Shaddar’s guests seem to be slowing down as their bellies are completely filled with tasty stew, heavy ale, and fragrant wine. The less-than-courteous reaction of Jorin and Bort has spoiled their remaining appetites as well.
He mentally summons his thralls and gives them orders to assist him in showing these new minions to their quarters. This done, he turns to the hobgoblins and drow.
“Friends! I and my underlings will now show you to your rooms! Please follow us and we will discuss the future in a more private and comfortable setting,” he says grandly while gesturing to his thralls.
Shaddar informs his guests of the rules of the house. “It is vital that you not be seen during the morning and mid-afternoon hours. Do not enter the common area of the meadhall without my permission during this time. Are we clear?” Nods all around and so he dismisses them to go to their chambers.
Shaddar leads the drow men to their own rooms while his thralls escort the hobgoblins upstairs. After assuring the men that he will stop by to insure their every comfort is satisfied with their rooms he takes the drow woman up to the second floor to select some fine dresses from the stock obtained by the minotaur.
She is beyond thrilled at the selection and his gracious words. “It is just as you promised, sir!” she says joyfully.
“Of course it is,” Shaddar replies pleasantly. He escorts her back down to her room and makes sure she is content.
The drow girl has much resentment within her from being so ill-used by the humans and Shaddar is hopeful at first that she may transform into an acceptable matron for the liberated drow. But there are indications in her thoughts that she may be unsuitable; her spirit seems too broken by abuse at the hands of the humans. No matter. He will require some public figurehead among the slave races; perhaps she will be what he needs. Or it may take time for him to locate what is needed elsewhere. He is confident that he will find someone skilled and capable enough to become and remain the new Lord of the city, but easy enough for Shaddar to control and manipulate as his puppet. A delicate mixture indeed.
She walks around the room as if she is in a dream-world – delirious in her joy and hazy with wine. Shaddar has learned that her name is Evicurra Doth and unfortunately she seems too simple for the role of warrior-madien of his new drow empire. A pity. Perhaps she will prove useful in some other fashion later?
Evicurra stops spinning around and looks fearful. She speaks haltingly, “And you are… you are sure that we won’t be… punished for being here?”
“I’m sure.”
“Oh, good,” Evicurra says softly, “I don’t understand it, sir, but I’m so enjoying it!” Then she passes out onto the bed. Her tolerance for alcohol is quite low apparently. Shaddar leaves her to sleep and he moves to the next drow’s room to gently interrogate him next.
Shaddar pauses briefly outside the door to mentally review what he has pieced together from this fellow’s thoughts. All through his meal, the fellow wondered about the same things and he continues to ponder them now: “What’s the catch? What’s the trick here? This is too good – there must be some problem here. But I want the benefits being offered… I want to have this kind of life for myself – it’s even better than what the Elders have!”
Shaddar opens the door to talk to this drow. The man bows stiffly when he sees who it is and says, “Many thanks for your hospitality, sir. I am Masaxle T’tar of the stone artisans.”
Shaddar waves the fellow into a seat and sits himself. He begins his questioning, “You may address me as ‘The Boss’. I have so many questions about your people. For example: How many other drow are there?”
“I do not know,” he replies with a slight frown. “We have never had any type of census. I can tell you that there are too many for the assigned places we have to live in.” Shaddar hears his thoughts as he bitterly adds another sentence to this answer, “And too few that have their wits about them.”
Shaddar continues the conversation, pulling details out of Masaxle’s mind as well as his verbal answers. According to him, many of the drow are used for more public, or visible, tasks. They clean and repair the streets and buildings. They do quite a bit of food preparation as well (“no one wants to eat anything touched by lumpys, of course”). Ale and wine are brewed by the drow, as are all pre-cooking jobs such as butchers and millers. They are seldom allowed to sample the fruits of their labors and he is quietly bitter about it.
Masaxle himself is a sculptor who creates and maintains the statues and bas-reliefs through the city. “Like most of the drow, I also oversee the work of teams of hobgoblins so that I can focus on the work that they are unsuited for. I have five lumpys myself that carry my tools, haul stone blocks, and sweep debris away,” he explains. This very evening he has given them the night off – he is supposed to be patrolling a pre-determined area, looking for damage that needs repair.
“A pre-existing hierarchy? Superb! Half of my work is already done,” Shaddar gloats to himself. And this regimen of constant inspection and repair explains why the city seems in such excellent condition.
“And who are your leaders? You have some form of ruling council or body of drow Elders, I assume?”
“Yes, sir. I’ve not meet them – only heard tales.” His thoughts continue, “Tales of having any new idea squashed by their veto! We’ll never get anything improved for our people because the Elders are too afraid of what the Lords of the city might think! All my grand concepts – rejected!”
This thread of conversation has promise. Shaddar prods, “You seem like the kind of man who would have his own ideas. Tell me: what kinds of things would you like to do differently?”
Masaxle looks surprised at Shaddar’s perceptiveness, but nods vigorously, “Yes! I wish to create art according to my own feelings and not the rigid limitations of what the humans’ requisition. It is difficult to explain – I feel a yearning for a different style, a different feeling of line and curve than what humans seem to like. My soul strives to explore these artistic senses, but the Elders have denied my every petition. If only I could explore these feelings a bit, I know that I could capture in stone the very spirit of our race!”
Shaddar’s tentacles slowly vibrate with conviction. “Yes. This fellow has distinct promise. Ambition. Discontent. Vision, even.”
It is time to try his experiment with the brainmate. He reaches into one pocket to lay a tender hand on the artifact and tentatively requests an audience.
“What is needed, Supplanter?” the brainmate responds. It is but a weak echo of the blasting mental voice of the elder brain it was culled from.
Shaddar is a bit concerned with the less-than-complimentary title, but presses on with his request, “I have never been to a drow city or seen their art. Can you help me fill this pawn’s mind with what they look like?”
The brainmate gives a twitch under his hand and a feeling of acceptance.
Shaddar stretches out his clawed fingers toward the drow and whispers, “Do you mean artwork like this?” A stream of images travels from his mind into Masaxle’s as he touches the drow’s mind to insert them.
A sprawling underground city made of sharp angles lit with an unearthly blue light!
Fine layers of articulated leather armor, designed to hide, protect, and stifle sound!
A ceremony of worship featuring the bejeweled matron drinking from a huge, spider-shaped goblet!
The man leaps to his feet with his eyes wide and staring. His mouth parts slightly and he moans. Once the images have been placed, Shaddar lowers his hand and the drow rivets his attention back to him.
“How? How did you do that?”
“I am the Avatar of Inspiration.”
“What?”
“Your people come from a higher stock than you know. These images that I have shown to you – they exist! Created by others of your proud race that live underground! I have come to bring the splendor of your race to those of you who now live above.”
“Yes! Yes, that’s it! The lines! The flow of light and dark! The webs of power and transcendence! It speaks so powerfully to my… my dark soul!” Masaxle is almost overcome with emotion at what he has seen. At what it has revealed to him about his own nature.
Shaddar continues, his voice rising majestically, “Through you, and others like you, we will restore what has been denied your people for so long. Together will create these vast works of art and elegant cities above ground as well. I am the instrument of this great and overdue change! And I wish you to be the Chief Minister of Culture.”
Masaxle drops to one knee and bows his head and says, “I will not abuse the great trust you have given me in sharing this inspiration, oh Avatar! Gladly will I restore this art for all of my people to bask in! You have opened my eyes to the true nature of myself! I can never thank you enough – I pledge myself forever your man.” Tears drip from his face as searing and intense emotions course through his psyche.
“Yes,” Shaddar thinks with satisfaction.
The man leaps to his feet and pulls out some parchment and a small case of charcoals.
“I have not a moment to lose! Forgive me, but I must start at once to capture these images on paper so they can be shared, designed, and built! You have given me so much to think about!” He turns to a table and begins drawing fiercely.
“Of course, Masaxle. I would expect nothing less. I will leave you to it. We shall speak more tomorrow.” Shaddar stands and leaves the room, quietly closing the door behind him.
Feeling very pleased with how that went, Shaddar walks down the hall to the room where the other newcomer drow was put.
This drow is going to require a different approach. His thoughts during dinner have focused on figuring out who Shaddar really is, why his minions follow him, and why he is making such an atypical offer to the drow. His current thoughts are very interesting, “Who does he work for? Could it be a test by the Lords of the city? All I can do is keep my eyes open and remember every detail. The Elders said that the smallest things I notice could provide them with the clues they need to know how to proceed with this disruption to our normal state of affairs. I wonder when I’ll be allowed to leave so I can report to them?”
Shaddar’s tentacles twitch with respect. Being a spy and an informer is an old and noble calling. He opens the door to the room knowing exactly what to say.
“Sir!” the drow exclaims, startled at Shaddar’s sudden entrance. “You have me gratitude for the fine meal and lavish accommodations. I am called Halvyr Zaundar and I am at your service.”
Shadder lightly presses his palms together as he speaks, “Be at ease Halvyr when I say this: I know your true reason for being here.”
“What do you mean?” A look of alarm crosses his face before he can mask it.
“Yes,” Shaddar says with concern, “I know you are not on board with these dark winds of change, but fear not! For you will understand all. I sense that you are here to discern what I truly am… Would you like to know?”
Halvyr throws his shoulders back and lifts his chin as he says, “Yes. I do.”
“I am your god! You are a long-lost, splinter group of my children.”
The unexpectedness of this declaration is written on Halvyr’s face. “What is he talking about?” he thinks wildly, “Is he mad?”
“You have been enslaved by these disgusting and pathetic humans. And this has invoked my divine wrath! The creature you see before you is my chosen vessel – a form of vengeance and retribution! I have come to fulfill the ultimate destiny of your race and to place my children at their proper station.” Shaddar sends a blast of mental power rippling across the dark elf’s brain – demanding that he believe the truth of his words with all the force of will that he has.
The results are more than even he could have hoped for. The power of his mental command rends a portion of Halvyr’s mind, burning through all of his internal defenses and core belief systems – making him less than he was before, but it is done! The elf will never deny what he has told him. The experience has changed him irrevocably into a new man.
Halvyr falls flat on the ground and prostrates himself before Shaddar. “Holy one! Allow this unworthy to thank you for the great blessing of this knowledge!”
Shaddar has heard of this consequence happening before, and he knows that it is a rare occurrence, but it couldn’t have happened at a more fortunate time. The man’s mind had a hidden flaw that caused the psychic suggestion to reform his entire personality around the demand. He has become a zealot.
Shaddar instantly capitalizes on this welcome bit of serendipity by saying, “As a true believer, you will be my messenger to my children, Halvyr. You will return to the drow still in bondage and convince them of my divine mission. Indeed! You are destined for great things as you bring all of my children into the knowledge of this truth.”
“I’m unworthy of this praise, great one! Unworthy! I do confess my sin – I was indeed sent here under false pretences. The Elders of our people sent me to spy, but I did not know your nature! Forgive me!”
“Yes, you should confess. Tell me of the wicked mission you were sent on. Tell me of the Elders.” Shaddar crosses his arms and looks sternly down at the elf that wallows on the floor before him.
“Thank you for your mercy, worshipful one! The Elders are so frightened of change! They are the keepers of all that has transpired in the past – our history is so frightening that they dare not reveal it to the rest of us! They fear that any variation in our customs or behaviors as a race will return us to the Dark Times!”
“The Dark Times?” Shaddar thinks, “Perhaps the Elders know what happened to enslave their race in this city.”
“I must met with the Elders,” Shaddar says aloud.
Halvyr gets onto his knees to look up at Shaddar with adoration and hope. “I am sure that they would be honored to be in your presence!”
“Your first task as my high priest is to bring them here. Bring them to me.”
Halvyr’s face falls. “But, masterful one, they are so old that they never leave their sanctuary. And we dare not bring them out to where the humans might see them. Surely the human’s would kill them if they knew that they lived! Have mercy on our Elders, sire!”
“Not ambulatory? They must be very old indeed… Very well! I will show mercy in this instance. I will deign to visit them in their chambers where their safety and comfort can be insured.”
Halvyr falls back to his face and mumbles his gratitude, “You are kind to all of us, divine one. I will arrange for your visit tomorrow. Unless you wish me to leave now and rouse them from their beds? They will be only too happy to prepare themselves for a visitation from your excellency!”
“That will not be necessary.”
“I am perfectly willing to do whatever you wish! Do you need broken glass eaten? I will do it! Shall I sing your praises all night? I am ready! Command me, divine one!”
“Very well. You must address me as: ‘your worshipfulness’. That will be all I require this evening. Rest now and I will allow you to take my message to the Elders tomorrow.” Shaddar walks to the door and exits the chamber.
“Thank you, your worshipfulness!” he hears from inside the room from his now-devoted follower.
Chapter 1 < Chapter 13 Chapter 15 >
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