The Great Spider Heist - Alferron and Co. - 26/09/24
Oct 16, 2024 15:51:19 GMT
Velania Kalugina, Zola Rhomdaen, and 1 more like this
Post by Alferron Blackbriar on Oct 16, 2024 15:51:19 GMT
As the gang are sitting around in the farmhouse, sipping on cheap wine, there is a flash of white outside their window.
In the driveway, a well-built drow woman wearing a crown of purple crystals is stepping off a winged white hart. At the same time, a black, open-top carriage being drawn by a stallion made of shadow pulls up, driven by another drow — this one a gentleman dressed like a wealthy surface dweller.
The man hops off his phaeton to speak with the woman, pointing a finger at the house. The woman nods.
A few moments later, there is a knock on the door.
It’s been a good couple of hours and the initial thrill of the chase has started to fade. Alferron, still clutching a bottle of plum wine, absentmindedly pokes at a spider, wondering exactly how one silks it when he hears the knock. His ears perk up instantly and he is broken out of his reverie.
“Everyone, quiet! Quiet!” He bolts upright and takes a look at the scene in the living room. The excrement not fully prestidigitated, the room now a mess from the drinking session and spiders free-roaming in three-dimensional space. This is a pickle.
“Okay, nobody panic! I will deal with the outside, I need everyone to clean up as fast as they can, move the spiders anywhere but the living room, and can someone please prestidigitate the shit? I’ll go outside, NOBODY open the door unless I say, hear?”
Alferron strides up to the door, takes a second to adjust his hair in the mirror, braces himself before opening the door, exiting and closing it behind him in one smooth motion. He takes half a second to process the figure in front of him.
“Ah! Lady Zola, a sight for sore eyes as always!” Alferron breathes a sigh of relief, opening the door again slightly before taking in the other figure, before slowly electing to close the door again.
“JAEZRED!” Safire’s voice calls out from a sofa in the corner of the room where she’s lounging with a cat-sized spider on her lap and half a bottle of wine in her hand. “Fancy seeing you here!”
Alferron cringes. The man standing behind Zola throws a wink at Safire just before the door shuts.
“And forgive me, my lord, but I don’t believe we have met before. Doubtless my reputation precedes me if you are in the company of the fair lady here, but I am Alferron Blackbriar. As you can see I have rented this farmhouse for the weekend; does one no end of good to take in fresh air and nature. Now, may I be so bold as to ask what brings you into my company on such a fine day? I’m afraid I’ve scarce little entertainment to provide.”
As surreptitiously as he can muster given the circumstances, Alferron snaps his fingers behind his back, causing Delenarr to appear around the backside of the farmhouse. He slowly begins to pad towards the front.
Matron Zola “the Surfacer” Rhomdaen — wearing a sleeveless white dress, an elegant spider silk shawl on her shoulders, and a belt strapping her twin swords to her hip — smiles graciously at Alferron. “Nice to see you again, my Lord Baron. It’s Alferron now, isn’t it? May we come in?”
Her clear, melodious voice is loud enough for those inside to hear. Matches snaps to attention from his spot laid out on the sofa. He rapidly prestidigitates the room and himself, picking things up to look somewhat presentable and smoothing down his curly hair that lost it’s slick throughout the rush of the job. “Fucking hells, right, right right.”
Once finished, he rests one hand on the sofa in a “casual” pose. He unbuttons his top two shirt buttons. Then does one up again.
Outside, Alferron is weighing his options. Zola herself would be fine, but this Jaezred figure is a complete unknown. At least, a complete unknown to Alferron. Clearly others know him, but that doesn’t mean he is to be trusted. Zola had practically given the operation her blessing with the amount of cooperation she gave, but it is quite easily plausible that this Jaezred figure doesn’t feel the same way, even if they are on familiar terms. Even if he was friends with Alferron’s new compatriots, what’s to stop him ripping them all apart once he had retrieved incontrovertible proof of their crime?
Combat isn’t an option. Alferron has seen Zola at work, and if this Jaezred is similarly matched, he would be annihilated before he could even reach for his knives. That only leaves one last manoeuvre.
“Why don’t we go for a walk? I’d hate to waste the daylight and I hear that sunsets in the Angelbark are simply to die for. Shall we?”
He offers Zola his arm and beckons Jaezred away from the house. Jaezred raises an offended brow at the gesture.
“Thank you, but I’d rather not,” Zola replies breezily, and half-turns toward her companion. “Perhaps my lord should introduce himself, to put our friend at ease?”
Having been given permission to speak by the high-ranking woman in his presence, the man obliges. “I am Lord Jaezred Vandree of Menzoberranzan, and I am in service to the Matron here. The Lord Baron need not fear anything from me.”
“Now that that’s settled, let’s all go in and sit down for a chat.” Zola reaches out a hand to turn the knob behind Alferron.
“Safire HELP me HELP me.” Matches scrambles to pick up the last few things, trying to put the wine on a table instead of in someone’s hands or on the side.
But Safire doesn’t move, pointing at Baron Luxemspider asleep on her lap and shrugging. Elarris begins helping Matches instead, but when it becomes clear that these drow intend to enter — and seeing the slight air of panic it’s causing in his team — steps to the side of the room allowing a sideboard to offer a little cover. His hand twitches and he visualises his dragonblade, ready to call it into his hands if needed. He relaxes as he recognises Zola. Her hospitality and guidance were crucial to the heist, and her aid in identifying the librarian with a gambling habit to facilitate stealing the spider farm plans from the library essential. The tall figure with her he assumes must be safe. He nods gratefully towards Zola, but keeps his eye on Matches’s exit to ensure no evidence remains.
“Menzoberranzan. Right. Okay!” Alferron makes a decision. Probably not a threat given the balance of probabilities. Not that that’s worked out particularly well over the past couple of hours, but now that Zola already has her hand on the knob, he cannot exactly go back inside and ask Safire for a full background check. “Do forgive me, my lord, how could I forget? Sunlight is awful for those of drowic disposition, how careless of me! By all means, do make yourself at…home…”
The two dark elves have already brushed past him and are walking into the room. Alferron could only pray that, if the spiders aren’t hidden away, then at least the house is somewhat presentable. He commands Delenarr to come to the front of the property. Just in case it comes to the worst, he wants a running start.
Zola’s jaw drops when she sees the large spiders skittering around on the floor, on the walls, and on the ceiling. Jaezred, on the other hand, lights up with a big grin. He gets down on one knee, spreading his arms wide, and speaks in Drowic Elvish. “Oh, look at you. Aren’t you all beautiful? Come here, lovelies.”
The paladin’s wandering eye finally spots Matches, leaning “casually” against a sofa, and her face breaks into a grin too. She jogs up to him and hugs him tight, in spite of the still-lingering scent of excrement on his clothes.
“Ah. Ah! Ah,” Alferron quietly exclaims, the dots connecting as Zola sidles up to Matches. He files that information away for later before turning back to Jaezred. “As you can see, my lord, my lady, I, alongside my new colleagues — who I can see you are already acquainted with — have taken great pains to…acquire such fine livestock.”
He casts an eye over his shoulder. Door open just a hair. Good.
“Livestock?” Jaezred rises back to his feet, three spiders clinging to his torso and two more in his embrace. “These are workers, my Lord Baron, and precious creatures.”
“I— Well— That is to say—”
Alferron pauses for a second and takes a deep breath to compose himself. How many more faux pas is he going to commit today?
“But of course, my lord. I merely used the word as the generic term for animals reared for productive aims. These are indeed specimens above all others. It strikes me that you know considerably more about these spiders than I do. I was wondering if you could kindly enlighten me as to their nature.”
“Why, they are silk spiders, of course,” Jaezred says simply, before going to kneel in front of Safire to stroke the sleeping Baron Luxemspider’s abdomen. The remaining spiders on the floor trail after him eagerly. He smiles up at the pirate witch. “Isn’t he perfect?”
Safire grins as he approaches. “Definitely nicer than the last drow spiders I encountered.”
Meanwhile, Matches grins right back at Zola and returns the hug, attempting to break before too long, but still looking up and down her outfit as he does so. “Stunning choice, Zola. Can’t thank you enough for your help. I owe you…much more than one.”
“Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself. I’m glad to see you safe.”
She gives a nod to Elarris, whom Matches brought over to the Rhomdaen mansion earlier, then looks at Safire. “Hi, I’m Zola.”
Safire nods to Zola and goes to raise her other hand in a wave before realising it’s somehow been completely covered in spider silk. She shakes it off as best she can. “Zola! What a pleasure. I’m Safire, nice to meet you. Matches has said a lot of lovely things.”
Alferron looks between the Lord Jaezred and Safire with a look of bemusement. Something else to file away? He coughs to call their attention before continuing.
“Yes, I was quite aware of that much, my lord. I was speaking more in terms of rearing and handling. I assume the ideal environment is cold, dark, and damp, and given that they are spiders, I can only assume they are carnivores, though I don’t know what their usual diet is. And of course, the most important question is, how do I acquire silk from them?”
Jaezred does not answer, instead looking to Zola. It’s clear who the authority in the room is.
The Matron Mother turns to Alferron with a smile. “Yes, I suppose we should get to the point, shouldn’t we? Our spies told us that you’ve made quite the steal from House Do’Viir. Only one guard killed, whilst getting away with a huge bounty. Although you did leave quite a mess in the town square…”
Once Zola takes the lead in discussion, Matches’s eyes drift and he notices Jaezred. His eyebrows rise slightly in surprise, looking between Zola and Jaezred trying to figure out the specific connection. Just as he did to Safire, Jaezred returns the look with a wink.
Alferron’s eyes waver from Zola to Matches to Jaezred to Safire and back to Zola once again. Connections, connections. Interesting. Distracting. Later.
He turns to Zola and gives a slight bow. “I am a victim of my own success. I didn’t quite anticipate just how many spiders I could get to follow me out of the house. Couple that with a gross miscalculation as to how many could be teleported as a time and, well, you know the rest. I cannot claim responsibility for the remains of that guard gentleman; that would lie firmly with my more magically inclined companions and this one here.”
With two snaps of his fingers and a handwave beckoning him in, Delenarr, much larger than Zola remembers him being previously, ambles in with that same look of callous disdain as always. This doesn’t change as he slowly scans both Zola and Jaezred, before padding over to a corner of the room and lying down, still focussed on the conversation at hand.
“Truly, I was hoping to be more quiet about matters, but…” Alferron looks once again from Matches to Safire to Elarris. “You work with what you’ve got.”
“It’s a most daring heist, to be sure,” Zola says, approaching Alferron with a warm smile. “It’s been a while since we last spoke, but you are just as I remember. You truly have got a dragon’s heart, my Lord Baron.” She glances around the spiders scattered around the room. “However…you’ve got a problem on your hands. You don’t know how to extract silk from them, do you?”
“You shower me with kindnesses that I fear I am ill fit to receive,” Alferron responds, slowly becoming more comfortable with the situation at hand. “I hadn’t done the most extensive amount of research prior to the endeavour; I thought it would raise the wrong flags if a gentleman with no prior business in Aeschira suddenly started looking into the moving, handling. and rearing of a species found only in Aeschira and the economic powerhouse behind a particular drow house. That, and the knowledge wouldn’t be all that useful in the first place without the spiders, which by my own admission, may have been my ambitions outstripping my capabilities. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained, so here we are. To put it succinctly…”
Alferron twiddles his thumbs, not losing Zola’s gaze but quickly realising what a fucking moron this makes him sound like. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
“No. No I don’t, actually.”
The look on Zola’s face is unchanged, not a hint of judgement or mockery. “Well… You made quite the stir in Aeschira, but I can’t say I’m not glad to see our rivals House Do’Viir at the receiving end of this misfortune. Perhaps…you and I could come to an arrangement?”
“An arrangement, you say?”
He tries to sound playful about the prospect, but he knows this is anything but. An arrangement. But of course. He could never just have his cake and eat it, could he? But of course, he didn’t really have a choice otherwise, did he? He’d just become public enemy number one of a drow house and even if he was now back in the Dawnlands, who knew how far their reach extended. This so-called arrangement would give him some measure of protection as well as the expertise to farm the spiders properly. It was the only way to make this thing successful.
It’d also eat into the profit margin. There was no choice. He knows that. She knows that. But he couldn’t let it show. That isn’t how this game is played.
“Colour me interested, Lady Zola. Just what do you have in mind?”
He moved a spider off of one of the sofas before sitting, pouring glasses of plum wine for both himself and Zola. In the periphery of his vision, he spots Jaezred in the corner seemingly making a tickling motion on the underside of the leg of a spider attached to his chest. Slowly, the spider crawls off him, and he sets it down on the ground gently, safe from its venomous fangs. The man is certainly no rancher, but even he has a natural confidence with these dangerous, ugly creatures.
“Why don’t we keep it simple?” says Lady Zola, readjusting the shawl and — whether accidental or not — showing more of the body clad in that thin dress. “We can send one of our arachnomancers to take care of these spiders. Feed them, handle them, make their habitat, all that stuff… I mean, you really don’t want to get bitten by one these. Really nasty work. I assume you already know how their venom changes chemical composition during certain seasons due to a change in diet… The work needed to make the antivenoms, oof!”
As Zola starts talking about spider bites, Safire’s eyes drift downwards to Baron Luxemspider and she decides to freeze in place.
“Y-you know, I may have heard something of the sort…” Alferron stammers.
The charm offensive. A manoeuvre he often used, but rarely used on him. Sexy deals weren’t usually made over millet and wheat. But silk was sexy. Zola certainly makes it so.
Alferron desperately tries to resist the magnetic pull between his eyes and her body as he gathers his thoughts. Maybe he should mount a counterattack? He reaches up to loosen his collar before remembering he was sweaty and still stank a little. Maybe she’s into that? Maybe let’s not find out. And what with Matches here, with whom she definitely has some variety of thing, it was probably best not to muddy the waters, not at this stage. He just about wills himself to get a grip; this is the part where she extorts him, after all.
“Such an individual would no doubt be instrumental to this outfit. Indispensable, even. Naturally, their services would command a steep price. Tell me, what is it you desire in return?”
Alferron knows what he desires, and has started balling and unballing his fist to distract himself from that.
Still with a smile on his face, Jaezred slowly lifts Baron Luxemspider out of Safire’s lap, mouthing to her the words keep still. Safire, not wanting to disturb the business meeting, doesn’t move a muscle, except to mouth the words thank you back to him.
“Oh, just a cut of the profits. I’m still not really good at this thing… Why don’t we just say fifty percent each? Simple and fair!” Zola chirps.
Fifty percent? Only fifty percent? Alferron recalls his old feudal contract with his lord brother and almost laughs. Has she misread the power differential here or has he? It’s more than a fair deal, it’s an absolute steal! Seeing her there beaming in that dress, Alferron wants more than anything to take the deal there and then.
But.
This is business, after all. You don’t just take the first offer laid before you. That’s not how this game is played.
“My lady, while I would lay the world at your feet had I the means, it pains me to ask that you reconsider. I will need to reinvest a large majority of my profits back into the business if I am ever to upscale in the future. If you take such a cut, I fear that in the long term both of our earnings may be more meagre than we hope. Would you perhaps consider a forty percent stake of the profits instead?”
“Well, I— Ooh!”
Zola steps forward to dodge a spider dashing past the back of her feet, and in doing so, bumps into Alferron, her breasts pressing into his chest.
Ha! Let’s see how she deals with tha— Holyshititstitties!
She takes a moment before stepping back. “Apologies, my lord. Where was I? Oh yes, I was about to say: of course, the success of this venture partly depends on your connections in the Dawnlands, and since you’ll be the face of the business, you deserve a big share! However, we’ll be handling everything on the production side, and it’s really not cheap to move one of our expert spider-wranglers to the surface world, transporting equipment between the Underdark and the Dawnlands and all that. So this really needs to be worth our while… And besides, we’ll also be working to keep House Do’Viir off your back, hmm?”
Safire breaks her rule of not moving a muscle and instead raises an impressed eyebrow, turning to Jaezred whispering, “She’s good!”
“A natural, isn’t she?” he whispers back, smirking.
Alferron’s mind completely scrambles for a brief moment as he is just about able to make sense of what Zola is saying. Godsdammit, she’s perfectly aware of the power differential! Still, she did make several good points, convincingly too.
But did she or was it just the charm offensive? Alferron is caught in a whirlwind of thoughts, stress, and hormones and barely anything is making sense anymore. He’s being taken for a sucker. And he is scared to admit that he is. He knows he’s red in the face, hot under the collar, and far from his top form, but the least he could do is save some sort of face. He’s not giving up that easy.
“Ahem, your, uh, sizeable assets are duly noted… As in, your resources, of course, and I am of course most grateful for your offer of protection. In that case, shall we say forty-five percent?”
It’s bad. Totally bad. Will immediately get rebuffed and he’ll probably accept whatever she says next, but darn it, he can’t just roll over for nothing!
Zola does not appear to even notice his predicament. She absentmindedly adjusts a strap on her dress, and the subtle bounce of The Twins reminds him of how soft they felt on him, however fleeting their moment of bodily contact was. It all but ensures what will feature in his fantasies tonight. “Um, I don’t know, my lord. My sister would kill me if I don’t come home with at least fifty percent. She has great expectations of me, y’know? And I don’t wanna disappoint her. Sooo…fifty percent?”
Alferron’s mind lingers on the last statement. He ponders on it. How nice it must be to have a family that relies on you. Expect things of you. Trust and have faith in you. Something that he has never known but she has in abundance. It warms the heart. Yes, this is a decision from the heart, and absolutely, definitely, positively, most assuredly not entirely from his lower brain. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.
“My lady, you drive a hard bargain, but I believe we have reached an accord. Fifty it is.”
After all, fifty percent was still a steal…right?
“Great!” She clasps his hand and squeezes it affectionately. “We’ve got a deal! It was a pleasure, Alferron Dragonheart. I’ll be keeping in touch with you, okay?”
“Yes, please touch me as much as you like— I mean! Let us keep in regular contact!” He laughs to brush off the slip there but, Dragonheart. Wow. “Doubtless you are aware of my lodgings at the Gilded Mirror. I will await your correspondence with bated breath.”
Matches has been watching the exchange, at first squinting at the subtle hints, but then realising the power play. He sighs deeply and sits back in one of the sofas, letting his head lull back and doing his best to just stare at the ceiling. He takes long drags of his cigar to distract himself.
As the negotiations seem to draw to a close, he tilts his head to the side to look in Zola’s direction. “Are you leaving? Is this little spot of rustic hospitality not incredibly appealing?” He does grin at the sight of Alferron’s face being the same colour his scales used to be.
Zola looks over her shoulder at Jaezred, who is placing Baron Luxemspider on the wall. “How long until Do’Viir’s spies begin tracking them?”
He lifts his gaze up at the ceiling, thinking. “We’ve got until the end of the day.”
“Alright. I can stay until then.”
“In which case, can I trouble you for a word, my lady?” Matches attempts his most posh accent on the last two words, smirking just a little. “Upstairs?”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Is this a…?” she blurts out.
“Just a word, please. Won’t take long.” He makes eye contact with her while he takes another cigar drag.
But Jaezred interrupts the moment with a polite cough. “Before we can formally conclude this business meeting, we should take stock of how many spiders they’ve acquired, my lady.”
“Oh, of course!” Zola begins muttering numbers under her breath, a finger moving up and down to count the arachnids in the room.
“Are there any more spiders elsewhere?” Jaezred asks the party. “In the stables, perhaps?”
“I, uh…” Matches looks a little sheepish, and pulls his amulet out from under his shirt — a gorgeous ruby held by a pristine gold chain. The people near him feel a little warmth. “I’ve got a fair few eggs in here. Little trick from my patron. But I…can’t get them out until tomorrow.”
“Well, Matches, I hope for your sake that they have not hatched yet by then. Else you might end up needing a trip to the doctor,” Jaezred says with a laugh. “If you’re lucky, that is.”
“Right… Let’s hope I get luckier in here than at the cards table the other night.” Matches raises his amulet in a gesture towards Alferron with a nod and a smirk, a hint of fear underneath. The drow lord snickers.
“Yes, let’s hope so…” Alferron says.
“I count nine spiders in here,” Zola calls out.
“I will go check the stables, and after that, I shall cook a nice rustic meal for us and for the good little boys and girls here. Your Grace should carry on with your…personal business.” Jaezred turns away, cooing at one of the spiders clinging to his front. “Now who’s the goodest boy? You are!”
Alferron looks back at Matches and Zola heading up the stairs as he begins to draw the curtains. Is that how he wants to play this? Did he get a little jealous and take the opportunity to steal Alferron’s thunder?
Fine. If that’s the kind of game you want to play, buster, then fine! I’m the one with the fucking spiders so who wins?!
The maybe not-quite-optimal deal and then this. Confound it all, why does it still feel like losing when he is winning? Fine, whatever, tally the spiders, dinner, and then evading spies. Alferron makes a show of checking the stables for spiders before leaving the room for the time being.
“[Fuck!]” He curses under his breath, perhaps a little louder than intended, before straightening himself out and waiting for Jaezred to join him.
Meanwhile, now that she’s been freed of Baron Luxemspider and hearing Jaezred’s offer of a meal, Safire goes to the kitchen and starts trying to clear away the webs in the room. Jaezred walks in not long after. “Had fun robbing the rich, did you?”
“Always!” she exclaims, trying to shake a web off a whisk. “But surprisingly, it’s even more interesting to see them rob each other.” She walks over, pushes her breasts against Jaezred’s chest, and looks him dead in the eye. “Buy me a ship.”
He bursts out laughing. “Oh, you’ve got to try a bit harder than that, little pirate,” he murmurs in her ear, lips brushing against her cheek. “You did well today, hmm? Let me take care of you.”
“Oh, if you insist!” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck.
As Alferron angrily paces around outside, he catches a glimpse of Jaezred and Safire through the kitchen window, locked in an embrace and deep in a passionate kiss.
“Well, so much for asking about those fucking spies…”
Gods’ sake, was anyone not in flagrante delicto with anyone else?! Shame as well, he was even thinking of asking her out for dinner and drinks sometime, guess that’s getting shelved too.
Bath. Fuck it. Solve one goddamn problem at least. He mutters something under his breath.
“[I'm not running you a fucking bath.]” Delenarr responds in Draconic at normal volume.
“[USELESS FUCKING LIZARD!]” Alferron roars as he storms off upstairs to run his own bath.
“[PLAGUES UPON YOU!]” the dragon retorts.
“I am air, I am wind, I am serenity manifest…”
Alferron hums the affirmations as he takes a knife to his face, first to shave the little stubble that has developed on his face in the past couple of days and then to refine his eyebrows.
“Be honest with me, Delenarr—”
“[Lying is for fools and weaklings.]”
“Right, sure, whatever… Have I made the wrong choice here?”
“[When don’t you?]”
Alferron sets the knife down, rolling his eyes. “Del, I’m being serious here—”
“[As am I!]” The drake snarls. “[You had it all for yourself and what do you do? Lose control of your breeding instinct and give it all away!]”
“Devils take you, word choice, Del!” Alferron barks, as he begins to shave his arm hair. “I don’t expect you to understand, Mr. Once-Every-One-Hundred-Years, but it gets pretty hard to think straight in those conditions! And about ‘it all’ — it’s not that, it’s fifty percent, alright? While not ideal, it’s pretty good for what we’re getting, right?”
“[Poor boy in a rich man’s clothing, bound by extortionate contract with no proper frame of reference. You still don’t get it, do you? What you’re getting? Her expertise, her people. Boy, you’ve lost control of the operation, they might as well have taken the spiders from you! You broke into a drow house just to get a salary halved! All coin, no power!]”
Alferron looks at himself in the mirror, his hands clutching the edge of the sink and grip tightening.
“…Fuck, you’re right…”
“[Fool! You left Cormyr because you were tired of being under your family’s thumb and weren’t able to claim your desired mate because of some notion that you weren’t good enough, so you steal away to liberate yourself from it all, and for what? To end up bound in a contract forged against you and sexually frustrated. Congratulations! You are right back where you started! What frustrates me most is that you didn’t even try to resist, you practically handed her your hands to chain! You didn’t have the knowledge to rear them? And? You would have learned, just as you have before. You needed protection? Have you conveniently forgotten that you are a fugitive once already? No, this is a problem entirely of your making. How are you so bold and yet such a coward at the same time?! As you are, you are so far from your potential. What fucking Dragonheart?!]”
Silence permeates the room for an uncomfortable period of time.
“[Don’t let them see you like this.]”
“You think I don’t fucking know that?!” Alferron turns and exclaims, his face a portrait of rage and sorrow, tears streaming. “Just give me a second, okay?!”
He turns to face the sink. Taps his finger against the edge a couple of times. A couple more.
“Fashion house.”
“[Sorry?]”
The tension in his hands releases as he begins to wash his face.
“If I’ve lost control of the silk production, then I will simply convert to using it. I can reserve part of the raw silk to use instead of sell and then use that to produce goods completely free from her influence. She might control production, but she can’t influence what I do with it. Fashion house.”
“[Hm.]” Delenarr hummed. “[Better.]”
Alferron finishes up at the sink and begins to ready himself to meet the world. He dries and combs his hair and slowly puts his clothes back on.
“I am warmth. I am light. I am the sunrise after the darkest day, and I come back every time…”
He regards himself in the mirror, adjusts his hair once more, and paints a smile on his face, the same one that he’s always seen with.
“Dinnertime.”
The solitary farmhouse by the Angelbark Forest is host to an outdoor dinner party that evening — a feast of cottage cheese, rye bread, ale-braised rabbit stew, apple coleslaw, honey cakes, and some better wine that Jaezred got, with banter and flirty remarks thrown back and forth across the table and 17 cat-sized spiders crawling about.
Matron Zola of House Rhomdaen then bids the Dawnlanders goodbye, congratulating them again on the successful heist before Lord Jaezred teleports her and Cor’Vandor to Aeschira.
Back in the family mansion, she catches her sister and co-Matron Larynda up to the situation. Soon, one of House Rhomdaen’s arachnomancers — a relative from their mother’s side, carefully selected for her loyalty to the house — is summoned into the Great Hall.
As Larynda briefs the arachnomancer on her mission, Zola thinks back to the various conversations she’d had today. When Matches came to her with Alferron’s plan, she knew that the genie was out of the bottle. The Dawnlanders have seen her example and grown bold, thinking they could just waltz into the Underdark and take whatever they want. In truth, this is Zola’s mess to clean up.
Thus, where House Do’Viir has failed, House Rhomdaen will take control, ensuring that the unique art of spider silk farming does not fall completely into the hands of an outsider. She struck whilst the iron was hot, knowing that even if Alferron was left to his own devices, he would eventually find a way to farm the silk. Dawnlanders are canny like that. And besides, trade with the Dawnlands and K’ul Goran is what Zola had planned to do anyway.
Alferron Blackbriar, the 1st Baron Delaunay… He’s an ambitious man, but even ambitious men can be played like a fiddle in the hands of a matron mother. He probably thought that a 50% share was the Luckmaiden smiling down upon him, not realising that naming him as an equal partner was merely a ploy to lower his guard. The only things he brings to the table are his Faerûnian title and his surfacer contacts, whilst the drow do the actual labour with the animals he doesn’t understand or respect. His role will be that of a glorified middleman, and House Rhomdaen has no need for middlemen.
Larynda has finished the briefing. Zola gives a solemn nod. “Rest assured, sister. We will not let this outsider pillage our heritage.” She looks at the arachnomancer. “You are to guard the secrets of the trade with your life, understand? Train the spiders to heed only Drowic and to bite any hands that are not drow hands.”
In the driveway, a well-built drow woman wearing a crown of purple crystals is stepping off a winged white hart. At the same time, a black, open-top carriage being drawn by a stallion made of shadow pulls up, driven by another drow — this one a gentleman dressed like a wealthy surface dweller.
The man hops off his phaeton to speak with the woman, pointing a finger at the house. The woman nods.
A few moments later, there is a knock on the door.
It’s been a good couple of hours and the initial thrill of the chase has started to fade. Alferron, still clutching a bottle of plum wine, absentmindedly pokes at a spider, wondering exactly how one silks it when he hears the knock. His ears perk up instantly and he is broken out of his reverie.
“Everyone, quiet! Quiet!” He bolts upright and takes a look at the scene in the living room. The excrement not fully prestidigitated, the room now a mess from the drinking session and spiders free-roaming in three-dimensional space. This is a pickle.
“Okay, nobody panic! I will deal with the outside, I need everyone to clean up as fast as they can, move the spiders anywhere but the living room, and can someone please prestidigitate the shit? I’ll go outside, NOBODY open the door unless I say, hear?”
Alferron strides up to the door, takes a second to adjust his hair in the mirror, braces himself before opening the door, exiting and closing it behind him in one smooth motion. He takes half a second to process the figure in front of him.
“Ah! Lady Zola, a sight for sore eyes as always!” Alferron breathes a sigh of relief, opening the door again slightly before taking in the other figure, before slowly electing to close the door again.
“JAEZRED!” Safire’s voice calls out from a sofa in the corner of the room where she’s lounging with a cat-sized spider on her lap and half a bottle of wine in her hand. “Fancy seeing you here!”
Alferron cringes. The man standing behind Zola throws a wink at Safire just before the door shuts.
“And forgive me, my lord, but I don’t believe we have met before. Doubtless my reputation precedes me if you are in the company of the fair lady here, but I am Alferron Blackbriar. As you can see I have rented this farmhouse for the weekend; does one no end of good to take in fresh air and nature. Now, may I be so bold as to ask what brings you into my company on such a fine day? I’m afraid I’ve scarce little entertainment to provide.”
As surreptitiously as he can muster given the circumstances, Alferron snaps his fingers behind his back, causing Delenarr to appear around the backside of the farmhouse. He slowly begins to pad towards the front.
Matron Zola “the Surfacer” Rhomdaen — wearing a sleeveless white dress, an elegant spider silk shawl on her shoulders, and a belt strapping her twin swords to her hip — smiles graciously at Alferron. “Nice to see you again, my Lord Baron. It’s Alferron now, isn’t it? May we come in?”
Her clear, melodious voice is loud enough for those inside to hear. Matches snaps to attention from his spot laid out on the sofa. He rapidly prestidigitates the room and himself, picking things up to look somewhat presentable and smoothing down his curly hair that lost it’s slick throughout the rush of the job. “Fucking hells, right, right right.”
Once finished, he rests one hand on the sofa in a “casual” pose. He unbuttons his top two shirt buttons. Then does one up again.
Outside, Alferron is weighing his options. Zola herself would be fine, but this Jaezred figure is a complete unknown. At least, a complete unknown to Alferron. Clearly others know him, but that doesn’t mean he is to be trusted. Zola had practically given the operation her blessing with the amount of cooperation she gave, but it is quite easily plausible that this Jaezred figure doesn’t feel the same way, even if they are on familiar terms. Even if he was friends with Alferron’s new compatriots, what’s to stop him ripping them all apart once he had retrieved incontrovertible proof of their crime?
Combat isn’t an option. Alferron has seen Zola at work, and if this Jaezred is similarly matched, he would be annihilated before he could even reach for his knives. That only leaves one last manoeuvre.
“Why don’t we go for a walk? I’d hate to waste the daylight and I hear that sunsets in the Angelbark are simply to die for. Shall we?”
He offers Zola his arm and beckons Jaezred away from the house. Jaezred raises an offended brow at the gesture.
“Thank you, but I’d rather not,” Zola replies breezily, and half-turns toward her companion. “Perhaps my lord should introduce himself, to put our friend at ease?”
Having been given permission to speak by the high-ranking woman in his presence, the man obliges. “I am Lord Jaezred Vandree of Menzoberranzan, and I am in service to the Matron here. The Lord Baron need not fear anything from me.”
“Now that that’s settled, let’s all go in and sit down for a chat.” Zola reaches out a hand to turn the knob behind Alferron.
“Safire HELP me HELP me.” Matches scrambles to pick up the last few things, trying to put the wine on a table instead of in someone’s hands or on the side.
But Safire doesn’t move, pointing at Baron Luxemspider asleep on her lap and shrugging. Elarris begins helping Matches instead, but when it becomes clear that these drow intend to enter — and seeing the slight air of panic it’s causing in his team — steps to the side of the room allowing a sideboard to offer a little cover. His hand twitches and he visualises his dragonblade, ready to call it into his hands if needed. He relaxes as he recognises Zola. Her hospitality and guidance were crucial to the heist, and her aid in identifying the librarian with a gambling habit to facilitate stealing the spider farm plans from the library essential. The tall figure with her he assumes must be safe. He nods gratefully towards Zola, but keeps his eye on Matches’s exit to ensure no evidence remains.
“Menzoberranzan. Right. Okay!” Alferron makes a decision. Probably not a threat given the balance of probabilities. Not that that’s worked out particularly well over the past couple of hours, but now that Zola already has her hand on the knob, he cannot exactly go back inside and ask Safire for a full background check. “Do forgive me, my lord, how could I forget? Sunlight is awful for those of drowic disposition, how careless of me! By all means, do make yourself at…home…”
The two dark elves have already brushed past him and are walking into the room. Alferron could only pray that, if the spiders aren’t hidden away, then at least the house is somewhat presentable. He commands Delenarr to come to the front of the property. Just in case it comes to the worst, he wants a running start.
Zola’s jaw drops when she sees the large spiders skittering around on the floor, on the walls, and on the ceiling. Jaezred, on the other hand, lights up with a big grin. He gets down on one knee, spreading his arms wide, and speaks in Drowic Elvish. “Oh, look at you. Aren’t you all beautiful? Come here, lovelies.”
The paladin’s wandering eye finally spots Matches, leaning “casually” against a sofa, and her face breaks into a grin too. She jogs up to him and hugs him tight, in spite of the still-lingering scent of excrement on his clothes.
“Ah. Ah! Ah,” Alferron quietly exclaims, the dots connecting as Zola sidles up to Matches. He files that information away for later before turning back to Jaezred. “As you can see, my lord, my lady, I, alongside my new colleagues — who I can see you are already acquainted with — have taken great pains to…acquire such fine livestock.”
He casts an eye over his shoulder. Door open just a hair. Good.
“Livestock?” Jaezred rises back to his feet, three spiders clinging to his torso and two more in his embrace. “These are workers, my Lord Baron, and precious creatures.”
“I— Well— That is to say—”
Alferron pauses for a second and takes a deep breath to compose himself. How many more faux pas is he going to commit today?
“But of course, my lord. I merely used the word as the generic term for animals reared for productive aims. These are indeed specimens above all others. It strikes me that you know considerably more about these spiders than I do. I was wondering if you could kindly enlighten me as to their nature.”
“Why, they are silk spiders, of course,” Jaezred says simply, before going to kneel in front of Safire to stroke the sleeping Baron Luxemspider’s abdomen. The remaining spiders on the floor trail after him eagerly. He smiles up at the pirate witch. “Isn’t he perfect?”
Safire grins as he approaches. “Definitely nicer than the last drow spiders I encountered.”
Meanwhile, Matches grins right back at Zola and returns the hug, attempting to break before too long, but still looking up and down her outfit as he does so. “Stunning choice, Zola. Can’t thank you enough for your help. I owe you…much more than one.”
“Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself. I’m glad to see you safe.”
She gives a nod to Elarris, whom Matches brought over to the Rhomdaen mansion earlier, then looks at Safire. “Hi, I’m Zola.”
Safire nods to Zola and goes to raise her other hand in a wave before realising it’s somehow been completely covered in spider silk. She shakes it off as best she can. “Zola! What a pleasure. I’m Safire, nice to meet you. Matches has said a lot of lovely things.”
Alferron looks between the Lord Jaezred and Safire with a look of bemusement. Something else to file away? He coughs to call their attention before continuing.
“Yes, I was quite aware of that much, my lord. I was speaking more in terms of rearing and handling. I assume the ideal environment is cold, dark, and damp, and given that they are spiders, I can only assume they are carnivores, though I don’t know what their usual diet is. And of course, the most important question is, how do I acquire silk from them?”
Jaezred does not answer, instead looking to Zola. It’s clear who the authority in the room is.
The Matron Mother turns to Alferron with a smile. “Yes, I suppose we should get to the point, shouldn’t we? Our spies told us that you’ve made quite the steal from House Do’Viir. Only one guard killed, whilst getting away with a huge bounty. Although you did leave quite a mess in the town square…”
Once Zola takes the lead in discussion, Matches’s eyes drift and he notices Jaezred. His eyebrows rise slightly in surprise, looking between Zola and Jaezred trying to figure out the specific connection. Just as he did to Safire, Jaezred returns the look with a wink.
Alferron’s eyes waver from Zola to Matches to Jaezred to Safire and back to Zola once again. Connections, connections. Interesting. Distracting. Later.
He turns to Zola and gives a slight bow. “I am a victim of my own success. I didn’t quite anticipate just how many spiders I could get to follow me out of the house. Couple that with a gross miscalculation as to how many could be teleported as a time and, well, you know the rest. I cannot claim responsibility for the remains of that guard gentleman; that would lie firmly with my more magically inclined companions and this one here.”
With two snaps of his fingers and a handwave beckoning him in, Delenarr, much larger than Zola remembers him being previously, ambles in with that same look of callous disdain as always. This doesn’t change as he slowly scans both Zola and Jaezred, before padding over to a corner of the room and lying down, still focussed on the conversation at hand.
“Truly, I was hoping to be more quiet about matters, but…” Alferron looks once again from Matches to Safire to Elarris. “You work with what you’ve got.”
“It’s a most daring heist, to be sure,” Zola says, approaching Alferron with a warm smile. “It’s been a while since we last spoke, but you are just as I remember. You truly have got a dragon’s heart, my Lord Baron.” She glances around the spiders scattered around the room. “However…you’ve got a problem on your hands. You don’t know how to extract silk from them, do you?”
“You shower me with kindnesses that I fear I am ill fit to receive,” Alferron responds, slowly becoming more comfortable with the situation at hand. “I hadn’t done the most extensive amount of research prior to the endeavour; I thought it would raise the wrong flags if a gentleman with no prior business in Aeschira suddenly started looking into the moving, handling. and rearing of a species found only in Aeschira and the economic powerhouse behind a particular drow house. That, and the knowledge wouldn’t be all that useful in the first place without the spiders, which by my own admission, may have been my ambitions outstripping my capabilities. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained, so here we are. To put it succinctly…”
Alferron twiddles his thumbs, not losing Zola’s gaze but quickly realising what a fucking moron this makes him sound like. Still, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
“No. No I don’t, actually.”
The look on Zola’s face is unchanged, not a hint of judgement or mockery. “Well… You made quite the stir in Aeschira, but I can’t say I’m not glad to see our rivals House Do’Viir at the receiving end of this misfortune. Perhaps…you and I could come to an arrangement?”
“An arrangement, you say?”
He tries to sound playful about the prospect, but he knows this is anything but. An arrangement. But of course. He could never just have his cake and eat it, could he? But of course, he didn’t really have a choice otherwise, did he? He’d just become public enemy number one of a drow house and even if he was now back in the Dawnlands, who knew how far their reach extended. This so-called arrangement would give him some measure of protection as well as the expertise to farm the spiders properly. It was the only way to make this thing successful.
It’d also eat into the profit margin. There was no choice. He knows that. She knows that. But he couldn’t let it show. That isn’t how this game is played.
“Colour me interested, Lady Zola. Just what do you have in mind?”
He moved a spider off of one of the sofas before sitting, pouring glasses of plum wine for both himself and Zola. In the periphery of his vision, he spots Jaezred in the corner seemingly making a tickling motion on the underside of the leg of a spider attached to his chest. Slowly, the spider crawls off him, and he sets it down on the ground gently, safe from its venomous fangs. The man is certainly no rancher, but even he has a natural confidence with these dangerous, ugly creatures.
“Why don’t we keep it simple?” says Lady Zola, readjusting the shawl and — whether accidental or not — showing more of the body clad in that thin dress. “We can send one of our arachnomancers to take care of these spiders. Feed them, handle them, make their habitat, all that stuff… I mean, you really don’t want to get bitten by one these. Really nasty work. I assume you already know how their venom changes chemical composition during certain seasons due to a change in diet… The work needed to make the antivenoms, oof!”
As Zola starts talking about spider bites, Safire’s eyes drift downwards to Baron Luxemspider and she decides to freeze in place.
“Y-you know, I may have heard something of the sort…” Alferron stammers.
The charm offensive. A manoeuvre he often used, but rarely used on him. Sexy deals weren’t usually made over millet and wheat. But silk was sexy. Zola certainly makes it so.
Alferron desperately tries to resist the magnetic pull between his eyes and her body as he gathers his thoughts. Maybe he should mount a counterattack? He reaches up to loosen his collar before remembering he was sweaty and still stank a little. Maybe she’s into that? Maybe let’s not find out. And what with Matches here, with whom she definitely has some variety of thing, it was probably best not to muddy the waters, not at this stage. He just about wills himself to get a grip; this is the part where she extorts him, after all.
“Such an individual would no doubt be instrumental to this outfit. Indispensable, even. Naturally, their services would command a steep price. Tell me, what is it you desire in return?”
Alferron knows what he desires, and has started balling and unballing his fist to distract himself from that.
Still with a smile on his face, Jaezred slowly lifts Baron Luxemspider out of Safire’s lap, mouthing to her the words keep still. Safire, not wanting to disturb the business meeting, doesn’t move a muscle, except to mouth the words thank you back to him.
“Oh, just a cut of the profits. I’m still not really good at this thing… Why don’t we just say fifty percent each? Simple and fair!” Zola chirps.
Fifty percent? Only fifty percent? Alferron recalls his old feudal contract with his lord brother and almost laughs. Has she misread the power differential here or has he? It’s more than a fair deal, it’s an absolute steal! Seeing her there beaming in that dress, Alferron wants more than anything to take the deal there and then.
But.
This is business, after all. You don’t just take the first offer laid before you. That’s not how this game is played.
“My lady, while I would lay the world at your feet had I the means, it pains me to ask that you reconsider. I will need to reinvest a large majority of my profits back into the business if I am ever to upscale in the future. If you take such a cut, I fear that in the long term both of our earnings may be more meagre than we hope. Would you perhaps consider a forty percent stake of the profits instead?”
“Well, I— Ooh!”
Zola steps forward to dodge a spider dashing past the back of her feet, and in doing so, bumps into Alferron, her breasts pressing into his chest.
Ha! Let’s see how she deals with tha— Holyshititstitties!
She takes a moment before stepping back. “Apologies, my lord. Where was I? Oh yes, I was about to say: of course, the success of this venture partly depends on your connections in the Dawnlands, and since you’ll be the face of the business, you deserve a big share! However, we’ll be handling everything on the production side, and it’s really not cheap to move one of our expert spider-wranglers to the surface world, transporting equipment between the Underdark and the Dawnlands and all that. So this really needs to be worth our while… And besides, we’ll also be working to keep House Do’Viir off your back, hmm?”
Safire breaks her rule of not moving a muscle and instead raises an impressed eyebrow, turning to Jaezred whispering, “She’s good!”
“A natural, isn’t she?” he whispers back, smirking.
Alferron’s mind completely scrambles for a brief moment as he is just about able to make sense of what Zola is saying. Godsdammit, she’s perfectly aware of the power differential! Still, she did make several good points, convincingly too.
But did she or was it just the charm offensive? Alferron is caught in a whirlwind of thoughts, stress, and hormones and barely anything is making sense anymore. He’s being taken for a sucker. And he is scared to admit that he is. He knows he’s red in the face, hot under the collar, and far from his top form, but the least he could do is save some sort of face. He’s not giving up that easy.
“Ahem, your, uh, sizeable assets are duly noted… As in, your resources, of course, and I am of course most grateful for your offer of protection. In that case, shall we say forty-five percent?”
It’s bad. Totally bad. Will immediately get rebuffed and he’ll probably accept whatever she says next, but darn it, he can’t just roll over for nothing!
Zola does not appear to even notice his predicament. She absentmindedly adjusts a strap on her dress, and the subtle bounce of The Twins reminds him of how soft they felt on him, however fleeting their moment of bodily contact was. It all but ensures what will feature in his fantasies tonight. “Um, I don’t know, my lord. My sister would kill me if I don’t come home with at least fifty percent. She has great expectations of me, y’know? And I don’t wanna disappoint her. Sooo…fifty percent?”
Alferron’s mind lingers on the last statement. He ponders on it. How nice it must be to have a family that relies on you. Expect things of you. Trust and have faith in you. Something that he has never known but she has in abundance. It warms the heart. Yes, this is a decision from the heart, and absolutely, definitely, positively, most assuredly not entirely from his lower brain. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.
“My lady, you drive a hard bargain, but I believe we have reached an accord. Fifty it is.”
After all, fifty percent was still a steal…right?
“Great!” She clasps his hand and squeezes it affectionately. “We’ve got a deal! It was a pleasure, Alferron Dragonheart. I’ll be keeping in touch with you, okay?”
“Yes, please touch me as much as you like— I mean! Let us keep in regular contact!” He laughs to brush off the slip there but, Dragonheart. Wow. “Doubtless you are aware of my lodgings at the Gilded Mirror. I will await your correspondence with bated breath.”
Matches has been watching the exchange, at first squinting at the subtle hints, but then realising the power play. He sighs deeply and sits back in one of the sofas, letting his head lull back and doing his best to just stare at the ceiling. He takes long drags of his cigar to distract himself.
As the negotiations seem to draw to a close, he tilts his head to the side to look in Zola’s direction. “Are you leaving? Is this little spot of rustic hospitality not incredibly appealing?” He does grin at the sight of Alferron’s face being the same colour his scales used to be.
Zola looks over her shoulder at Jaezred, who is placing Baron Luxemspider on the wall. “How long until Do’Viir’s spies begin tracking them?”
He lifts his gaze up at the ceiling, thinking. “We’ve got until the end of the day.”
“Alright. I can stay until then.”
“In which case, can I trouble you for a word, my lady?” Matches attempts his most posh accent on the last two words, smirking just a little. “Upstairs?”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Is this a…?” she blurts out.
“Just a word, please. Won’t take long.” He makes eye contact with her while he takes another cigar drag.
But Jaezred interrupts the moment with a polite cough. “Before we can formally conclude this business meeting, we should take stock of how many spiders they’ve acquired, my lady.”
“Oh, of course!” Zola begins muttering numbers under her breath, a finger moving up and down to count the arachnids in the room.
“Are there any more spiders elsewhere?” Jaezred asks the party. “In the stables, perhaps?”
“I, uh…” Matches looks a little sheepish, and pulls his amulet out from under his shirt — a gorgeous ruby held by a pristine gold chain. The people near him feel a little warmth. “I’ve got a fair few eggs in here. Little trick from my patron. But I…can’t get them out until tomorrow.”
“Well, Matches, I hope for your sake that they have not hatched yet by then. Else you might end up needing a trip to the doctor,” Jaezred says with a laugh. “If you’re lucky, that is.”
“Right… Let’s hope I get luckier in here than at the cards table the other night.” Matches raises his amulet in a gesture towards Alferron with a nod and a smirk, a hint of fear underneath. The drow lord snickers.
“Yes, let’s hope so…” Alferron says.
“I count nine spiders in here,” Zola calls out.
“I will go check the stables, and after that, I shall cook a nice rustic meal for us and for the good little boys and girls here. Your Grace should carry on with your…personal business.” Jaezred turns away, cooing at one of the spiders clinging to his front. “Now who’s the goodest boy? You are!”
Alferron looks back at Matches and Zola heading up the stairs as he begins to draw the curtains. Is that how he wants to play this? Did he get a little jealous and take the opportunity to steal Alferron’s thunder?
Fine. If that’s the kind of game you want to play, buster, then fine! I’m the one with the fucking spiders so who wins?!
The maybe not-quite-optimal deal and then this. Confound it all, why does it still feel like losing when he is winning? Fine, whatever, tally the spiders, dinner, and then evading spies. Alferron makes a show of checking the stables for spiders before leaving the room for the time being.
“[Fuck!]” He curses under his breath, perhaps a little louder than intended, before straightening himself out and waiting for Jaezred to join him.
Meanwhile, now that she’s been freed of Baron Luxemspider and hearing Jaezred’s offer of a meal, Safire goes to the kitchen and starts trying to clear away the webs in the room. Jaezred walks in not long after. “Had fun robbing the rich, did you?”
“Always!” she exclaims, trying to shake a web off a whisk. “But surprisingly, it’s even more interesting to see them rob each other.” She walks over, pushes her breasts against Jaezred’s chest, and looks him dead in the eye. “Buy me a ship.”
He bursts out laughing. “Oh, you’ve got to try a bit harder than that, little pirate,” he murmurs in her ear, lips brushing against her cheek. “You did well today, hmm? Let me take care of you.”
“Oh, if you insist!” she says, wrapping her arms around his neck.
As Alferron angrily paces around outside, he catches a glimpse of Jaezred and Safire through the kitchen window, locked in an embrace and deep in a passionate kiss.
“Well, so much for asking about those fucking spies…”
Gods’ sake, was anyone not in flagrante delicto with anyone else?! Shame as well, he was even thinking of asking her out for dinner and drinks sometime, guess that’s getting shelved too.
Bath. Fuck it. Solve one goddamn problem at least. He mutters something under his breath.
“[I'm not running you a fucking bath.]” Delenarr responds in Draconic at normal volume.
“[USELESS FUCKING LIZARD!]” Alferron roars as he storms off upstairs to run his own bath.
“[PLAGUES UPON YOU!]” the dragon retorts.
“I am air, I am wind, I am serenity manifest…”
Alferron hums the affirmations as he takes a knife to his face, first to shave the little stubble that has developed on his face in the past couple of days and then to refine his eyebrows.
“Be honest with me, Delenarr—”
“[Lying is for fools and weaklings.]”
“Right, sure, whatever… Have I made the wrong choice here?”
“[When don’t you?]”
Alferron sets the knife down, rolling his eyes. “Del, I’m being serious here—”
“[As am I!]” The drake snarls. “[You had it all for yourself and what do you do? Lose control of your breeding instinct and give it all away!]”
“Devils take you, word choice, Del!” Alferron barks, as he begins to shave his arm hair. “I don’t expect you to understand, Mr. Once-Every-One-Hundred-Years, but it gets pretty hard to think straight in those conditions! And about ‘it all’ — it’s not that, it’s fifty percent, alright? While not ideal, it’s pretty good for what we’re getting, right?”
“[Poor boy in a rich man’s clothing, bound by extortionate contract with no proper frame of reference. You still don’t get it, do you? What you’re getting? Her expertise, her people. Boy, you’ve lost control of the operation, they might as well have taken the spiders from you! You broke into a drow house just to get a salary halved! All coin, no power!]”
Alferron looks at himself in the mirror, his hands clutching the edge of the sink and grip tightening.
“…Fuck, you’re right…”
“[Fool! You left Cormyr because you were tired of being under your family’s thumb and weren’t able to claim your desired mate because of some notion that you weren’t good enough, so you steal away to liberate yourself from it all, and for what? To end up bound in a contract forged against you and sexually frustrated. Congratulations! You are right back where you started! What frustrates me most is that you didn’t even try to resist, you practically handed her your hands to chain! You didn’t have the knowledge to rear them? And? You would have learned, just as you have before. You needed protection? Have you conveniently forgotten that you are a fugitive once already? No, this is a problem entirely of your making. How are you so bold and yet such a coward at the same time?! As you are, you are so far from your potential. What fucking Dragonheart?!]”
Silence permeates the room for an uncomfortable period of time.
“[Don’t let them see you like this.]”
“You think I don’t fucking know that?!” Alferron turns and exclaims, his face a portrait of rage and sorrow, tears streaming. “Just give me a second, okay?!”
He turns to face the sink. Taps his finger against the edge a couple of times. A couple more.
“Fashion house.”
“[Sorry?]”
The tension in his hands releases as he begins to wash his face.
“If I’ve lost control of the silk production, then I will simply convert to using it. I can reserve part of the raw silk to use instead of sell and then use that to produce goods completely free from her influence. She might control production, but she can’t influence what I do with it. Fashion house.”
“[Hm.]” Delenarr hummed. “[Better.]”
Alferron finishes up at the sink and begins to ready himself to meet the world. He dries and combs his hair and slowly puts his clothes back on.
“I am warmth. I am light. I am the sunrise after the darkest day, and I come back every time…”
He regards himself in the mirror, adjusts his hair once more, and paints a smile on his face, the same one that he’s always seen with.
“Dinnertime.”
The solitary farmhouse by the Angelbark Forest is host to an outdoor dinner party that evening — a feast of cottage cheese, rye bread, ale-braised rabbit stew, apple coleslaw, honey cakes, and some better wine that Jaezred got, with banter and flirty remarks thrown back and forth across the table and 17 cat-sized spiders crawling about.
Matron Zola of House Rhomdaen then bids the Dawnlanders goodbye, congratulating them again on the successful heist before Lord Jaezred teleports her and Cor’Vandor to Aeschira.
Back in the family mansion, she catches her sister and co-Matron Larynda up to the situation. Soon, one of House Rhomdaen’s arachnomancers — a relative from their mother’s side, carefully selected for her loyalty to the house — is summoned into the Great Hall.
As Larynda briefs the arachnomancer on her mission, Zola thinks back to the various conversations she’d had today. When Matches came to her with Alferron’s plan, she knew that the genie was out of the bottle. The Dawnlanders have seen her example and grown bold, thinking they could just waltz into the Underdark and take whatever they want. In truth, this is Zola’s mess to clean up.
Thus, where House Do’Viir has failed, House Rhomdaen will take control, ensuring that the unique art of spider silk farming does not fall completely into the hands of an outsider. She struck whilst the iron was hot, knowing that even if Alferron was left to his own devices, he would eventually find a way to farm the silk. Dawnlanders are canny like that. And besides, trade with the Dawnlands and K’ul Goran is what Zola had planned to do anyway.
Alferron Blackbriar, the 1st Baron Delaunay… He’s an ambitious man, but even ambitious men can be played like a fiddle in the hands of a matron mother. He probably thought that a 50% share was the Luckmaiden smiling down upon him, not realising that naming him as an equal partner was merely a ploy to lower his guard. The only things he brings to the table are his Faerûnian title and his surfacer contacts, whilst the drow do the actual labour with the animals he doesn’t understand or respect. His role will be that of a glorified middleman, and House Rhomdaen has no need for middlemen.
Larynda has finished the briefing. Zola gives a solemn nod. “Rest assured, sister. We will not let this outsider pillage our heritage.” She looks at the arachnomancer. “You are to guard the secrets of the trade with your life, understand? Train the spiders to heed only Drowic and to bite any hands that are not drow hands.”
