudged around and striated into tear tracts to her chin.

She also predominantly kept her weight off one leg and favoured the other. Replaying the attack in her mind, Nepenthe noted she’d limped when she’d rushed her.

Five blade-points snapped into a circle around the woman, trained at the neck. She froze. Nepenthe transferred both wrists to one hand and held up a fist. 

“Don’t hurt her,” she said to the guards. “She’s frightened and defending herself.”

The weapons lowered reluctantly.

Pale eyes widened. “Accent,” she choked out, voice rusty with disuse and trembling at the edges. 

“We’re far from home,” Nepenthe confirmed. 

The woman tugged against Nepenthe’s grip, then wriggled her wrists, growling in frustration. 

“We’re not here to hurt you,” Nepenthe said. “Are you alright? What’s your name?”

She jerked against Nepenthe’s grip again. Nepenthe didn’t budge. This woman couldn’t have fought her way out of the mansion and she couldn’t have fought her way out of Nepenthe.

“I’ll let you go if you won’t try to claw my eyes out again,” Nepenthe said.

“Fine.”

Nepenthe smiled. “Promise?”

She sneered, but nodded. 

Nepenthe uncinched her fingers without moving her arm. The woman yanked free, staggered, then found her balance, massaging her wrists. She swayed on the spot, darting a glance over her shoulder. 

“I’m Nepenthe,” she offered. “We’re the Children of Malice.” She signalled for the team to turn over the room. They dispersed, moving efficiently, prying open drawers and pocketing anything helpful—papers, vials, jewellery. The woman watched with irritated disbelief, hugging herself, but her gaze went in and out of focus. 

The less pressing questions could come later. Firstly; Nepenthe gestured to her leg. “Can you walk? We can’t stay long.”

A tide of emotions washed across her face. “I—”

A thunderous bang erupted from the doors. They didn’t smash open, but the barricade buckled and whined. The voices of the damned soughed in through the cracks like a horrible song.

“Fools,” the woman snarled. She covered her ears hard enough that Nepenthe worried she’d cave in her own skull.

“No time,” Nepenthe said. “Hold tight.” She grabbed the woman’s lower arm and, ducking, hefted her over her shoulders—not like a sack of potatoes, but wrapped around her like a comma, trying to give her as much of her fur boa as possible to soften the armour. She gasped, but didn’t resist again, wrapping Nepenthe’s boa into her fists.

“Falke, take point,” she instructed. “I’ll be in the centre. I can’t use my sword like this.”

“Stairs,” the woman said, tugging on Nepenthe’s boa and pointing frantically at the bookshelf. “Hidden.”

Nepenthe didn’t have time to question her. If she’d survived this long, she probably didn’t want to ruin it for everyone in the face of deliverance.

Two of the guards braced their shoulders against the bookshelf and shoved, pushing with enough force it toppled to its side, raining splinters and paper in an explosion across the floor. But an open, drafty space descended into darkness just beyond. Aberrations were beginning to ooze in behind them like liquid fingers, trying to wrench the doors open.

They booked it down the stairs and through the city, back through the path they’d carved in. Through the chaos, Nepenthe heard an unintelligible mantra of whispers at her shoulder, the woman’s face buried into her boa, terrified, clinging to her.

[iironwreath]

Liquid [Vierna]

[cw: vomiting, mild body horror, seizure/convulsions]

Nepenthe never looked small, even among hobgoblins twice her size. She held herself confidently, square-shouldered and straight-backed, her lips forever upturned at the corners like it was effortless. Even in the face of what could kill her, her expression and posture remained the same.

Vierna avoided picking at the skin around her nails—an old tick—and observed. It started the way it had with everybody else: a chamber, sepulchral with its high ceiling and ribbed vaulting, like they were inside someone’s chest cavity. There were a few high priestesses arranged in a wide circle, and hobgoblin and drow muscle beside them in case it went poorly. 

She tried not to think about that. It started the same way, only this time it was her wife.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t confident in her antidote. Multiple paladins survived it—it was that she cared for Nepenthe too much to want to risk failure. But that choice wasn’t hers. 

Head matron Vivurk Tonn was there to oversee it as well. She waved for Vierna to proceed. Vierna glided forward, offering Nepenthe a vial filled with a mercury-like liquid. She accepted with a lopsided-smile. Their exchange didn’t linger—they had said all they needed to. Vierna nodded, lips pursed, and retreated to where she’d been, at the south end of the circle.

Nepenthe uncorked the vial with her teeth and spat it to the floor, bringing the open top under her nose. She gave a quick, testing sniff, nostrils flaring. She blew out a quick prayer, lips moving in a familiar pattern, then tossed it back like a shot. The glass dropped from her fingers.

It must have been a private thing, originally, for drow to consume Lolth’s blood and turn into driders. Something they did in desperation, or from longing, but usually alone, hunched over a pool, cupping it to their mouths to drink straight from the earth. It wasn’t pretty. Sacred and painful, yes, but inelegant. 

Nothing happened immediately, physically—but Nepenthe lurched and slammed the heels of her palms into her eyes, screaming through clenched teeth. She shuddered, fullbody, gagging like she might throw it back up, but wrestled it down. On the little exposed skin above her armour, sweat formed unapologetically, her cheeks flushing with fever. Vierna’s jaw clenched reflexively, her heart drumming up against her throat.

Nepenthe crashed to her knees, arms crossed over her belly, alternating between laughing and sobbing and sometimes both at once. Vierna resisted flinching towards her, clutching her cane in a deathgrip.

Then it happened—a polymorph, but slower. The spider’s abdomen replaced her from the hips down. Eyes split open her forehead to her hairline, the same stinging yellow as her irises. Eight hooked legs curled out from her middle like bony fingers, sticking to the floor and raising Nepenthe up, befitting of her ascension. Her spider-body was a coal black, like it would leave marks behind. She snarled. 

Drinking Lolth’s blood was the easier part—it was the antidote that was riskier. It was a combination of will and physical fortitude. The drider had to want to change back.

The guards readied their weapons, and Vierna didn’t know which was worse—Nepenthe succumbing to indelible madness, the antidote, or getting skewered by their family. Would they corral and free her into the wild underdark, or would they slay her? But she saw awe and respect in the guards’ faces, observing something holy—at least Nepenthe would die revered, if she did.

Nepenthe heaved, the transformation ended. Her eyes were unfocused, and spittle mixed with blood oozed out of the corner of her mouth, the tips of fangs pointing past her bottom lip. As she gained awareness, she looked at her fingers, curling them one at a time like a wave, then turned her head over her shoulder, examining the spider-half. 

She looked beautiful—still deadly and fearsome, but with added grace and venom. If the slow degradation of sanity wasn’t the cost—there had to be driders out in the world who had their full wits, but Vierna hadn’t met them—there was no reason not to make it permanent. 

Vierna stepped forward again, steeling her spine.

“Nepenthe?” she asked. 

All eight eyes snapped to her. 

“Can you understand me? Can you hear me?”

Nepenthe nodded, once. The smile returned. Soft, confident, hers. Vierna offered up a second vial: this one, the liquid a thin, sickly green. Nepenthe’s new spider appendages widened their stance, lowering herself to take it. Even through her armour, her skin burned.

Nepenthe did the same as before—uncorked it with her teeth, sniffed experimentally, only this time she tipped it back gently, her hand trembling, eyes closing. 

The reverse transformation was no less painful—arguably moreso. Vierna could only make a single dose so concentrated before it crossed the line and killed them. Vierna had learned that death wasn’t a cure for madness, not where the Chained Oblivion was concerned, but it worked for driders.

Nepenthe’s spider-body tucked itself away, the extra eyes vanished. Nepenthe landed on two feet and toppled to her shoulder, convulsing, limbs locking up as she retched up blood and bile.

Vierna wasn’t supposed to show weakness in front of the others, but the situation was exceptional—she rushed forward and fell to her knees, her cane landing with a clatter beside her. Her hands flittered, undecided, before settling around Nepenthe’s shoulders to prop her into her lap, on her side. She could beat herself up all she liked later—at the moment, Nepenthe needed her.

Did she need her? No, but she wanted her. That was enough. 

“She’ll live?” Vivurk called.

“Yes,” Vierna announced. “She’s breathing. She should.”

The guards relaxed, as did the priestesses. A victorious, self-satisfied murmur rose up around her, congratulations passed through hands and by word. Vivurk nodded to her, smirking, and filed out with everyone else. Nepenthe’s convulsions slowed, then stopped. She panted at first, then that slowed, too.

Time crawled by. Her ankle and legs ached, both from hard cobblestone underneath and where Nepenthe’s armour dug into her skin on top. She untied Nepenthe’s ponytail, combed the hair through with her fingers, and laid it out to one side. Nepenthe had gone from solid to liquid—even though she breathed slower, more at rest, Vierna was terrified she would drip through her fingers. 

She hadn’t noticed from a distance, but the blood on Nepenthe’s chin wasn’t pure red—silver veined through it. There were faint, closed stitch lines on her forehead where the eyes had grown, small enough to heal with time. But how much time would there be in-between? Now that they knew Nepenthe could survive it, she was their newest weapon.

Finally, a single, involuntary cough jerked Nepenthe’s body and her eyes flew open. Her whites were wrong—off-white, like someone painted over them with a granite grey. It made the gold of her irises more stark. Relief surged up Vierna’s throat, hot and briney, cresting high enough to prick the corners of her eyes. Nepenthe rolled onto her back and reached up a limp hand, knuckling at a tear.

“You’ll smear your makeup,” she said.

“You’ve already smeared yours.”

Unthinkingly, Vierna bent to kiss her, but Nepenthe stopped her with two fingers on her lips. 

“Don’t,” she warned, voice rough. She gestured to the blood smeared all over her mouth and in her teeth. Vierna pursed her lips again.

Nepenthe’s tongue dabbed at the blood, and something like ecstasy rippled across her face, eyes temporarily squeezing before opening. In that brief moment, Vierna was almost jealous.

“What does it taste like?” Vierna whispered.

“Like blood, but—charged. Like drinking hot coals. It tastes like power, and love.” She gazed into the middle distance, past Vierna. “It serves a greater purpose.”