Be advised, I claim no right to ideas/characters/ ect contained herein. I do not claim responsibility for Dungeons and Dragons, Spell Master, Lore Master, Forgotten Realms, or any affiliated licensed ideas. Or Dungeons and Dragons for which this story is based off of.
First foray into this genre, really, so help is appreciated. Thank you for your reviews!
Because Hell, I am stuck on my own book and am being slightly pissy while writing. Damn you broken coffee machine.
Damn you.
OoOoOo
The Spider Queen, Lolth, was a being of madness and chaos. Terror and pain descended on everything she touched, or considered favored. In some stretch of insanity, the Drow that worshiped her, had come to see it as a blessing. She was crafty enough to recreate herself, over and over with her own potent energy and the worship of the Underdark elves.
However, she was not the only one, that sought to find resurrection as a means of salvation.
OoOoOo
In the above world, a child is born. With newborn wailing and beseeching cries for warmth and nourishment. A pair of simple farmers, ones who had never made any large impact upon the world and never would, welcomed this first child. The girl was held close, prayers of thanks and gentle but timid asking of blessings were given by the only Cleric around for many miles.
The tired brown eyes of her mother glanced out the opened door, an omen to usher in good tidings with the fresh air. She saw the faint yellow flowers blowing brightly against a dark green shrub. With a slight chuckle, her gaze meets the cleric's and she uses a soft touch to stroke the matted hair away from the crown of the infant's head.
"Trixis," she murmurs, and her husband beams at her proudly. "We will call her Trixis."
It is not a name given to a child whose parents have high expectations for them in life. In truth, her parents had none. They merely wanted her to live. To thrive and grow in amongst the fields they tend. Simple dreams for simple people. Yet, they were happy with only such meager things.
The wizened cleric smiles broadly, having only a few good teeth remaining, the smile is slightly awkward but does not hinder the moment in the slightest.
"A fine name," the holy man agrees as he lays his hand upon the babe. "May the Great God Tyr always protect you."
The Cleric notices, but says nothing, when he feels the slight jolt of divine energy leave him. His gaze moves to the mother, who looks the very image of tired Pride, and to the father that seems overjoyed. The voice in him, far more powerful than any mere mortal, warns him to say nothing.
And, so, he does not.
OoOoOo
Six summers.
For six summers, she is happy, and loved.
For six summers she dances with the wind and plays in the golden fields where her parent's grains grow tall.
Her father tells her that one day she will see above the wheat, and Trixis' eyes grow large and happy. Illuminated by the bright and precocious nature of a child. Her parents have given her two siblings, and Trixis adores them greatly. She leads the second eldest, her little brother, about by his hand. Pointing to things of which her parents have taught her the names.
In her brother's eyes she knows everything.
If her mother wonder's how Trixis come about some of her knowledge, she brushes it off as something her husband must have told their daughter. It never goes beyond that. Not, because her mother does not care, but because six summers comes to a close.
And, then, on the first day of fall, as Trixis watched the night sky twinkle down as her parents finished up a day's hard work, the Drow attacked.
The home she was born in, was burned to the ground. Bodies were strewn upon the fields where she had played earlier that day, as wicked mandibles of spider's devoured the corpses. The still warm blood, filling their bellies as Huntresses and Slavers laughed.
A hand encircles about the back of her neck, as she presses her younger siblings deeper into the best hiding place her young mind had ever discovered. The red eyes, filled to the brim with sadistic satisfaction burn against her gaze. It reminds her too much of the blazes alight in the distance. Something urges her forward, and the young girl bashes her forehead against the Drow's nose.
Wicked feminine laughter fills the air, as the male snarls in fury. The child can see he is at his edge, ready to kill her, when he is stopped.
"That one amuses me," the female with snow-white hair states with ill-disguised pleasure. "Does she not amuse you?"
Young as she is, Trixis does not understand the threat buried within the question. The male Drow, however, knows he is too easily replaced and has no wish to anger the Huntress.
"Indeed, she does," He concedes through grit teeth as he hatefully glares at the ugly human offspring. Filthy creature that it is. Reeking of human sweat and fear. Disgusting!
Every summer thereafter, is spent beneath the earth, under the weight of a slave's mantle. Trixis, at such a tender age, loses the memories of six years, and the people that made those memories a possibility.
However, the process of being sold, she will never forget. Nor the hate-filled red eyes the Drow were capable of.
She does remember the house she is gifted to, and to the new male Drow that renames her 'Ugly Slave'.
OoOoOo
It was common knowledge that everything was beneath a Drow. Even other Drow were beneath a Drow, Trixis had learned from observation, though she finds it all rather exhausting, especially from her 'lofty' position of... oh that was right... slave. It hardly matters to her. This place had meaning, and it had purpose for her. Weather or not her Master was aware of it was of little concern to her.
She kept her head down, and did as she was told. It was, considered by some, to be extreme luck that had kept Trixis from the myriad of beatings and torture that the Drow were so very well known for. If she accidentally tripped in front of a Priestess or a noble, it was quickly dismissed with harsh words, and perhaps a fairly light series -by their standards- of slaps about the face. In fact, very little that Trixis ever did, seem to hold the attention of the Drow for long. Every one of the conniving and power-scheming creatures refused to even spare the effort to maim her.
Her fellow slaves, when one or two of the more observant ones had taken notice, took to hiding behind her proverbial shadow. One was a rather large Darfellan that towered above Trixis, but was often seen smartly trailing in her wake. The benign and gentle oceanic humanoid was often used to dredge the underwater rivers or streams. He certainly was lonely, and a touch broody.
He once made a comment that it was a characteristic of his people. Trixis knew no better, and so believed him. She also listened to his hushed explanation of his patches of white against his otherwise glossy black skin. She had taken to him instantly, when she met him almost two years ago, because he was clumsy.
There truly was no other reason. He made Trixis feel as if she were the embodiment of grace as long as she did her chores with him.
She had the suspicion he only liked her because she kept the beatings to a minimum with her luck. And, he had confessed that he had been raised around Costal dwelling humans. It was enough for Trixis, though she has never learned his name.
They don't speak of their names here. Not where the Drow can overhear them. They are only 'slave'. Something to make all of the Drow's lives easier, she supposes. It seemed as logical as anything else. Honestly, Trixis only remembers her own name... because... well, due to...she remembers it.
Somehow...
But it matters naught. Her own master doubtlessly has no idea what her actual name is. That also suits her needs just fine. Slaves don't need names to clean up after the dark elves. Or to fetch food or drink.
The other one that clings more to Trixis, than the others, is a Thri-Kreen she mentally, but fondly, calls 'Twig'. She has no idea how he was caught, or much about him at all. But, his coloring was a beautiful honeyed-brown that reminds her of fields of wheat, which is a pleasant thought. Though, he does have one disturbing tendency.
...He watches her while she sleeps.
She isn't to clear on the 'why', or what he means by it. She just knows she awoken more than once to his large Mantis-like eyes staring at her, and it has taken all of her willpower not to shriek as if she's being carved open by a rusty blade.
Well, and as it turns out, 'Twig' never sleeps. Which also does much to unnerve Trixis.
The Priestesses of Lolth take 'Twig' sometimes, and when they bring him back, he is battered and his exoskeleton is broken in several places. Though they cannot speak to one another, Trixis is always the one that he slowly moves toward, no matter how badly he is harmed. She is also the only one that he allows within five feet of his person without causing harm to, or being beaten for his disobedience.
She doesn't need to speak, they have this much in mutal understanding, to help him.
OoOoO
Her master is old.
Well, by human standards, he's so old that Trixis occasionally wonders if her great-grandfather knew him. However, to the Drow he is not considered old at all. Oh yes, he has decades under his belt, and it would also be fair to state he is a sadistic, twisted, piece of...
Follower of Lolth.
Trixis winces, at the near slip. The collar about her neck is uniquely tuned to sensing her emotions so she cannot betray her 'Master'. It also gives him some sort of twisted satisfaction, she believes, to see her in pain. He enjoys watching her as she takes the stings. Something glowing within his crimson gaze that causes her a moment of unease.
That would be right on par with every Drow she's ever known.
She doesn't exactly blame him for being quite so paranoid. If two thirds of the Drow are sacrificed or murdered by adolescence, it is a credit to him that he remains. Much to her displeasure.
She hisses as a sharp pain radiates from her neck.
Though not from a Noble house, her master was snapped up by one quickly enough. Wizards worth their talents always were. At least, that is what she has gathered from the others of this house, and the Matron that permits him far more liberties than the other males have.
Granted, it most certainly wasn't for free.
He had only to lend his time to a greater house when his Matron ordered him. Though she did so often when hoping to earn more favor or raise her status. Or whatever Drow did when they were backstabbing, or smiling...
Or breathing...
A jolt met her unkind thought, and Trixis sucked in a deep breath. She moved her thoughts more toward what was expected of her, as her Master left to the Wizard's council. She never accompanied him. Usually a Blade master of the house did that, or one of the higher ranking females in the house. It was some sort of homage to the position he had earned, by...
Surviving? Being good at casting spells? Excelling in making some priestess content with his breeding abilities?
The last one made her shudder. She'd witnessed a few Drow couplings. Two dragons that absolutely hated each other, going at one another with claws and magic in some strange sexual death-combat, seemed friendlier than when the Drow... mated.
Actually, when she pondered on it over-long, she wasn't entirely certain what he did all day. She only knew that she was in charge of keeping things as he wanted them. Something that was a pain in the ass, on a better day-
She yelped as another jolt nipped at her neck, stronger than the first.
'Kind thoughts. Only kind thoughts.' She reminded herself as she saw 'Twig' peeking from around the end of the hall, being lead on a leash by one of the house Huntresses.
An image flashes, for the briefest of moments, of the Huntress attempting to fornicate with 'Twig'. This time, Trixis welcomes the pain, because it was far easier than erasing that image from her mind's eye.
OoOoOo
They have beaten into her, that she much worship Lolth, as a slave of their House. A house name that was far too good for a mere slave like herself to say.
Not that Trixis has ever tried. Or cared enough to try. She has no want to speak the name. It feels as if it would be as close to a blasphemy as she was willing to come. So, when the others offer up sacrifices. One that make her stomach pitch and churn in revulsion, she tampers down all thoughts about it. Her Master is clever, she admits that readily, but she had learned long ago that pure emotion could not be recognized by her collar.
It had to be conscious thought. Something that would make a Drow on edge. Such as thinking and planning. Scheming. Things Trixis does not do.
Yet, each night, when her master sleeps... or goes off to do whatever it is he does, Trixis' knees hit the ground and she prays. An instinctual feeling lets her know it is safe. She has never been caught yet.
Though the surface world is thousands of feet above her, and freedom is the farthest thought from her mind. She is meant to be here, she simply does not know why. Nor does she need to know, just yet. She pays homage to a God most had forgotten. One that had been replaced in the pantheon, whose holy reach could no longer be felt by the masses.
With her eyes tightly shut, she pours forth her most honest devotions. She does not need to see, to worship. She only requites the silence and the time to pray. Even though she had been beaten, and treated very poorly, her 'Master' cannot have this. The Spider Queen Lolth, cannot touch her in this moment. This belongs only to Tyr.
And she will die a thousand deaths, to keep it that way.
Something in her needs it to be so.
OoOoOo
Her Master does not force himself on her. He never has.
However, he has made unwilling bed-companions join him in his rooms before. She's heard and... seen... the like of it before. Trixis does make the effort not to watch, but there have been occasions when he has possessed someone that has caught his interest, where he wants her to witness the act.
It's not... not pretty and the first time he made her watch him lord his dominance over a lesser 'creature' was sickening and made her ill for more than a few days afterward. He was particularly vicious to other elf kind. And, when it was another Drow, she couldn't take the amount of blood that was somehow involved with the act. Not his, but the female's.
Her Master held an aversion to bedding those higher than him in rank, or any sort of nobility. Though, she recalled a time when he had been pursued by someone, she could not place the name nor the face. The attempt had died out rather quickly, if she remembered correctly. Then again, she knew precious little of her Master. No doubt, he wanted it that way. After all, she was just a human slave.
Worthless, except to clean his things, and serve him.
Though, the first time he takes a human slave to his bed, the woman is a sobbing mess. It unnerves her, to see another woman suffer so. The others he had taken held more experience. They were unwilling, or reluctant, but they had suffered such a treatment before. This woman likely, had not.
It was still wrong and chaffed at the human as she watched him descend upon his newest 'adventure'. Or whatever he was calling it that day. The woman cried out for help. Trixis cannot blame her. Something within her swells forward and she moves from kneeling position he wants her to stay in as she watches.
His red eyes burn at her, but Trixis actually holds his gaze. Something she normally never does. She usually kept her head down. But, this instance, she cannot sit idly by as the other human sobs. Though nothing is said, the act alone of moving is defiant enough. Trixis compounds the trouble she might receive, by minutely shaking her head at him.
She expects pain. She is braced for the worst.
Her master orders her from the room. Nauseated, she complies.
The screams start soon after, and it is like a dagger through her side. It hurts.
"Master," she says softly, a denial in the tone. Logically, it is far too quiet for him to hear her over the agonized wails. "Stop."
The Darfellan comes lumbering out in as quick but as quiet steps as he can manage, he would never make a passable thief, and looks over at her. A touch of anxiety on his face.
He opens his mouth, at the same times the screams abruptly stop.
"I thought it was you-"
The door opens, and her Master's crimson gaze is upon her once more. Dark skin in prominent contrast to the stark white of his hair. She doesn't look up at him. She can feel the weight of his stare, she has known it for years now. His fingers grasp her chin, and he tilts it upward. Trixis, like a good slave, doesn't meet his gaze. But, her eyes betray her, and they slid toward the bit of his room that she can see under his arm.
"Master Yauntykur-"
A fissure of magic rents the air, powerful and quick. The Darfellan is knocked backward, a light reprimand by her Master's standards. But her Oceanic 'friend' will be down for weeks with painful injuries.
Trixis stares at the unmoving body, and she knows what it means.
He did not use this slave for pleasure, he killed her instead. Bitterly, she was certain that his Goddess Lolth was pleased.
'Disturbed, sick -'
She winced as a jolt of electricity reminded her of her place.
"You disgust me," her Master says with a tone that suggests that she is lucky to be alive at the moment. "You pathetically weak humans."
Her response is mechanical. Hollow.
"As my Master says it, it must be so." Her command of his language is still not refined, still halted in some pronunciations.
He snarls a disapproval, releasing her, as if she has contaminated him in some way. Without waiting for his permission, a large mistake she will pay for later, Trixis silently moves around her Master toward the human woman. Quietly, she kneels, much as her Master had wanted her to earlier, and she gently reaches out to push back a lock of misplaced hair on the corpse. Her expression is achingly tender and infinitely sad.
It had been so long since she'd seen another human...
Crimson eyes watch her with simmering rage, and something much darker.
OoOoOo
She doesn't know how humans... mourn for humans. Drow don't mourn, not in any way that makes sense to a side of Trixis that is so deeply rooted that it can never be taken out. More often than naught, she's heard whispered tails that their children kill their mothers.
It's not exactly a sympathetic society, if she were perfectly sincere.
The lashing she received, heals much faster than she lets on. The marks remain, but the muscles, sinew, and skin heal over shortly after he is done 'reeducating' her. She doesn't know how long it takes for humans to heal, but comments have been made in the past about her injuries going away sooner than her Master would like. So, she plays up the idea that she is hobble and must go slowly to carry out his orders.
Lying has been her greatest asset for a while now.
'Twig' stood guard over her and the Darfellan last night. She didn't even scream when she noticed his large insectoid eyes staring directly at her again. Nor did she sleep a wink. Her mind was too caught up in what had happened. It must have been some new way to torture everyone involved, she decided long after the fires were extinguished as she laid down in the communal room with the other slaves.
Yet, the screams still haunt her, but she does her best to push them away. She has heard many like them before. Perhaps not from her Master's room, but from others.
Grimly, she wonders if her turn will come next. But, she prays it will never come at all. Listless, she spends her nights understanding that it could easily have been her. Though, some small part of her doubts it very much. Another part, filled to the brim with a life time of Drow 'experiences' with their slaves, knows that her Master could choose, on a whim to whore her out.
A fate far worse than the death she's witnessed.
That thought gives her a smattering of peace. Perhaps it was the better fate for the woman, after all.
OoOoOo
Her Master leaves for his next 'assignment' ordered by his Matron, and Trixis is glad to see him go. His ruby-red eyes take in her subservient mannerisms with no small amount of -what equates for a Drow- Joy.
Those that remain to lord over the slaves, give her a wide berth, and she presses some of that to her advantage. Her Master has earned his liberties, and Trixis has suffered for hers. The ones that allow her to check on her Darfellan friend for the first time in days. Her eyes glance around in a nervous sort of excitement that is combined with a sickening feeling of impending doom.
Because she is, literally, going behind the backs of Drow, which is as hard if not harder to do than it sounds. Trixis slips into the shadows as her 'betters' strut about in the glow of unholy fire light. The youngest warrior of the house has let his guard duties slip somewhat, for he was being 'summoned' by a priestess of an allied House. It was in her favor, and she thanked Tyr for that blessing.
Softly, she crept into the communal room, where he has not left and has barely been tended too. It has taken this long just to make it seem plausible that she had nothing to do with what would be a 'full' recovery.
Softly, her hand traces the worst of his wounds, it has festered. Angry welts and putrid pus are visible. he smells of rot and decay, it is an unpleasant thing. However, in his current state, something bordering on near delirium -though she thinks that 'Twig' has been trying to look after him-, Trixis finds her center. A moment of calm and peace settles over her.
Everything is right in this world and all others.
She is calm and balanced. She does not need to see as her right hand tingles with warmth.
It only takes a few moments, and she can sense the wound knitting closed. The flesh has been cleansed of its disease and has become shiny like obsidian once more. There is no pain that she senses from him. His labored breathing eases, and she smiles softly. This is her thanks for his bravery, and his kindness.
That unknown voice in her seems to sing as she uses this gift. Though, she does not fully understand what it is, a part of her buries the memory away to protect herself.
It isn't time yet.
That something isn't strong enough yet.