Post by Zola Rhomdaen on Mar 27, 2024 14:29:52 GMT
(After Guerrilla Delivery Service.)
She chose to keep the disfiguring scars on her face. She chose not to restore her left eye. They would serve as a reminder to her that fighting evil comes at a price. But this — this, she was not prepared for.
Her fingers lightly trace the scars as she recalls what set her down on the path to matronhood. The Church of Eilistraee had tried, for thousands and thousands of years, to unseat the influence of Lolth. They fought from the shadows, living in secret, always on the brink of eradication. And what did that achieve? In all of dark elven history, only a tiny percentage of drow were saved. No Eilistraeean has ever accumulated power in drow society — maybe that’s the problem. Maybe if Zola does things differently, maybe if she has the power of a matron mother, she can help more people than a mere sword dancer ever could.
That’s what she tells herself, anyway. If she really believes that, then why is punishing her parents the only thing she can think about most days?
Is the Dark Maiden punishing her for turning her back on her goddess and harbouring impure motivations? Is that why all three of Mother Lillian’s dreams, all her possible futures, end in sorrow and destruction?
She wishes Sarin was here to answer that. But it’s not Sarin she has to speak to tonight.
Standing in the middle of a moonlit glade in the Angelbark Forest, Zola looks down at the business card in her hand, the one bearing the initials of her personal devil.
She tears it.
A minute passes with nothing but wind and cricket-song. Then, behind her, a small gust kicks up, swirling up leaves and pollen as he arrives — his flashiest arrival thus far, yet still subtle by teleportation standards.
“Hmm… Not quite where I expected to find you. You’ve not given up on the luxuries of life, have you?”
Zola freezes. A small voice inside her head urges her to say nothing of the dreams, to keep Tebrin by her side until the moment he stops being useful to her, at which point, she can dispose of him alongside his wretched master.
Just smile and fuck him as usual. He won’t suspect a thing. Wouldn’t that be the smart thing to do?
…No. Disgusted, she banishes the treacherous voice from her mind. Not even he deserves to be treated that way, and especially not by me.
So Zola turns around to face him, overwhelming emotions surfacing unbidden on her face.
“Tebrin, we need to talk.”
He looks around at the glade — at the small waterfall cascading into a thin stream and the fireflies lighting up the treeline in warm motes of yellow and orange — something between taking in his surroundings and looking for an ambush. Despite their many intimate encounters, he is still extremely cautious.
“I see,” he says. “On your recent visit to the family home, I presume? I have already heard there was an intruder sighted and a chase through the streets, though my source hasn’t been able to say for sure who was seen or what they were after. Should I take it that your plan has fallen through?”
“It’s not that. My mother Lillian was there, Tebrin. She told me of the dreams she’s been having. She told me that I cannot trust you.”
His features sharpen almost immediately and he slips into a tense silence for a brief moment. “Lillian the Dreamer? And what exactly was she doing there?”
“Larynda’s been having weird dreams which she claimed came from Lolth. Phaedra demanded someone help interpret them. I guess Zarzuul must’ve sent Lillian in.”
Tebrin’s eyes narrow. “Yes, Phaedra mentioned the dreams. She neglected to mention Lillian, however.” He stands stock-still, eyes unmoving from Zola for a long moment, seemingly re-calculating scenarios and outcomes in his head. “So? I presume this warning from Lillian is more than the obvious concerns in trusting a devil.”
Zola sits down cross-legged on the grass and pats the spot next to her. There is a delay, a hesitation, but Tebrin obliges, moving to sit beside her.
Tebrin sits in silence for a long time. He processes what he has been told, not taking his eyes off the trees in front of him. Several minutes pass before he speaks again.
“It seems to me Lillian believes these to be the most likely of outcomes now. I wonder if she took into account that telling you might change those, or if you telling me would alter them further… You must have some thoughts on these dreams, Zola, otherwise you would not have felt the need to tell me. So… What are those thoughts?”
“My thoughts?” Zola says. “My thoughts are that I’m scared, Tebrin. None of these dreams end well for me or House Rhomdaen.”
“I’d argue against that. The first is clearly what we were working towards to begin with: you in a position of power, me by your side. The imagery of ruin and watching figures is ominous, but nothing to be afraid of. If it is, why were they not already attacking us? No, I take it that our course of action would put us in position to build anew — which, if I’m not mistaken, is what you intended, no? A splitting from the old ways, forging a better way for your family with me by your side, holding the power to enact it. It’s exactly what we were doing. The second, I can understand your concern — the house is destroyed and you are left to wander back to your old life alone. While the third, you may have the house but appear more akin to a puppet to me, no real power yourself… So the question I have is: why are you scared, Zola? Lillian has all but confirmed we can succeed. She is just not a fan of mine, it seems.”
“In the first dream, we plunge the realm into war, Tebrin, just by being together. The other great houses will not give us a moment’s peace. Our war will turn Aeschira into a ruin, and for what? For us to be sitting at the top of the rubble?”
“For us to be sitting at the top of everything, Zola. This was never going to be a cause without casualties — your father can attest to that — but it need not be a total wipe-out. Indeed, destroying Aeschira thoroughly defeats the point of the agreement we made to begin with. What use is power within the city to me, or you, if the city is no more? There will be ruin, but from that, we can build anew.”
He’d stop at nothing for power. But you knew of his nature going in, didn’t you? You thought you could handle the beast. You thought you could let him loose on the people who deserve it. You thought you would be safe from his teeth.
Zola gets up and walks a few short paces away from Tebrin, burying her face in her hands, but no sobs come to wrack her body. After a moment of stillness, she turns around to look at him.
“I have never told anyone this…” she says in a low, trembling voice. “But there is some part within me that wants this. There is a part of me who’d gladly kill some evil fucking toffs if it makes you happy. I don’t give a shit about them. Most of them are just as bad as my mother. This part of myself has always been here since the beginning, disguised perfectly as righteous fury. How convenient it is that everyone who does evil against me is, in the eyes of moral judgement, evil by nature.” She scoffs derisively. “And do you know what the worst thing about this is? I believed my own bullshit for so long. Not you, though. You saw right through it.”
Tebrin’s lips curl up into a cocky smile.
Zola scowls at him as tears begin to prick her eye. “Stop that. You arsehole.”
He laughs and stands up, but doesn’t approach her. “The path is there for you to take, Zola, and you are already walking it. You can let loose those desires you’ve kept hidden for all this time.”
She shakes her head almost frantically. Her voice comes out small and whimpering like a child’s, punctuated with sharp, suffocating breaths as something in her chest tightens. “The gods are punishing me. They’re punishing me for the wickedness in my heart. I cannot win. No matter what I do, I cannot win.”
“You’re already winning, Zola.”
“What the fuck am I winning, Tebrin?! Mother Lillian said all her dreams where I side with you end in despair.”
“For whom exactly?” he calmly replies.
She scoffs again. “I could say for me, but you wouldn’t actually care, would you?”
“And why would you say that? You forget, you are central to me holding sway in Aeschira. Allowing you to wallow in ruin is hardly a strong figurehead for me to guide. You are not thinking clearly, Zola. I already said, you are already on the path, you need only to follow it through.”
“Oh, so you say you give a fuck about me, about my happiness?”
Tebrin doesn’t reply immediately, cocking his head to one side and giving her a quizzical look. “Happiness? Zola, your happiness is your own to make, and our deal would put you in place to have anything you desire. So… What would make you happy?”
“YOU CARING ABOUT ANYONE OTHER THAN YOURSELF!”
She sinks to the ground, collapsing with all the weight of fate bearing down on her, hunched over as she holds her head in her hands. Tebrin only straightens up and holds his hands behind his back whilst he smiles politely through the outburst, not saying a word. The cool night air between them grows frigid with tension.
He may be right about everything. But I cannot let this savage part of myself prevail.
Zola’s voice is now choked with tears. “Have you figured it out yet? What happens to you in the third dream?”
“I’ve already noted I appear in only one dream,” Tebrin says coolly.
“You know, then.”
“I know what you think that means.”
“And what? You think that, when the time comes, you’d be able to escape your fate by my hand?”
“I think many things, Zola, but I play my hands carefully. I lost once. I don’t plan on losing a second time. By anyone’s hand.”
Zola’s sobs begin to lessen as she gradually steadies herself. She peers up at him. “You…lost once?”
“That doesn’t matter now. Suffice to say, it shan’t happen again. What matters now is what you are going to do.”
“No, it does matter. Is that what this is about? You’ve got a chip on your shoulder, and now you’re playing the aloof mastermind to hide your insecurities? Is this vengeance, Tebrin?”
“I do not ‘play’ at anything, Zola. I survive by being smarter than everyone else in the room and I have done so for a long time. This little arrangement we have and the dangerous games we play are only the latest chapter for me… And everything is vengeance in one form or another, just as this quest of yours is.”
Everything is vengeance. There is an odd, unexpected comfort to be found in those words. If everything is vengeance, then perhaps she is not afflicted with some unusual evil after all.
Would it be so bad if she embraces her true nature just a little?
Her one eye is reddened and her cheeks are flushed, but the expression on her face has calmed. She rises, her back upright, and strides with certainty to stand close in front of Tebrin.
“You’re still playing the part,” she murmurs, searching his eyes. “We’re backstage now. Didn’t you listen to what I said? I’m not the audience, I’m your fellow actor. Tell me.”
He chuckles. “I am no actor, Zola… I am the stage director. And the show never ends.”
“Then why have you directed the play as it is? I don’t have to read between the lines to see that something has created this survival instinct in you. I have already spilled my wicked heart out to you, Tebrin. Tell me.”
He gazes deep into her for a long moment, narrowing his red eyes before speaking in a low tone. “Your ‘wicked heart’ is a shiny bauble by comparison, Zola. Our arrangements do not require you to know mine and your desire to share yours is your own… But if it will settle this erratic behaviour — I have lost once, making a power play I thought I could win, and that loss has had me doing his bidding ever since, simply because he was smarter than me the last time we met. As I said, I do not play at being smarter than everyone, it’s how I survive, it’s how I will thrive, and exactly how I will slip the leash he has on me. I am done being a pawn in someone else’s game. Now, if we are finished with this, there are more pressing matters to address, such as how you plan to proceed. I trust you enacted your plan, despite the fact that one of you was seen?”
Zola falls quiet for a long time. He can see it now, in her brilliant amber eye, dangerously up close — the destructive rage, discarding its righteous costume. A tsunami wave crashing upon a beach. A wildfire consuming a forest. The force of nature that spares neither beast nor man. Beautiful and fierce and terrifying in all its naked, calamitous glory.
“I am going to destroy Zarzuul and his board, Tebrin. I will free you as well as my mothers. No matter what happens between us after tonight, I swear this to you: I will avenge you. But I will not be a pawn in your game. Yes, we hid the devices in the house. Tell that to Phaedra if you wish.”
Tebrin smirks again, unperturbed by Zola’s intensity. A dark cloud emanates from around him, enveloping the two of them. “If it’s all the same to you, I won’t solely rely on your promise of avenging me. I’d much rather secure my place as I plan. And I have already promised, under our agreement, your mothers would be fine — provided you stick to our agreement, of course. And I won’t be telling Phaedra anything of your plan… But I will be watching, Zola. You can count on that.”
The devil loves none but himself. The devil cannot be tamed, unless he is unmade.
The wisps of smoke flurry into another gust that obscures him from view. Zola clenches her fists and speaks into the wind.
“Our agreement is no more, Tebrin Zoland. I will be watching you.”
The wind dies down, allowing fallen leaves and petals ripped from their flowers to settle down on the earth. The director has exited stage left, and Zola is alone.
Co-written with Anthony
She chose to keep the disfiguring scars on her face. She chose not to restore her left eye. They would serve as a reminder to her that fighting evil comes at a price. But this — this, she was not prepared for.
Her fingers lightly trace the scars as she recalls what set her down on the path to matronhood. The Church of Eilistraee had tried, for thousands and thousands of years, to unseat the influence of Lolth. They fought from the shadows, living in secret, always on the brink of eradication. And what did that achieve? In all of dark elven history, only a tiny percentage of drow were saved. No Eilistraeean has ever accumulated power in drow society — maybe that’s the problem. Maybe if Zola does things differently, maybe if she has the power of a matron mother, she can help more people than a mere sword dancer ever could.
That’s what she tells herself, anyway. If she really believes that, then why is punishing her parents the only thing she can think about most days?
Is the Dark Maiden punishing her for turning her back on her goddess and harbouring impure motivations? Is that why all three of Mother Lillian’s dreams, all her possible futures, end in sorrow and destruction?
She wishes Sarin was here to answer that. But it’s not Sarin she has to speak to tonight.
Standing in the middle of a moonlit glade in the Angelbark Forest, Zola looks down at the business card in her hand, the one bearing the initials of her personal devil.
She tears it.
A minute passes with nothing but wind and cricket-song. Then, behind her, a small gust kicks up, swirling up leaves and pollen as he arrives — his flashiest arrival thus far, yet still subtle by teleportation standards.
“Hmm… Not quite where I expected to find you. You’ve not given up on the luxuries of life, have you?”
Zola freezes. A small voice inside her head urges her to say nothing of the dreams, to keep Tebrin by her side until the moment he stops being useful to her, at which point, she can dispose of him alongside his wretched master.
Just smile and fuck him as usual. He won’t suspect a thing. Wouldn’t that be the smart thing to do?
…No. Disgusted, she banishes the treacherous voice from her mind. Not even he deserves to be treated that way, and especially not by me.
So Zola turns around to face him, overwhelming emotions surfacing unbidden on her face.
“Tebrin, we need to talk.”
He looks around at the glade — at the small waterfall cascading into a thin stream and the fireflies lighting up the treeline in warm motes of yellow and orange — something between taking in his surroundings and looking for an ambush. Despite their many intimate encounters, he is still extremely cautious.
“I see,” he says. “On your recent visit to the family home, I presume? I have already heard there was an intruder sighted and a chase through the streets, though my source hasn’t been able to say for sure who was seen or what they were after. Should I take it that your plan has fallen through?”
“It’s not that. My mother Lillian was there, Tebrin. She told me of the dreams she’s been having. She told me that I cannot trust you.”
His features sharpen almost immediately and he slips into a tense silence for a brief moment. “Lillian the Dreamer? And what exactly was she doing there?”
“Larynda’s been having weird dreams which she claimed came from Lolth. Phaedra demanded someone help interpret them. I guess Zarzuul must’ve sent Lillian in.”
Tebrin’s eyes narrow. “Yes, Phaedra mentioned the dreams. She neglected to mention Lillian, however.” He stands stock-still, eyes unmoving from Zola for a long moment, seemingly re-calculating scenarios and outcomes in his head. “So? I presume this warning from Lillian is more than the obvious concerns in trusting a devil.”
Zola sits down cross-legged on the grass and pats the spot next to her. There is a delay, a hesitation, but Tebrin obliges, moving to sit beside her.
🌔
Tebrin sits in silence for a long time. He processes what he has been told, not taking his eyes off the trees in front of him. Several minutes pass before he speaks again.
“It seems to me Lillian believes these to be the most likely of outcomes now. I wonder if she took into account that telling you might change those, or if you telling me would alter them further… You must have some thoughts on these dreams, Zola, otherwise you would not have felt the need to tell me. So… What are those thoughts?”
“My thoughts?” Zola says. “My thoughts are that I’m scared, Tebrin. None of these dreams end well for me or House Rhomdaen.”
“I’d argue against that. The first is clearly what we were working towards to begin with: you in a position of power, me by your side. The imagery of ruin and watching figures is ominous, but nothing to be afraid of. If it is, why were they not already attacking us? No, I take it that our course of action would put us in position to build anew — which, if I’m not mistaken, is what you intended, no? A splitting from the old ways, forging a better way for your family with me by your side, holding the power to enact it. It’s exactly what we were doing. The second, I can understand your concern — the house is destroyed and you are left to wander back to your old life alone. While the third, you may have the house but appear more akin to a puppet to me, no real power yourself… So the question I have is: why are you scared, Zola? Lillian has all but confirmed we can succeed. She is just not a fan of mine, it seems.”
“In the first dream, we plunge the realm into war, Tebrin, just by being together. The other great houses will not give us a moment’s peace. Our war will turn Aeschira into a ruin, and for what? For us to be sitting at the top of the rubble?”
“For us to be sitting at the top of everything, Zola. This was never going to be a cause without casualties — your father can attest to that — but it need not be a total wipe-out. Indeed, destroying Aeschira thoroughly defeats the point of the agreement we made to begin with. What use is power within the city to me, or you, if the city is no more? There will be ruin, but from that, we can build anew.”
He’d stop at nothing for power. But you knew of his nature going in, didn’t you? You thought you could handle the beast. You thought you could let him loose on the people who deserve it. You thought you would be safe from his teeth.
Zola gets up and walks a few short paces away from Tebrin, burying her face in her hands, but no sobs come to wrack her body. After a moment of stillness, she turns around to look at him.
“I have never told anyone this…” she says in a low, trembling voice. “But there is some part within me that wants this. There is a part of me who’d gladly kill some evil fucking toffs if it makes you happy. I don’t give a shit about them. Most of them are just as bad as my mother. This part of myself has always been here since the beginning, disguised perfectly as righteous fury. How convenient it is that everyone who does evil against me is, in the eyes of moral judgement, evil by nature.” She scoffs derisively. “And do you know what the worst thing about this is? I believed my own bullshit for so long. Not you, though. You saw right through it.”
Tebrin’s lips curl up into a cocky smile.
Zola scowls at him as tears begin to prick her eye. “Stop that. You arsehole.”
He laughs and stands up, but doesn’t approach her. “The path is there for you to take, Zola, and you are already walking it. You can let loose those desires you’ve kept hidden for all this time.”
She shakes her head almost frantically. Her voice comes out small and whimpering like a child’s, punctuated with sharp, suffocating breaths as something in her chest tightens. “The gods are punishing me. They’re punishing me for the wickedness in my heart. I cannot win. No matter what I do, I cannot win.”
“You’re already winning, Zola.”
“What the fuck am I winning, Tebrin?! Mother Lillian said all her dreams where I side with you end in despair.”
“For whom exactly?” he calmly replies.
She scoffs again. “I could say for me, but you wouldn’t actually care, would you?”
“And why would you say that? You forget, you are central to me holding sway in Aeschira. Allowing you to wallow in ruin is hardly a strong figurehead for me to guide. You are not thinking clearly, Zola. I already said, you are already on the path, you need only to follow it through.”
“Oh, so you say you give a fuck about me, about my happiness?”
Tebrin doesn’t reply immediately, cocking his head to one side and giving her a quizzical look. “Happiness? Zola, your happiness is your own to make, and our deal would put you in place to have anything you desire. So… What would make you happy?”
“YOU CARING ABOUT ANYONE OTHER THAN YOURSELF!”
She sinks to the ground, collapsing with all the weight of fate bearing down on her, hunched over as she holds her head in her hands. Tebrin only straightens up and holds his hands behind his back whilst he smiles politely through the outburst, not saying a word. The cool night air between them grows frigid with tension.
He may be right about everything. But I cannot let this savage part of myself prevail.
Zola’s voice is now choked with tears. “Have you figured it out yet? What happens to you in the third dream?”
“I’ve already noted I appear in only one dream,” Tebrin says coolly.
“You know, then.”
“I know what you think that means.”
“And what? You think that, when the time comes, you’d be able to escape your fate by my hand?”
“I think many things, Zola, but I play my hands carefully. I lost once. I don’t plan on losing a second time. By anyone’s hand.”
Zola’s sobs begin to lessen as she gradually steadies herself. She peers up at him. “You…lost once?”
“That doesn’t matter now. Suffice to say, it shan’t happen again. What matters now is what you are going to do.”
“No, it does matter. Is that what this is about? You’ve got a chip on your shoulder, and now you’re playing the aloof mastermind to hide your insecurities? Is this vengeance, Tebrin?”
“I do not ‘play’ at anything, Zola. I survive by being smarter than everyone else in the room and I have done so for a long time. This little arrangement we have and the dangerous games we play are only the latest chapter for me… And everything is vengeance in one form or another, just as this quest of yours is.”
Everything is vengeance. There is an odd, unexpected comfort to be found in those words. If everything is vengeance, then perhaps she is not afflicted with some unusual evil after all.
Would it be so bad if she embraces her true nature just a little?
Her one eye is reddened and her cheeks are flushed, but the expression on her face has calmed. She rises, her back upright, and strides with certainty to stand close in front of Tebrin.
“You’re still playing the part,” she murmurs, searching his eyes. “We’re backstage now. Didn’t you listen to what I said? I’m not the audience, I’m your fellow actor. Tell me.”
He chuckles. “I am no actor, Zola… I am the stage director. And the show never ends.”
“Then why have you directed the play as it is? I don’t have to read between the lines to see that something has created this survival instinct in you. I have already spilled my wicked heart out to you, Tebrin. Tell me.”
He gazes deep into her for a long moment, narrowing his red eyes before speaking in a low tone. “Your ‘wicked heart’ is a shiny bauble by comparison, Zola. Our arrangements do not require you to know mine and your desire to share yours is your own… But if it will settle this erratic behaviour — I have lost once, making a power play I thought I could win, and that loss has had me doing his bidding ever since, simply because he was smarter than me the last time we met. As I said, I do not play at being smarter than everyone, it’s how I survive, it’s how I will thrive, and exactly how I will slip the leash he has on me. I am done being a pawn in someone else’s game. Now, if we are finished with this, there are more pressing matters to address, such as how you plan to proceed. I trust you enacted your plan, despite the fact that one of you was seen?”
Zola falls quiet for a long time. He can see it now, in her brilliant amber eye, dangerously up close — the destructive rage, discarding its righteous costume. A tsunami wave crashing upon a beach. A wildfire consuming a forest. The force of nature that spares neither beast nor man. Beautiful and fierce and terrifying in all its naked, calamitous glory.
“I am going to destroy Zarzuul and his board, Tebrin. I will free you as well as my mothers. No matter what happens between us after tonight, I swear this to you: I will avenge you. But I will not be a pawn in your game. Yes, we hid the devices in the house. Tell that to Phaedra if you wish.”
Tebrin smirks again, unperturbed by Zola’s intensity. A dark cloud emanates from around him, enveloping the two of them. “If it’s all the same to you, I won’t solely rely on your promise of avenging me. I’d much rather secure my place as I plan. And I have already promised, under our agreement, your mothers would be fine — provided you stick to our agreement, of course. And I won’t be telling Phaedra anything of your plan… But I will be watching, Zola. You can count on that.”
The devil loves none but himself. The devil cannot be tamed, unless he is unmade.
The wisps of smoke flurry into another gust that obscures him from view. Zola clenches her fists and speaks into the wind.
“Our agreement is no more, Tebrin Zoland. I will be watching you.”
The wind dies down, allowing fallen leaves and petals ripped from their flowers to settle down on the earth. The director has exited stage left, and Zola is alone.
Co-written with Anthony