In the Shadow of the Spider Queen – Delilah & Co – 13/20.01

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Following the trip back to Daring – the Pale Daughter racing through the woods, jumping from shadow to shadow, feeling more alive than she ever has before, a jet black triangular pyramid zooming around her cowled head – and a late night portal jump to the Witching Court, their group was escorted by an eladrin through the winding tunnels of the Mountain Palace to a small quiet café. It’s empty save for Margotin, the Witch Queen’s attaché and personal butler, who is patiently waiting for them. Tea and biscuits are neatly set out for each of them on a table. Delilah feels her stomach clench in sudden hunger.

“Greetings everyone,” the elegant drow says, standing. “It pleases me to see you all return safely. The Underdark can be a dangerous place to travel in… Please take a seat.” Margotin gestures at the chairs and short bench arranged around the table.

Delilah carefully sits down in a chair closer to the door, the aches in her body starting to catch up with her. She begins to massage her muscles whilst doing some complicated stretches. Her dark eyes keep flicking over to Jaezred and Oziah, but more in a way as one might check in to make sure both are okay.

Kelnè is silent, eyes too wide to be anything but tired and petrified. The whole ordeal seems to have really taken a toll on the young halfling. They take one of the biscuits but don’t eat it, choosing instead to hold it in their lap like a talisman.

Oziah seems less inclined to sit down and chill, choosing to scowl at Margotin before looking around for someone who is not there.

“Get Imryll,” she eventually commands the butler.

Margotin however is unphased by the scowl nor her attitude.

“I’m afraid the Lady Imryll has not returned yet, however, rest assured she has been informed of your return, as per her own request.”

“Will she be arriving soon?” Delilah asks, her tone more gentle. She starts to really knead her calf muscles.

“I’m afraid that is not something I can answer Lady Delilah. Imryll is undertaking a task on behalf of The Moonweaver.”

Oziah looks at Sorrel. “I refuse to be sober for much longer.”

Margotin nods, taking the hint. “As you wish.” He makes a few subtle gestures and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them he adds, “Drinks shall arrive shortly.”

But Sorrel is already pulling out the bottle of brandy she had offered them before when they arrived back in the Feythorn. Oziah manoeuvres Jaezred into a chair and sticks a biscuit in his hands. The once haughty Chosen of Lolth looks exhausted to the point of passing the fuck out. As the masked ranger cracks open the brandy, Oziah mutters a word of approval.

Delilah continues to stretch and massage herself, sometimes standing up to get into better positions as she says to Margotin, “Your sister is safe, by the by. We left her by a lake in the Feythorn on the Prime Material.”

Oziah accepts a drink from Sorrel, raising an eyebrow at Margotin’s connection to the priestess of Eilistraee and absentmindedly reaches out and jam a thumb into Delilah’s shoulder blades for the one spot she can’t quite get to. There’s a small gasp at the sudden pain then a very satisfied moan.

“Thank you,” she demurs over her shoulder.

“Pay them, Margotin,” Jaezred suddenly says in Drowic. “The priestess is alive. You know she and I speak truly.”

Delilah frowns at Jaezred’s choice to speak in the elvish dialect but doesn’t comment. Margotin tenses ever so slightly, then seems to relax. The change is subtle and likely unnoticeable to any of the others. This isn’t the first time the Pale Daughter has been in the attaché’s presence, and being the personal butler to the Fey Ascendant means that he has some great level of control over how much his body language gives away. Always fairly well composed, she recalls he was just so at the briefing in the Fort Ettin library.

But Balpassa did call Margotin ‘brother’. That meant he had more in the game they just came back from than either he or Vandree mentioned. The conflicting feelings that flit like quick shadows at the news of her being alive is at war with his professional composure.

“Very well. As promised.” He brings out several small pouches up onto the table and places them before each of them. “The rest of the agreed payment.”

“Thank you, Margotin.”

Jaezred turns to them and casually waves them closer. They all oblige in their own ways.

“I owe you all a debt of gratitude, and I regret any injuries done to your persons whilst I was… not in control of my body. Though it may take a while for me to rebuild my strength, you may call upon my assistance should you want or need it. Sorrel Darkfire — I hereby free you of your obligations to me. Do not consider yourself indebted to me any longer. And here.” He holds out a pouch that clinks with the sound of coin. “Consider this a personal reward from me.”

Margotin sits back and sips tea, allowing them the momentary illusion of privacy.

“My Lord Jaezred,” Sorrel smiles as she pushes the bag back to him. “We have literally been to hell and back together. This is not taken lightly. You freed me, I was present when… you…” She seems to hesitate, struggling to find the right words, before continuing. “…when you took the bravest decision I have seen in three continents and two decades. My debt to you cannot be repaid but, even if it could, you would be able to summon me at a word because you have something stronger than bonded loyalty. You have my respect. There can be no more negotiation between us. Our course is set. From tonight I am what we used to call Vanyana at the house — someone you can call for at midnight if you unexpectedly have a body that needs to be buried. So let us leave it at that. And do not cheapen our experience with insincere words of rejection. One day you will need me again, just as one day I may call on you. So be it. We have been blessed.”

Vandree’s expression remains solemn throughout Sorrel’s speech. They are very heartfelt words, ones that Delilah respects, though she feels that they are born of some form of idyllic sense of duty. A very dangerous thing to believe in, especially when the person you are pledging to is one like the Lord Vandree. There is a very brief flicker of despair and consternation in the once-Chosen’s tired, crimson eyes. The Pale Daughter gets the feeling that despite the choice he made, whatever it was he had faced right before all went plummeting into the Abyss, Vandree still does not think defying Lolth as he did was commendable nor respectable.

It was fucking ballsy though and that counted for something in Delilah’s books.

He grips the pouch of gold before slipping it back into his pocket, giving Sorrel a nod of understanding. Again, Delilah found herself wondering where the drow’s life will turn from here. To be free of a tyrant, even if they are a Goddess, is a liberty very few get to live through. Vandree is not without his scars, but will those scars shape him into something stronger? Or will that weight crush him in the days, weeks, months… years to come? She didn’t want to admit it but the Pale Daughter was curious to find out.

“Lady Oziah,” Sorrel continues, breaking through Delilah’s musing. She is pouring out a glass of the fine brandy and placing it in front of the still glaring beauty beside Delilah. “I have found that – should you need to make conversation later – there is a limit advised.”

Sorrel meets Delilah’s eyes and a spark of respect and recognition flies between the two. She had not met the dark ranger before, though Oziah did mention her in passing once. As Sorrel lowers her mask she gives Delilah a crooked grin, pouring her a healthy glass.

“Delilah, it has been a pleasure serving with you. Let’s see what it’s like drinking with you.”

Sorrel places her left hand on her heart as the Pale Daughter accepts the drink after holding a particularly flexible lunge. Then she clinks her glass against Sorrel’s, before the other woman drains it.

Oziah picks up the brandy with her left and digs her right thumb into the base of Delilah’s neck, making straight eye contact with Sorrel.

“There are many things on the agenda. Speaking isn’t one of them.”

Delilah raises an eyebrow at her lover’s grip on her neck and at her words. She then brings her hand across her face as she simultaneously removes her mask, casting a minor illusion so her lower face is hidden by opaque shadows. Then she takes a deep drink.

When she comes back up she puts her mask back on. “Well, speaking might be part of it,” nodding to Martogin.

Kelnè, who had remained silent up until this point, finally speaks, asking if it would be possible for them to return to the Prime Material. Delilah couldn’t help but feel an unexpected pang of pity for the halfling. She didn’t pretend to know or care about the people Vandree knows or what his relationship is with all those he does. But of all of them who answered his summons, Kelnè seemed the most unusual. Their reaction to the violence was that of an innocent, one who has not seen more experienced the harsher sides of life. Looking around the table, Delilah could have said, before this long day and descent into the Abyss, each of them in their own way carried the weight of hard choices, blood smeared on their hands. Kelnè almost seemed as shaken as the once-Chosen – and that was saying something considering Vandree’s current state. Powerless. Weak. Mentally and emotionally vulnerable. Easy pray for anyone who truly wanted to see him dead.

After confirming where they wanted to go – an apple shop in Port Ffirst – Kelnè left the café, not looking back.

“Might I ask, my Lord,” Margotin began again, “if you would care to divulge the details of your expedition?”

“We eliminated the assassins, then we found the priestess in the Demonweb Pits with some males, and we got out of there together.”

“Technically, we only eliminated two of the assassins. The mage and the archer,” Delilah casually adds, swirling her drink.

Margotin nods slowly, letting the answer stand for a moment.

“Thank you… I am pleased to see you all returned alive in any case. I had not expected her to be there of all places…” He looks to Vandree for a moment longer. “Was there any other intervention?”

“Intervention?”

“From other sources. I have never ventured into the Pits but I do not assume it to have been simple nor conflict free given the nature of the realm… And what of the other assassins? Were they repelled or have they not yet revealed themselves?”

“The priestess said she and her entourage did not encounter them,” Vandree clarifies. “Perhaps the assassins we killed got rid of them first.”

“Doubtful,” Delilah mutters cynically.

Margotin looks at her. “I’m afraid it is indeed more likely than you may think. The Spider Queen delights in pitting her own against each other…”

Delilah shrugs, not convinced the cause would also be the resolution to that particular loose end.

“In any case, the job is done,” Vandree states tiredly.

“Indeed… still it would be nice to know their fate. Perhaps in time we shall know.”

It was clear the once-mage was done for the evening. With Imryll not coming, and Vandree getting visibly more tired by the minute, relying on Oziah to hold him up, the drow male stands, giving a slight bow to everyone.

“I shall retire for the night. I bid you all good night and farewell.”

He turns around and walks out of the room, only casting a glance at Margotin as he does.

The room sits in an awkward state of waiting after he leaves. Looks pass between the three women with the occasional glance to Margotin. The drink he had promised early still had not arrived. Delilah felt wound tight. This was the first time since her final test at the Temple that she had come so close to death. Then there were her Shadows. She had tried to pass through them in that temple in another world but something had blocked her. Not once in her life had she been without their presence, their touch always just within reach. It unsettled her in a way the Pale Daughter didn’t like.

Beside her, Oziah seemed to be enjoying the brandy asking for another refill from Sorrel. Hearing it was from Harnash reminded Delilah that she wanted to return to the fallen Netherese city at some point. But there were other tasks ahead of her she had to do first. In the meantime, she waited along with the others for something to be said to break the silence. But none were speaking and the tea continued to go cold.

Soon enough there is a gentle knock at the door and a well dressed Tabaxi enters carrying a basket with four bottles carried within. He steps in, gently deposits the basket by the table, bows to Margotin and leaves.

“I must confess, I am quite interested to hear more on the details of your expedition, of course, but it is late and you are all, no doubt very tired. I don’t not wish to impose a need to stay on any of you if you wish to retire… The Lord Jaezred is correct that the task is indeed complete but, and forgive my insinuation, it seems to me much remains unsaid… whether between you or on the nature of the expedition. For what it may be worth, I would be more than happy to assist in any… ruminations any of you may be having. It is not everyday one reaches the Abyss and manages to walk free.”

As before, Delilah throws back the rest of the brandy from Sorrel, then replaces her mask once more. She then leans forward and picks up one of the bottles.

“I am in that strange state of being one gets when you’ve almost been killed, twice, whilst also never feeling more alive because you didn’t die.” She grins under her mask as she looks up to Martogin. “I did not see everything because of what happened but-” her eyes flick to the door Vandree had left by before returning to the butler, “-I can tell you what transpired from my perspective, Martogin.”

“I would be most honoured if the Lady Delilah wished to do so,” he says with a slight bow.

The Pale Daughter holds up a hand. “Just Delilah, please. I am no lady. She,” nods to Oziah beside her, “is the Lady here.

“The instructions given were easy enough to follow, though there was one difference in the first part. We came across the archer and the mage of Lolth in a cavern where they had already slaughtered another party of four. We killed the two, discovered their involvement as our adversaries due to them being part of a hunting challenge to find the apostate, your sister, Balpassa.”

Delilah opens the bottle in her hands but does not take a drink yet.

“Though, of course, we didn’t know she was your sister at the time. Lord Vandree was still not telling us much, and what he did tell was barely enough. When we made it through the Demonweb Pits to the temple where Balpassa was waiting, there were four other male drow with her. She knew we — well, Vandree — was coming. She offered to help him, holding out her hand.” She does the same gesture the priestess had done. “That was when it started to fall into place for me. This wasn’t just a rescue mission. All his vagueness, all his lies to us were about those two goddesses. A battle for Vandree’s very soul was about to happen and we were going in blind.”

She pauses, the grip on the bottle in her hands tightening a fraction as her face pinches.

“Then the whole temple shook, Lord Vandree screamed in pain… and transformed into an empowered, monstrosity. I believe they are called driders…”

Delilah pauses again to let her words sink in, looking up at Martogin with cold black eyes. He looks thoughtful.

“I see. I am glad the majority of the directions served you well, they were incredibly dated. I had wondered whether She may have intervened, especially when the Pits were mentioned… I can not begin to imagine how painful that must have been for the Lord Jaezred. It was of course an eventuality I had considered when I approached him with this task but… well… What happened next?”

“I proceeded to attack drider Vandree whilst the others either tried to reason with him or, as in your sister’s case, prepare an incantation that could possibly save him.” Delilah’s muscles tense as she begins to relive the battle in her mind’s eye. “We didn’t know it right away, but Lolth was pouring all her demonic malice into him and no matter how many times we slew him, She kept bringing him back. He tried to turn me into ash – almost succeeded too. It reminded me of-” She stops herself, swallows hard, then clears her throat and continues. “Let’s just say Vandree nearly wiped the floor with us. I got knocked out twice. We barely managed to get him into a position where Balpassa could cast her incantation which ended up freeing him from Lolth’s thrall.”

The Pale Daughter shakes her head and a soft laugh comes out from behind her mask.

“And Vandree remembers none of it. Fucking lucky bastard.”

Then, whilst casting obscuring shadows to cover her lower face, she downs half the bottle in her hands in one go.

A subtle mix of bliss, the specific kind of peace one gets standing in a flowery meadow, watching the sunset over distant scenic hills, the twilight sky glittering with stars over head, mixed with the taste of sweet fruits and something that just gives it an odd sense of spiciness washes down her throat and through her senses. It was strange. Part of her knew the feelings were not her own, and yet Delilah had not felt such things anywhere in recent weeks, except when she lay in Oziah’s arms. Delilah had been pulled taught like a bow, but now she was finally loosening. She leans into the other woman a little, pressing her body close, and the ecstasy only seems to grow as Oziah puts her arm around her. It was like all the shadows in the room were singing to her and their song was magic in her veins, ready to embrace her.

Margotin, unaware of what was suddenly happening to her, sits quiet for a moment, reflecting on what has been conveyed.

“Truly a terrible fate she thrust upon him… I’m only glad you managed to hold him off and my s- The priestess was able to revert the process. Truth be told, I had not known she possessed such capabilities.” Delilah quirks an eyebrow. “The spider Queen is far more powerful than the Dark Maiden, truth be told… especially in her own domain. It does not surprise me that she poured so much into him in that place.”

He takes a small sip of tea.

“If you don’t mind me asking further, what kind of state was the Lord Vandree and the priestess in afterwards. This entire ordeal has been one he has kept quite close to his chest and I can see the shadow it casts over him. And what of the others with the priestess?”

Delilah smiles blissfully which is a little odd paired with the words she speaks next.

“Both were alive but Vandree was way worse than your sister. You saw what he looked like coming in here. He is powerless, ‘class-less’ one might even say. Humbled. Really, it’s quite refreshing to see him brought down a little.” She closes her eyes and tilts her head back to rest on Oziah’s shoulder. “As for your sister – who is a beauty by the way, truly touched by the light of the night – she did not seem the worse for wear beyond hiding in a temple to some fallen moon god of an eaten world, trying to guide those who are so used to a certain way and cannot seem to break their old habits.”

Delilah opens her eyes and summons the Shadows to her. Wisps of them dance around her fingers, making the shapes of flowers, daggers, and small animal-like creatures. “One of them thought he was owed a fucking party for breaking free. HA! He nearly threw a temper tantrum when he realised all he had to show for his leaving Lolth was his life. As if that wasn’t enough.”

The shadow animals in Deliah’s hands dance round and round in circles, each holding a blade, their intricate weaving choreography both mesmerising and rather silly.

“Sometimes, the greatest defiance is the life we have and claim as our own.”

Sorrel leans forward and adds, “There was one demon that arrived in the temple. Can we assume there will be others? What revenge will She take?”

“Yes. It’s no surprise that she has stripped him of her blessing. She would probably prefer he died but thankfully whatever the Priestess was able to do seems to have somewhat severed her connection to him… as for the demon, it was in the Pits? If so I should say there would be more. Whether they will venture this far though, I could not say.”

Sorrel smiles at her and Oziah from across the table, rises to her feet and bows her head to Margotin.

“My thanks for the job and should you ever require my assistance in future I would be delighted.”

Then she bows deeply and formally to Oziah and Delilah.

“It has been a privilege to serve with you and I sincerely hope we meet again soon – in bar or battlefield.” She looks at them and her eyes take on a wistful look. “Cherish each other, for you have something rare.”

Then Sorrel smiles at Margotin, asks for directions which he promptly gives, thanking her for all her help with the task they accomplished. Then the dark ranger leaves rather hastily. Delilah thought she saw tears but isn’t sure, the blissful warmth within her driving the momentary concern from her mind.

Thinking they should also be on their way, the two stand up. Delilah sways a little, like she is about to start a dance but not ever quite getting there whilst Oziah is a rock, the foundation, her everything…

Delilah takes another drink from her bottle, a smaller one this time before saying, “You know, Margotin, if you really want to see your sister you should. I can tell you want to.” She giggles. “Why don’t you?”

Margotin sighs as his attention seems to drift before answering.

“Thanks, Ms Delilah, however the Priestess is… from a past life. One I do not wish to return to.”

She merely quirks her eyebrow again, the unspoken question clear in the arch of her brow.

“I can respect that. It can be difficult to keep the past where it should, especially when it keeps coming back to haunt you. But perhaps there’s a reason for that too.” She looks at Oziah and the heat is palpable. It takes considerable effort for Delilah to tear her eyes away. She bows her head in thanks. “Give our regards to Lady Imryll. I think we will be going now too.”

She barely finishes speaking before Oziah is leading them both away, following the same path Sorrel took. Margotin stands and nods at their departure before sitting quietly back in his seat staring a long moment in silence at the tea before him. There is the briefest of nods to himself as he comes to some sort of conclusion before he picks up the tea and takes a sip, enjoying the flavour and the moment on his own.