Siniira stepped into the neat, quiet quarters that stood at the end of one of the silent halls of the Yath'Abban. As a Matron Mother, she possessed the authority to move virtually freely through the domain of Lloth's most devoted agents, but it was rare for her to ever pass through those fortified doors. She was a cleric of the Spider Queen and certainly a devout one. Yet behind these walls lurked zealots who would make even the Mistress of Arach-Tinilith shudder in apprehension. The chaotic nature of the drow should have long ago destroyed any hope for an organized and proper society. The answer to that conflicting image was here.
Here, in the Yath'Abban, drow from all walks of life worked in perfect synchrony to orchestrate the will of the Goddess. They formed the backbone of the Church, the eyes and hands of the Demon Queen of Spiders. Warriors took to the field in open combat against the enemies of the drow, rogues and assassins handled the elimination of anyone deemed a threat within the city or beyond, arcanists of all types and natures pursued their art, inquisitors rooted out heresy wherever it might be found, and a select group of clerics guided the entire operation. Most of those priestesses were living complete double lives among the Houses or in the lower ranks of the Church, everyone they knew completely unaware of their true identity besides their fellows. Not one of them would ever reveal their identity even under the vilest of tortures, save for the Revered Daughter who acted as the face of the Yath'Abban.
And now Siniira was standing in that particular woman's quarters, raising an eyebrow slightly. Yvonnel was lying on a divan near her desk in a way that suggested she had fallen asleep unintentionally, a book face down on the floor where it had tumbled from her limp fingers. No one was ever allowed to see the normally elegant priestess like this, expression softened by sleep and vulnerable in its serenity. At least, no one else. Both of them had allowed their defenses much lower with each other than either would dare with anyone else. It confused the Matron sometimes. What had she done to earn Yvonnel's trust? Certainly, she had made the Revered Daughter work quite hard for a long time before even considering amicability.
Fortune had been fickle to them both. Yvonnel had begun her life as a powerful noble only to have it stripped away, while Siniira had begun in obscurity and risen to prominence. They had both changed their futures for the better, certainly: she ruled the city's eighth house and Yvonnel tended to the Church. Perhaps they could set aside their past conflicts so easily because they both knew how fragile everything they had created truly was.
Siniira picked up the book, carefully holding it open as it had fallen to see what the relevant page was. The slender volume was a treatise on demon lords, no doubt courtesy of Sorcere, and the section that the other cleric had been reading pertained to Shami-Amourae. The Matron smiled to herself. Only Yvonnel would look at a cryptic note from House Duskryn's matriarch and immediately throw herself relentlessly into research on the subject.
"Most people would knock."
The dry comment pulled Siniira's attention immediately away from the book. Yvonnel's eyes were hooded but open and aware. "I did," the Matron said with the barest hint of a smile, snapping the volume shut. "And then, assuming you were absent, I decided that I would prefer not to wait out in the hall for a few hours. You have such fascinating reading, after all."
Yvonnel rolled her eyes. "And here I thought you indulged me for the sake of my charms and not my books'," the priestess murmured. She didn't sit up, but she did prop herself up on her elbows. "Shall I go back to sleep and leave the two of you alone, then?"
Siniira couldn't help a laugh, shaking her head. Goddess, these little conversations were the only time she let go enough to indulge in humor. And to think, no one would ever believe her if she told the world that Yvonnel X'larrez'et'soj was a consummate teaser. "That's hardly necessary. I have a feeling your conversational skills are more impressive than a book's."
"Better than an inanimate object? A hit, a very palpable hit," the cleric said, affecting a wounded look. She sat up properly now, sighing as she stretched and tried to work a kink out of her neck. "And all this after you dumped news of a demon lord in my lap. Honestly, Siniira."
"You should have known what you were getting yourself into. I warned you that nothing good would come of associating with me, in private or in public," the Matron said with a shrug, sitting down at Yvonnel's side. "Speaking of demon lords, dare I ask what you've learned?"
"Shami-Amourae is better known as the Lady of Delights, goddess of debased eros. She was consort to the Prince of Demons and the Queen of Succubi. However, there were other contenders for the title. She tried to deceive Demogorgon into attacking the chief of her rivals. That little scheme ended...poorly."
Siniira's full lips twitched into a frown. She had read much the same story during her own search: the succubus had quickly seen her scheme unravel when her rival revealed the deception to Demogorgon, resulting in her imprisonment. If even Yvonnel had no luck gathering more than that, there was little hope to do better. "And her animosity towards the Spider Queen?"
"There's no mention of it in any literature regarding the planes," the priestess said. She smiled when she saw her not-quite-rival's disappointment. "I didn't say I knew nothing, Siniira. Have a little faith. The yochlol were helpful in filling in gaps. It seems the Goddess made a tentative alliance with the new Queen of Succubi, and by proxy Demogorgon, for some purpose. Shami-Amourae had been courting Lloth's favor previously, likely in the hopes that a greater deity could pull her out of her prison. I doubt she appreciated being rejected in favor of her two worst enemies."
The Matron Mother sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. "How gratifying to know that this particular mess is not, in fact, solely mortal doing," she murmured. It was strangely reassuring to know that at least Lloth was directly invested in the outcome of this situation. Perhaps the Demon Queen of Spiders would take a more active role in the conflict ahead, ideally for the better. "Thank you, Yvonnel."
"You know gratitude is wasted on me," the priestess said, waving her hand. She paused for a moment, studying those familiar soft features. There was something else there, something that she would have to go very carefully to learn about. Yvonnel reached out, brushing her fingertips over the scars on the inside of the other cleric's forearms. Each one was from a different blood offering to Lloth on the eve of a particularly important victory. "Siniira, where has your mind gone?"
"The Abyss," the Matron said, allowing the ghost of a touch across her arm. Anyone else she probably would have slapped away. At the moment her thoughts were too busy racing at a thousand miles a second. She struggled with the situation and the knowledge that her own carefully laid plans were crumbling courtesy of reality. Now she was just being drug along by fate for the ride. "We know so little, and yet we're caught in the middle of this...whatever this is. Something thousands of years in the making. Things are changing so quickly now, pushing us towards the inevitable plunge into chaos. I'm beginning to wonder if there will be enough even left as pieces at the end of this for us to pick up and start anew."
"Do you trust me, Siniira?"
Gray eyes snapped over to study the priestess's expression with a measuring gaze. There was a long silence as she evaluated the casual expression on Yvonnel's face. "To an extent," Siniira said begrudgingly. She hated to admit it, but she had made it a habit of only lying to the priestess about unimportant matters. "But if you tell anyone that, I will finish what House Baenre started. And you know how singleminded I can be."
"Maddeningly so," Yvonnel said with a hint of a smirk. The threat was probably not an empty one, but she wasn't about to give Siniira cause to follow it up either way. "To an extent, then, trust me that Menzoberranzan can weather this storm. I have no doubt it will be difficult and unpleasant, but so is every tempest."
"Mmm. We'll see, won't we?"
The Argent Palace was visible from every part of the sprawling city of Zelatar, a massive fortress of sixty-six ivory towers and a hundred mirrored halls. It was through this vast, echoing, and sterile space that the latest guest of the Dark Prince wound her way. The bodaks and demons that prowled the halls were careful to steer out of her path, watching with curious eyes. This was a presence many of them had never even seen. But there were rumors of course. Perhaps the most formidable of the Dark Prince's enemies, certainly the most subtle, and the only woman ever to have spurned his advances. Not that anyone would dare whisper that last part anywhere their master might hear them. And yet here she was in his lands, his stronghold, and certainly not as a petitioner.
The main hall was far larger and more lavish in its decorations than any other part of the palace. Seated in the throne was a lithe, muscular humanoid male of roughly nine feet in height dressed in beautiful finery. His skin looked like polished obsidian and his eyes gleamed with a wicked green light, a lazy smile exposing a few yellowed fangs. Both of his hands ended in six fingers and were adorned in many rings. Six short, black horns stood out, half-hidden by his thick dark hair. No one would ever dispute the fact that the Ebon Prince was probably the most handsome demon in the Abyss. Even angels might weep at the sight of his dark face, and not solely out of fear.
His courtiers paused at the sudden intrusion, many of them freezing with fear when they realized just who this visitor was. The two mariliths that served as his bodyguards simply readied their weapons as countless attractive demons kept around to take the edge off their master's insatiable desires scattered. Even the lamia in his retinue had backed up slowly. There was no question that their lord could handle himself in combat. Even now, his hand rested on the hilt of his wave-bladed greatsword. However, the Ebon Prince made no move to attack.
"Unhath, Reluhantis, be calm," he said smoothly, tone cultured and as smooth as silk. He did not bellow monstrously and display his lower nature like his chief rivals so loved to. "To what do I owe this...unexpected visit, Malcanthet? Has the beast tired of you?"
"You would like that, wouldn't you?" the succubus said with a laugh, running her fingers through her red hair. Her posture changed subtly as though she was displaying herself for him.
It was a taunt, a reminder of something he couldn't have. The Dark Prince growled even as he looked with no small amount of interest. "I'll take that as a no, then. What do you want?"
"Something only you can give me, Graz'zt. Surely you wouldn't refuse me that." Malcanthet's voice was rich and low, adding that extra something to the innuendo that other succubi could never master the way she had.
The demon lord waved away his bodyguards, grinning hungrily at her even though he was feeling quite cautious. After all, Malcanthet was the only demon lord who could claim to keep even with the Dark Prince in the number and magnitude of her plots. He suspected that the only reason she had not claimed more than one layer of the Abyss was because she preferred ruling from the shadows behind others. It made her a very dangerous adversary and a very potent ally. "You know that you always have my attention, Malcanthet," Graz'zt said, watching her approach. They were both incredibly powerful creatures, confident enough in their own abilities to go without bodyguards.
She stopped less than a foot from him, leaning forward ever so slightly and trailing a hand down the side of his face. "Help me get a champion into the Wells of Darkness?" she purred in his ear.
Graz'zt struggled for a moment to avoid indulging his desires. Debauchery was all and well, but it was better not to risk it here and now. And the succubus clearly knew that, damn her. "Checking up on your sister dearest?" he growled out, baring his teeth.
"Something like that."
"And what does the beast get out of this?" he snarled. Hatred distracted him slightly from his overwhelming lust, though it was beginning to feel like not enough.
"Graz'zt, really," she said with a wide-eyed air of disbelief, the very picture of innocence. It made him want to do all kinds of not-at-all innocent things. "Do you honestly think I'm here on his behalf? No, in this case, your interests and mine are far more...compatible."
He raised an eyebrow despite himself. Now this was new. Of course, Malcanthet wasn't particularly attached to Demogorgon. Who could be? But he hadn't expected her to even consider challenging someone as powerful as her current ally. If she was making that kind of move, Malcanthet had accrued far more influence and resources than his spies had claimed. That was a disturbing thought. "A fascinating little change of heart. So you have Shami-Amourae killed...and I get what, precisely?"
"You get to see your enemy weakened and you move one step closer to being the Prince of Demons. I know how you covet that title," Malcanthet said. She could tell from the glitter in his eyes that she had his attention. Obviously, he would spend quite a lot of time attempting to figure out what she was up to, of course in vain. She hadn't come this far by being obvious.
"Throw in yourself, in my bed, and we have a deal," Graz'zt said, knowing that if she was lying, it was by omission. Whatever she was planning would certainly tip the scales of power in the Abyss away from Demogorgon. However slightly things might change, he was still interested. As it was, the Prince of Demons was crushing his army whenever his ally of convenience didn't turn on him first.
"Does the rejection still sting? It must, if you want me to kiss it better," the demoness teased. She was close enough that he could feel her breath on his neck and against his ear. He had to grip the arms of his throne to stop his hands from moving, knowing that chasing this particular demon without her consent was a recipe for disaster. "I can always take this deal to Orcus, who despite what I said, can give me what I want as well. He'll accept in a heartbeat."
Graz'zt snarled in frustration, infuriated by the idea of his hated foe capitalizing on the succubus's offer. And of course she would lead him on, only to refuse his advances again. Malcanthet was nothing if not consistent. "Fine! You will have my assistance whenever you are prepared. Now leave!"
She clucked her tongue. "No offer to see me out? How inconsiderate, Graz'zt. Still, I do so appreciate your help." Malcanthet pressed a kiss to his cheek that left him feeling like she'd set him aflame, then conjured a portal with a flick of her wrist before stepping back through it.
The roar of the Ebon Prince was deafening, causing even his marilith bodyguards to flinch. "The bitch!" He hurled the goblet in his off hand at the table and cursed Malcanthet in every language that had ever existed under the sun, not one sufficiently vile to vent his temper. No one would be safe from him for quite a while in this state.
In Shendilavri, surrounded by verdant garden and her palatial estate, Malcanthet just smiled to herself. That had gone as well as she had hoped. Pleased or not, Graz'zt would aid her for fear that she would offer her deal to Orcus. And, of course, there was the matter of his spies that would be tended to in this plane by her servants and in the Material Plane by Lloth's. It had only taken her a few thousand years to achieve. Now she just had to make certain that the instrumental piece in her plans would continue soldiering along, trying to do the right thing.