Out of the Shadows, Part 28


You study the surroundings for a few moments longer, then incline your head slightly toward the tower that will strike the perfect balance. Near enough to spook the Matriarch, while still being distant enough to help hide imperfections in the illusion. "There," you say. "Belan, set up at the top. Verika, you go with him, make sure he gets out in one piece."

The drow nods. "Good call. Once the knife is thrown, I'll provide as much cover fire as I can from up there. At least until the guards around the tower reach that position, and I have to start dealing with them."

"What about the hostages?" asks Relis.

Verika's reply is a warm smile. "I'm not worried," she says, placing a hand on her adoptive sister's shoulder. "They're in the hands of two of the people I trust most in the whole world. I know you'll handle it."

Relis flushes, looking down at Verika's words, before looking back up again, gratitude in her eyes. There's a confidence in her bearing that wasn't there before this mission. She's conspired with a demon, fought against drow, averted the massacre of untold numbers of slaves, seduced a gnome... and now stands poised to launch a raid against the very heart of the Underworld.

Even if Verika outstrips her in skill, she's more that proven her own worth. You speak up as well. "What we're going to do in the next few hours will change the course of nations," you say. "And we wouldn't have been able to accomplish this much without everyone here."

Emdyr nods, his expression set with determination, ready to strike against the brutal warmonger who tore apart his family. Khaytala cracks her knuckles, clam but focused. Belan's hands are clutched tight on his staff, the boy ready to do his part as well.

Verika and Belan quickly split off from your group, heading toward the tower. Khaytala and Relis do the same not long after, taking up a concealed position where they can watch for the signal of the knife being thrown. You guide Emdyr through the crowds, picking out a drow that seems to be in charge of the servants and shapeshifting into her. You then swipe an outfit befitting a gnome slave serving this event, and insert Emdyr as one of their number.

Exactly as Lady Pheshera planned. Albeit with a slightly different target.

And with that, all your pieces are in place. Now you just need to handle your part of the plan. You mingle with the throng of rich and powerful drow, milling this way and that through the courtyard in a swirl of decadent opulence. One common factor to the wildly varying outfits on display is that most of them cover very little... matched in their scanty nature only by the obscene cost of what little material there is.

You weave effortlessly through their ranks, heading to your own destination. The elevated dais where the Matriarch is seated. She looks out across the crowd of her scheming subjects, as though daring anyone to make a move against her. Which is exactly what she's doing, although her true target isn't one of them. And the attempts on her life that would have come from her actual subjects have all been either averted, or subverted to serve your own ends over the past three days.

You find a concealed place and then resume your "tiefling" form, drawing a few strange looks as you move the rest of the way through the crowd toward the ruler of the Underworld. Guards move to block your path... but the Matriarch waves them away, allowing you to approach.

On the surface she seems confident and in control, but you can see the agitation, the tension, the terror lurking just beneath her carefully constructed facade. Her body is coiled on itself, her eyes darting left and right, ready to lash out at a moment's notice. She's staked everything on this one last plan. All the incredible resources required to create her cursed weapon. All that she's sacrificed to create the perfect chance to use it.

It all comes down to this one last clash. Between the sister who was blessed by the goddesses with a bottomless well of impossible talent... and the ordinary sister. The sister who grew up knowing that would be her death sentence.

The Matriarch's eyes narrow as you approach, and she almost keeps any hint of tremor out of her voice as she speaks in an urgent undertone, audible only to the two of you. "Well? Do you have any word of her plans, demon?"

You smile. "She will strike only once the hostages have been revealed. A shot from the tower directly behind me."

Even as you speak, you catch movement out of the corner of your eye. An unfamiliar drow wearing very familiar religious garments. This new priestess advances toward a raised platform in the very center of the courtyard, on which you can see three tall poles, each set up with chains and manacles. You turn to watch, taking a position by the Matriarch's side as the priestess turns to address the crowd in a magically-amplified voice.

"All servants of Dread Melca... pay heed to this yearly ceremony of remembrance!" she calls out, raising her arms in a gesture of benediction. "For it is on this day that we celebrate our goddess's greatest victory. As it is written in her divine scripture: 'For it came to pass in those days that Melca did grow wroth, that the weakness of mortal need for food hindered the growth of her forces. And she soon set her desire upon her sister-goddess, Feyal, goddess of Nature, whose domain she knew could be used to support a far greater army.'"

You raise an eyebrow, noting a hint of nerves in the priestess' demeanor. "She seems a bit... uneasy."

"She wasn't intended to be the one giving the address," replies the Matriarch, her lip twisting in distaste. "But she was thrown into the role at the last minute. The more senior priestess who was supposed to be giving the address was killed yesterday. Some kind of demented strife between House Thesolan and their own backers in the Church of Melca. It's practically descended into open warfare. And at a time like this!"

"Shameful..." you murmur, shaking your head sadly. "How could they be so short-sighted?"

Still, despite her nerves, the priestess has not stopped addressing the crowd. "...and so Melca began to prepare her plan. Ever perspicacious, she saw that Feyal was in distress at Melca's estrangement from the other goddesses. Ever crafty, Melca let slip certain signs that she would be willing to reconcile. And ever trusting, Feyal believed these suggestions without question, agreeing to meet Melca in the physical world, in one of her sacred groves."

The Matriarch glanced over at you again. "Was there anything else?" she presses urgently. "Any other tactic Verika is planning to use?"

"Hard to say," you murmur. "I couldn't learn everything. But it sounded like Verika thought you had some kind of... defense. One that would stop a normal arrow. She said something about... needing a special tool to finish the job."

You can hear the Matriarch's breath hitch, her hands clenching on her throne as you strip even that measure of safety from her. For a moment, all she can do is struggle to fight down her panic. Then finally, she swallows. "It... it doesn't matter," she says, her voice trembling, and it's clear she's trying to convince herself, far more than you. "W-we know where she'll be. I... I just have to attack first. If I do... If I do, there's no way she survives."

"Yes, yes..." you murmur soothingly. "Just don't be too obvious in watching the tower. And be ready to strike at a moment's notice. Everything could depend on it."

By this point, the priestess is nearly done with her recitation. "...and thus, Feyal believed that they had at last been reconciled. In that moment of joyful distraction, Melca lashed out with her whip, striking from behind and scourging her. As the divine blood of her incarnated body fell, it triggered the trap Melca had laid, tearing the life and power from her sister-goddess with each lash. Feyal begged her sister to stop... but Dread Melca only mocked her for her foolishness."

You notice motion at the far end of the courtyard, and your keen eyes discern that they're preparing to lead the sacrifices out into the open area. You catch a glimpse of the elf-maids, all three of them naked. The younger girls are crying, trying to cover themselves in fear and shame despite their hands being tied, while their despairing teacher tries to offer her students what little comfort she can.

"...and so, as her sister-goddess's body dissolved into the earth, Melca claimed Feyal's power and domain for her own," the priestess proclaims. "But... though she had by rights taken the mantle of Goddess of Nature, that contemptible Nature still rejected her. Rather than a blessing to fuel her armies, the lands under her domain received a curse instead, blighting crops and withering yields. And instead of becoming the goddess of the natural world... the only aspect gained was the aspect of Thorns."

Then the priestess' voice rises in fervor. "But this extra hardship her servants bear is of no consequence, if it means that her raw power may be so greatly increased! Truly, there is none like Melca, stronger now than any of her sisters! You must all resolve to show the same ruthlessness that your goddess did, as we fight to bring her rule and reign to every corner of this world!"

Fervor shines in the priestess' eyes, her earlier anxiety forgotten. "Today we celebrate!" she exclaims. "Today we remember! And today we remind each new generation!"

You watch as the drow children in attendance begin to filter forward, moving closer to the central platform in a way that suggests many of them have done this before. Under the watchful, hawk-like gazes of the adults they gather close, jostling for the best view. Their eyes fixed on the place where the grisly slaughter is intended to take place.

It brings to mind the hatred Verika let you briefly see. Not so much of any particular drow... but her hatred of this city. Of this system, propagating itself through the generations, from one drow to the next.

You wonder how many times Verika and her sister stood where those children are standing now. You wonder how many memories Verika has of watching sights like this. Memories she can't forget. Memories of enjoying acts that now horrify her.

Because it was all any of them had ever been raised to know.

A murmur of anticipation runs through the crowd, as the elven prisoners emerge from the palace proper, dragged under guard toward the place of sacrifice. You keep your poise, your expression betraying no trace of unease, as the moment of truth approaches. This is it. All three hostages, brought together in one place. Exactly the chance you've been waiting for.

Step by step, the elves approach what they think is their horrible doom. But then, in your peripheral vision, you see a figure appear atop the tower you chose, bow in hand. A figure that—for all that it is tiny from distance—still looks very much like Verika.

And the Matriarch sees it too. She sucks in a quick, terrified breath, her moment of truth at hand. Everything she has worked so long and so hard to set up. Her one chance to change her fate. She shoots to her feet, her hand reaching into her sleeve and wrenching out a knife. The blade is twisted, misshapen, parts winding through it that look more flesh than metal. A few twitching, searching eyes of various sizes are inset in the warped cross-guard.

The Matriarch's gaze is locked on the distant figure. She screams out an incantation, little more than a brief command word, and then hurls the knife toward her selected target, letting loose a desperate cry as it goes. The weapon slashes through the air, not slowing down but building up speed, until it is moving at an impossible velocity. The Matriarch watches it go, heart in her throat, astonished that she has actually managed to pull it off.

Then the weapon strikes true, tearing straight through "Verika's" chest with a discharge of magic. For the tiniest fraction of an instant you see the Matriarch's face light up in actual hope...

And then the illusion disintegrates.

You're not sure that you've ever seen such a stark transition between relief and utter despair.

The Matriarch stumbles back, her mouth moving yet unable to produce words. Her throne catches the back of her knees, and she crumples back into it, chest heaving, her eyes still focused numbly on the space where the false Verika stood... so she sees it perfectly when the real Verika stands into view, bow draw and trained.

Alive and unhurt. The weapon the Matriarch had pinned all her hopes on wasted completely.

Around her, the entire crowd is whispering, trying to make sense out of what they've just seen. But the next phase of your plan is already in motion. You glance over to where Lady Pheshera stands, resplendent in her dress armor, talking with what appear to be several high-ranking drow generals. Her supporters in the military. She frowns, glancing around in confusion... only to freeze as she catches sight of one face in the crowd, looking directly at her.

Her eyes widen in fear, as she realizes what it means for him to be here. She must know about the attack on her secret laboratory. She must know that his family has been saved, that she has no leverage on him anymore.

She must know the fate—and the power—that her own scheme has forced on him.

Emdyr grins toothily. Then he starts to advance. Reflexively, her hand starts to move toward her sword, only to hesitate, realizing how useless it is against the foe she now faces. Instead she takes a step backward, then another. Then she turns and runs, fleeing for her life from the gnome she thought to use in her games.

But Emdyr is fleet of foot, unencumbered by armor and small enough to slip easily through the crowd, while Lady Pheshera is forced to push and shove her way through. The gnome gains quickly, even as the drow generals stare in puzzlement at their warmongering ally fleeing in terror from a single, unarmed slave less than half her height.

Lady Pheshera doesn't quite make it to the edge of the crowd before Emdyr tackles her from behind, bearing them both to the ground. The generals keep trying to catch up, shoving their way through the crowd until they finally reach their fallen benefactor, forming a loose circle around her. One tries to yank Emdyr off Lady Pheshera's back, while another simply draws her sword, raising it for a strike aimed to decapitate the gnome, even as Lady Pheshera thrashes, trying frantically to dislodge Emdyr herself.

Emdyr, however, hangs on tight. Then you see him glance up toward you, meeting your eyes with one last look of gratitude.

A moment later, his body explodes in a devastating blast of green flame, the blast sending the broken bodies of drow generals and nobles flying everywhere. Now the panic really starts, screams and curses and cries rippling through the assembled onlookers, many of them starting to run for whatever cover they can find, stampeding in countless criss-crossing directions. The guards are quick to respond, however, advancing to try and to restore order.

Which gives Khaytala and Relis the perfect opening to attack.

From where you're standing, you aren't able to see their initial assault on the guards' outer perimeter, though you do see Verika firing down from the tower in support of their attack. You do see it when Khaytala bursts into the palace courtyard, however, with Relis following close behind, her own bow firing.

It is, your realize, the first time you've seen Khaytala truly cut loose, fighting all-out against a formidable enemy in the small army of elite drow royal guard. She hits them like a battering ram, her sword flashing in tight arcs as she carves a path through their ranks toward the elves they're holding hostage.

The guards react quickly to the unexpected threat, moving in tandem to attack her from different angles.. but Khaytala is moving and spinning with a ferocious economy of movement, lining them up and finding tiny openings in their guard that she exploits with ruthless efficiency, her bloodstained blade sending enemy after enemy to the ground. They fall like grass before her, unable to halt her advance toward those she is determined to rescue.

Relis is providing excellent cover fire as well, seamlessly picking off foes to give Khaytala a bit more breathing room. A contingent of drow archers rise into view along the palace wall, aiming to rain arrows down at the attackers... but they're cut down by Verika firing from the tower, her arrows coming so fast and so deadly that it seems impossible they were fired by one single bow.

You watch the crowd, alert for any surprise complications that might endanger your plan... but it seems that your exhaustive preparation has paid off. No unexpected slave riots, since you discovered and headed that threat off. And instead of the explosion possibly injuring or killing someone you sent after the Matriarch, you've allowed it to claim its architect instead.

Khaytala and Relis continue to carve their way through the guards toward the three naked hostages... whose pained faces now show the first signs of stunned hope. Hope that they might actually escape the grisly fate that had seemed so certain only moments before. You turn and look down at the Matriarch, who is still dumbstruck, her body trembling violently in fear. Frozen like a mouse caught in the gaze of a cobra. Staring off into the distance at the tower.

At Verika.

You grab her by the arm. "Come on!" you urge. "It's not safe here!"

The Matriarch blinks, her eyes focusing on you. You pull at her again, and this time she lets herself be lead, stumbling behind you as you drag her toward the palace. You recall the way, and your path is clear as the guards race to try and somehow check the rampage of the two heroines and Relis. Soon you reach the Matriarch's chambers. Her hands are trembling so badly that it takes her quite some time to undo the locks. Once open, she races inside, trying to reach the security of her secret, fortified safe room.

You enter with her, the heavy door shutting behind you with a resounding clang. The Matriarch stumbles onward, collapsing and sliding down the wall in the very deepest corner of the room. She curls up into a ball, hyperventilating, her breath coming in strangled sobs. The parchments you saw before are still all around her, covering the desk and the walls. Hundreds of desperate plans to avoid her doomed fate, concocted over a lifetime.

All useless.

Slowly, quietly, you circle the woman, until you're standing to the side of her, in her blind spot. She's staring at the door, fixated on it, as though she expects Verika to come through it at any moment.

Instead, you shapeshift into Verika. Then you lean down, until your face is only inches away from her, and speak in Verika's voice. "You didn't really think that knife would work on me, did you sister?"

The Matriarch whirls in terror, only to find herself looking right into Verika's eyes, effortlessly appearing in the one place she thought might be safe for her. And that's the final blow to her already-fragile psyche. She shrieks, a long, broken, despairing wail and buries her head into her knees.

"No..." she sobs. "No, no, no, please no... No, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, just... please Verika, please!" She pitches forward onto her knees, crawling forward to clutch at your ankles, touching her forehead to your feet in a desperate plea for forgiveness that her drow upbringing has taught her will doubtless be ignored.

By preying on her fear and paranoia, you've put her at your mercy. Now you need to decide exactly how you will go about your plan of fucking her into complete submission, before ultimately binding her completely to your will with a Corruptive Boon.