The dimly-lit hovel that he calls his home is as he left it when he went to sleep. As he has always done, Shaddar reaches under his pillow to take hold and stroke his two birthing stones. The small resonance stones magically fill him with the emotions of self-satisfaction and confidence. As he sits up at the edge of his bed, he sees the irony that he should feel self-satisfaction in such a meager dwelling. The confidence he owns in full measure – he has every reason to feel such.
True, he is young – having only been raised to greatness via ceremorphosis a bit short of 20 years ago.
“24 days, 9 hours, 12 minutes, and 39 seconds until I am freed,” Shaddar thinks. “When I am twenty – I will be my own master.”
A vile and familiar mental voice intrudes into his mind, “A master of nothing, tadpole!” Shaddar’s tentacles twist into a rude gesture, that no one is able to see. It is his master, Felinxtrath. A senior Illithid who failed the city, and the elder brain at it’s heart, once too often and was given the task of being the chaperone and mentor to Shaddar when he was first born. A dark day, to Shaddar’s thinking. Felinxtrath was cruel, vindictive, and saw his punishment as a gross injustice and waste of his talents. Never did he allow a day go by that he did not force an awareness of these emotions onto young Shaddar – he made his life a living hell.
“I’ll see you dead someday,” Shaddar spoke aloud, flecks of slime flicking off his tentacles as they jerked, “master.”
His master’s thoughts go on, “At last you awake, slothful one. I have instructed my thrall to cuff your head for this imperfection in your character.” A mental hiss of foul laughter rings through Shaddar’s head – he has received a beating every day at the hands of his loving master. “But with that pleasure completed, you must be about my business! Before you report to the experiment chamber, visit the elder brain, collect the thralls I have reserved for today’s work, and then bring along 4 slaves in good condition. Today’s experiment will bring me great glory when it succeeds! Do not delay!” The mental connection broke as his master’s attention moved on to other matters.
“Another day of failure,” thinks Shaddar, with a tentacle flip that indicates slight amusement. Felinxtrath has been trying to do… something… for almost five years. And each attempt has been a more spectacular failure than the last. His master has never deigned to tell him what the experiments are about, but they are surely a waste of time.
“24 days, 9 hours, 10 minutes, and 56 seconds until I am freed,” Shaddar thinks with resignation. He stands and pulls on his low-quality cotton robe. Some black silk adorns the collar and cuffs, but it is a hand-me-down garment that is threadbare in many places. An unworthy article of clothing for him. Shaddar’s burning hatred for his master’s inattention intensifies.
Shaddar’s mental senses quest outwards and he detects the presence of a low-grade intellect in the hall. When he opens the door he sees Ped’fraxith, the weakest of his master’s personal thralls. The gargoyle’s wing whips out and strikes Shaddar across the face.
“By the order of my master, this blow is this yours,” the beast grates in a voice dry as dust. Its verbal tone is regretful, but Shaddar can taste the ripples of delight in his simple mind at the act of violence and disrespect. Shaddar takes the blow well, as he is expected to, and says nothing. The monster nods and moves behind him to take his place as a follower and slave. Shaddar may be low in rank among the Illithids, but he is still miles above a thrall in terms of status.
As they walk down the passageway to the heart of the dark city, Shaddar feels the familiar anger and embarrassment once again that he has no personal thrall of his own. If Ped’fraxith was his own thrall, or even one of the many communal thralls, Shaddar would punish or kill it for such a blow. But the gargoyle is the personal property of his master and is therefore beyond reach of the vengeance its actions warrant. His tentacles quiver with impotent rage out of sight of the insolent thrall.
Comforted by thoughts of inventive tortures he would like to inflict upon the gargoyle, Shaddar is distracted from the idea of where he is going: the elder brain’s pool. Only once before has he seen it. A moment of blinding terror for a newborn Shaddar. The pulsating presence of the mighty elder brain’s power permeated the underground city constantly, but to actually stand before it’s bulk and feel the personal focus of its attention? No, Shaddar was not looking forward to this task.
And then they arrive. The chamber doors are open. And Shaddar knows that he must show no fear before the intellectual leader of their city. He boldly enters the room, leaving a cowering Ped’fraxith behind. The slowly moving bulk of an extracted brain more than ten feet across bobs in a briny pool filled with vital fluids and wriggling Illitihid tadpoles.
“SHADDAR.” The telepathic statement is like the roar of an unholy choir in his mind as he kneels before his ultimate master.
Still reeling from the raw power of the elder brain’s mental voice, Shaddar misses the beginning of what happens next. When he comes to himself, he sees a patch of the elder brain’s wrinkled surface begin to swell and pulsate faster than the rest. He watches with awe as the swelling increases and becomes a large tumor-like growth of brain-flesh.
“TAKE THIS TO FELINXTRATH. IT WILL SERVE OUR RACE WELL AND TELL ME ALL THAT YOU DO.” Shaddar is given a mental picture that he is to approach and take the growth in his hands. Trembling, he does so and the growth separates from the flesh of its parent. Shaddar has heard of this before, but did not think to see it for himself. As he stares in reverence, the brainmate seems to collapse upon itself until it easily fits in one open palm.
“A portion of the elder brain itself!” Shaddar thinks with excitement, “Able to comfort, communicate, and teach even when one is far from home!” He bows in respect to the slowly submerging form of the elder brain and leaves the room, pondering on why such a gift is required of his master. Perhaps he really is close to some sort of breakthrough? Or is it just a closely placed spy? Does the elder brain want a first-hand report of his master’s doings?
Chapter 2 >
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