Arachnid

"That's one hell of a way of putting it." Prospero couldn't remember the last time he'd used his magic without feeling the effects of it soon after. It always felt like he was a second away from losing what little of his own mind he had left. And that could only be a bad thing for him. The last thing he ever wanted was to become everything his mother had tried to shield him from. That wasn't what this conversation was about though. This woman was here for some reason and he would have liked to know why. Other than the obvious curiosity about his so-called gift. "You're right. I don't." His head tilted. "If you wanted to kill me, you would have already. Unless you like to play with your food before you eat it. I'm fine with that, too," he stated as a corner of his mouth curled up in a smirk. "Prospero. And you?"

"Evanuris," she offered after a moment of pause to let the question breathe between them, "and it depends on the meal." Some flesh was better tenderized, but there would always be something sweet about the moment that preceded success. Nothing was ever sweeter than those lingering seconds before victory and satiety, if only a few moments could be stretched into eternity, they, however, existed solely in hindsight. It was impossible to know how perfect something was until it was over and behind you, time was fickle like that, the greatest moments of your life were always behind you, even as they passed you by. "So tell me, Prospero," he'd brought Hell into the equation and over the last few months she'd garnered a fair understanding of what this realm perceived as Hell. "have you ever seen it yourself? Hell, I mean."

♝

"Dear, sweet, daughter of the night, power belongs to those who take it." Evanuris could understand a young devotee's desire to walk along the path of Night, but there were many roads through the Dark. "Lloth cares little for your ascension, so long as you remember to praise her name while you climb; continue to do so and she'll allow you to ascend and ascend." Talks of devotion were all well and good but among the Priesthood they were surface level and Evanuris did wish to delve a little deeper into the breadth of this one's workings. "How much of the mortal realm have you seen?"

Prayer is something she is terribly familiar with. Done in public with the convent in the vast chapel, done at morning breakfast, before bed, randomly throughout the day. In secret to Tisiphone, Joan of Arc, Persephone, Athena, strong women she read about in books, that she dedicated altar's to all tucked away in the corner of the library. When the nuns had figured whatever was wrong with her wasn't something they could exorcise, they'd turned to futile prayer as if that would somehow erase her demonic heritage. Even before all of that, her mother had worshipped something unholy. She'd long ago told herself that she wouldn't pray to any man, not anymore. But another woman? It feels right standing there before this priestess, in the dimly lit room. Maybe it's the need for stability at the moment, a return to normalcy that is also a step forward that makes her feel like this is a right choice. Slowly, Blair turns her attention from the altar, all of the cobwebs, to the woman who made her feel....Like she mattered somehow, and offers a nod of her head. "I'll do it."

"There are a few words you should learn, Lloth hears our prayers best when we prove ourselves to her. Elliya, Llolthu," Evanuris recited with practiced ease, "you're not expected to learn elvish, it means, 'test me, Lloth.'" There were a dozen rites that the Handmaiden could have reviewed, but one principle would cut Blair above the others, and should the need ever arise demonstrate her allegiance to Lloth's followers who might night recognize the halfblooded as a friend to the Dark. A decanter of infernal wine, black as pitch but sweet as the night was produced from the altar as Evanuris delicately poured the drink into the basin before her. "There Great Goddess, Mother of the Dark, grant me the blood of my enemies for drink and their living hearts for meat. Grant me the screams of their young for song, grant me their helplessness for my enjoyment, grant me the wealth of their houses for my bed. By this unworthy sacrifice, I honor you, Queen of Spiders, and beseech of you the strength to destroy my foes." Evanuris tilted her head towards the sacrament, "Drink, if you're so inclined."

It feels a little bit like she's standing her both being riddled and appraised. Not for anything other than ability, something gave her the vibe that this woman cared far more for what she could do than who or what she was. That's something she can understand and without hesitation she reaches inside her jacket and grabs the pocket knife kept there. Nothing fancy, it's simply for utility, but Blair flicks it open and presses the tip of it to the fingers of her left hand. In an actual battle she was picky, but not this delicate. Showing off is different than fighting, it's not something she's gotten to do in a long while.

Evanuris had held Blair's gaze for a time now, and manipulating blood into physical constructs was a rare gift. A sewing needle was generally all Evanuris cared to fight with, stitching enemies together like a macabre seamstress might sew together a gruesome quilt. Still, she used this very needle to open her palm and with a flourish a sword manifested from a sudden rush of the daemonfey's blood that spilled out. "Fascinating," Evanuris commented as she turned the blade with simplistic ease, like a dancer who fell quickly into a step she'd been rehearsing since infancy. "You can solidify it, strengthen it, sharpen it." Evanuris wasn't informing, merely commenting and appraising. The greater the force behind it, the more knowledge of the properties within it, the stronger it would be. "Useful indeed. " The blade dispersed, "There is a place for talented women in Lloth's church; she's a Goddess who rewards the individual and the ambitious. All she asks is you recite her prayer."

People would always do what they wanted. This was true, but such was the beauty of catching a fly in your web; predictable people behaved predictably. The surest way to get anything out of someone was to make them believe it had always been their idea. Evanuris had wandered into a net long ago. This creature she'd become suited her because it served her long-held ambitions. Not so coincidentally, it also served Lloth's. Evanuris's mind wandered briefly toward the night in Lloth's temple; it had been long since she'd felt much of anything for anyone besides herself, her sisters, or her Lady. "And what do you need?"

As ruthless as the drow could be, they weren't without their own hearts. Evanuris would not placate the other's grief, though the rage inspired by it was something of a fascination to her. In The Weaver's web, they all had their parts to play. Araushnee had been a Goddess of prophecy and foretelling, a prodigy of the Graeae, and as the leader of the Dark Seldarine, it made her all the more formidable. Evanuris would never assume to speak Lloth's secret desires, but in her heart, she recognized that her ancient and deified friend would have hoped that Ayi'ig would someday be the vessel she'd call home. What else would the Queen have been conditioned for? Why else would Lloth have helped her for so long? Still, it was the chaotic nature of Evanuris' patron to be consistently misunderstood, so where this thread would lead was ultimately beyond the driver's understanding.

Where Menzoberranzan had been the gleaming gem of the drow's empire, now this Court amidst the Otherworld had come to replace it. The rigidity of the drow's caste system had been structured in such a way for years now that it did not lend itself to the immersion of other races. In truth, the disease of the spellplague had left the continent far too ravaged to consider things like trade or further conquest. Evanuris had come to understand the motivations of many of the creatures within the Court, what they wanted, and what they'd do to achieve their ends. Vengeance, greater power, and beyond. So long as Nyloth held Lloth's great favor, there was little she had to fear from cloaked assassins or scheming sorcerers, but no one was infallible. "I've no doubt, Mother." The last of the maleblood trickled from the body and Evanuris' eyes gleamed, "Now, let us feast."

who?: @evanurisx where?: somewhere the people are, just want sin to see auntie being auntie ok?

In the catacombs below Rome, a new temple to Lloth had been dedicated as Evanuris silently wove her Weaver's will into the foundation beneath the ancient city. It was here that Lloth's foothold would take root in previously unconquered territory, and it was here that the Goddess of spiders' influence over the mortal realm could begin. Naturally, some players needed to be removed; the elves had ostracized themselves from this realm, and the false Gods who previously held dominion over the creatures here had been scattered. The Great Old Ones had been foiled, and in the absence of faith came the vacuum for worship, a need for ambition, and a desire for certainty. Gloriously calculated chaos, it was a privilege to stand amidst it all. The Handmaiden cared very little for platitudes; worship was for the Weaver. "Ambitious," Evanuris remarked, "but many stand in line ahead of you." Order and hierarchy were there for a reason, if Sinbyrn truly wished to ascend she'd have to do so by crawling over the bodies of those who were presently her betters.

Evanuris had never particularly been an open book. Neither was Harellan, but her mind was something that he never quite delved into. He'd never had a reason to for as long as they had known each other. When the hollowborn had first been brought to this court by the now deceased queen, he hadn't really needed to know anyone. He could easily figure out someone's entire life in a matter of seconds. However, that would only make him lose his own thoughts and memories even more. He could take and take and take, but it would always come back to bite him in the ass. So he was careful with who he used his ability on. He was always taking a memory or giving one to someone that would benefit him. That was what Ayi'ig had taught him. After everything that had happened when he was younger, he had to learn quickly who could be trusted and who could not be. And, within the world of the drow, he was always leaning more towards the latter.

Nurture opposed the nature of her sisters, but Evanuris had a soft spoke for the broken things of this world. The discarded and the disregarded, she wondered if Ayi'ig knew what she had with this one, or if she'd woefully underestimated him. Drow were born into their graces, their fates determined by how their ambition paired with their intellect and talents. It was not Evanuris' intent to soothe Harellan but to reforge him; if one happened to be a byproduct of the other, that could hardly be helped.

Evanuris felt her lips tilt at the offer; it was a generous offer but also a familiar one. She took the careful patience necessary to bring the body lower, "Ayi'ig welcomed any man from childhood into her priesthood; naturally, this was a mistake. Devotion from a boy is impossible to discern from their youth, in the last age Lloth permitted their presence after a proving. The Militant Myrlochar, raise one fanatic, and the rest fall in line." Evanuris wouldn't need to explain as much to Nyloth; even as a High Elve, the woman would have known of the dark paladins that led campaigns of udadrow alongside Lloth's priesthood. "Lloth cares very little for who stands at the helm, man, woman: dark, calculated chaos is her wish." Naturally, Evanuris had prejudices, but it was not for her to decide. Evanuris spoke plainly; the Matron had done well to make an example out of her son, but it would not be enough. Two men stood as Nyloth's equal within the triumvirate, a Court of three at the pinnacle of drow society. "It's not only Lloth's gaze that has fallen on this Court, but the entirety of the Underdark and the empire you helped shepherd from a dead, faithless age. What happens here will have far-reaching consequences. It's time for you to consider legacy; you were the bride of a God, and you've led this priesthood for thousands of years. You are the Matron of all Mothers, but surely your ambition doesn't end here. There's a place for you among our order, perhaps even higher, but succession must be secured, and the future of the Courts, however you envision it, will first need to be achieved."

That's where she was now, she supposed. An escaped fly, free to do what she wanted and yet, morbidly she thinks that she's there in another web. In a way it's different because while she'd stumbled upon this place, she'd chosen to be here. The woman looks at her with this knowing in her eyes and that's a weakness of her own. Back at the convent, she'd been a monster as far as those nuns had been concerned, but there'd been those that came through that gave her the same look. Like they were so curious about her and what she could do, knew she was something more. "And you? Have you ever been trapped?"

Evanuris was the twelfth-born daughter of an emperor who thought a daughter's purpose was to marry for alliances; she knew all too well what it felt like to be trapped. "Scathing eyes ask that we be symmetrical, one-sided, and easily processed." Evanuris considered Lloth and the rebellion that had turned into the bloom of her rites, "Yet every misshapen spark's unseen beauty is greater than its would-be judgment." They weren't her words, but Araushnee's, long before the elven daughter ever took on the title of Lloth. Evanuris pivoted, "Show me what you can do."