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To Darkness Descended

• Chapter 16 of the Legends of the DragonRider

It was colloquially known as 'the Tree of Punishment'. By all accounts, it was the result of one of the many attempts that had been made, over the years, to create a tree capable of flourishing in the lightless depths of the Underdark. Such attempts had been made by everyone from dabbling botanists to professional alchemists to the odd Hemonculus who just happened to get an amusing idea and decided to give it a try - with this particular tree almost certainly being the creation of the later category. Of course, the effort was hardly made in the name of aesthetics - wood being a remarkably flexible and useful material for crafting and construction - though some of the Great Houses did maintain magically-lit arboretums where surface-plants could be grown and harvested, both for the sheer exotic extravagance of it and to allow their members to acclimatize to such an alien environment prior to leading slave-raids to the surface.

Regardless,this particular tree certainly didn't resemble anything that grew on the surface, its branches leafless and gnarled, twisted and almost tentacle-like in appearance, and it had presumably proven too temperamental for large-scale farming. So instead, it had become a local landmark. Conveniently situated near a crossroad where the paths leading to several of the mushroom-farms and ranches that supplied Commorragh with food ran together, it had proven to be a handy place to string up escaped or otherwise disobedient slaves - with those that had committed minor offenses mercifully having their throats cut before they were strung up. Fed by the blood and corpse-juices of the slaves that decorated its branches, the Tree of Punishment had grown remarkably large and twisted, and would have been a frightening sight even without the moldy bones piled around its roots...

At this point in time, however, only aged, leathery cadavers hung from the warped branches. No more new slaves were being brought in, after all, since the army had stopped raiding the surface in favor of tearing itself apart... which, thanks to the universal rule of supply and demand, had made slaves far more valuable than before. Too valuable to throw away just to enforce a suitable atmosphere of terror on the remaining ones - though it was more effort, pain_could motivate just as effectively as fear, in the end. Robbed of its regular watering, the tree was actually starting to look a bit unhealthy, the tips of its gnarled branches growing pale - but through centuries of regular blood-sacrifices, it had built up a great reservoir of strength within its fat trunk. It would last for many years yet, _decades even - and surely, by then, things would go back to normal.

If the tree had possessed the mind to harbor such hopes, it would no doubt have felt great consternation at having been picked as the location for a meeting meant to ensure that said hopes _never_came to fruition. Fortunately, it was as mindless as most other plants - not that Direza would have been likely to worry too much about a tree's tender sensibilities regardless. The location was, after all, perfect - the surrounding lands were flat and open, leaving nowhere to hide an ambush-force, and the Tree of Punishment was a well-known and easily-identified landmark, particularly visible from the air. This was why she had proposed that particular spot to Baron Sathonyx in her request for a face-to-face meeting...

In the message - which Lelith Hesperax had successfully delivered directly to the leader of the Hellions - Direza had specified that both of them should arrive with no more than two bodyguards. This was a fairly standard stipulation in meetings between the biggest movers and shakers in Commorragh, be they guild-leaders, generals, priestesses or the Matriarchs of the Great Houses - the limit being set on the assumption that while any skilled leader would be able to find one or two aides that could be relied upon to keep their mouths shut about whatever they might overhear, anyone who believed she could find three such people was likely to be a naive fool.

More importantly, it was an easy way to flatter the 'Baron', treating him like a fellow top-level player in the Great Game. And for Direza, it was also a good way to make a point... for as she waited by the gnarled tree, doing her best to ignore the swaying, partially-mummified corpses that dangled from its branches, she did so with only one guard. Not the twin Equus mares in their gleaming, dragonforged plate - Melora and Mel, her dear friend and her honorary niece - but only the single, black-scaled figure of her Mistress, Anitra. "This one is all I need," said the choice, especially to anyone who was aware that she was usually flanked by two formidable bodyguards. "This one is plenty, I needn't bring out more than just her."

Of course, it also seemed passingly likely that Sathonyx, who'd received only a partial Great House education before finishing his schooling on the blood-soaked streets of Commorragh's slums, wasn't aware of the exact extents of a DragonRider's powers. For example, he might not know that Anitra was able to maintain telepathic contact to Blake, who currently waited back at the Reclaimer's Mansion just inside the city walls, and could thus call on him to scramble and join them by the tree the moment she sensed treachery. Mind, even if the self-declared Baron was sufficiently well-informed to know this, the likely countermove would be to bring along some kind of magical jammer or shield that could block or at least interfere with the telepathic bond... something that almost certainly wouldn't work, considering that the trio of rings that focused Anitra's end of the bond had been specifically designed to penetrate any such obstacle.

Direza had high hopes for the meeting with Baron Sathonyx. Even having never met him in person before, she felt reasonably confident that she already had his measure. But she wasn't about to take any chances she didn't need to. Even if things went sour, she'd come out on top. She'd made sure of that.

For now, though, things seemed to be progressing admirably. Above, three vague, red blobs could be perceived when she focused her eyes just right, invoking the infravision that had been first among Lolth's 'gift' to the Drow. They were just about the right size for Hellbats with one rider each. Anitra most likely hadn't sensed them yet - she could feel her Mistress' impatience and tension, attuned as she was to her moods - but soon, the great bats' silent wings would carry them close enough to the emberlights they'd hung from some of the otherwise-unoccupied branches of the Tree of Punishment, that the DragonRider's fine low-light vision would let her perceive them.

As the three Hellbats alighted a short distance away and the riders climbed off, Direza felt Anitra relax behind her... or perhaps rather switch to a more focused and dangerous sort of tension, ready to intercept any direct attack that the newly-arrived Baron might attempt. Not that they looked all that dangerous. Sathonyx and his two bodyguards - who were likely high-ranking officers in his slapdash army, and possibly even his primary 'generals' - were all half-naked, bare-chested and clad only in tight leather riding-trousers and boots. There was, however, a distinct, visible difference between the Baron and his two minions - _their_skin was a pale gray that set off the web of jet-black, jagged, tribalistic tattoos that covered their bare torsos, while Sathonyx himself sported a deep black and seemingly unmarred skin.

"No tattoos for the big boss, huh?" Anitra mumbled in her ear, sparking a tight smile on Direza's face as she focused her eyes again. "Oh, he has them all right, Mistress..." she whispered back. "They're black on black, but to Drow infravision, they're visible as brighter areas because they prevent sweating and thus cause those regions of skin to grow hotter." Sathonyx and his men were taking their time advancing to the meeting-point, no doubt making a point in being fashionably late - as well as doing their own sweep for traps or ambushes - so she continued with the explanation, as much to keep her own nervousness down as to enlighten her Mistress about the people who would hopefully soon become their allies.

"The tattoos are an important tradition among the slum-gangs. You see, while there are some personal variations in terms of shade, the biggest factor in a drow's skin-tone is health. Being fatigued, stressed, hungry or sick, especially during childhood, will all cause your skin to grow noticeably paler. Hence, you don't see a lot of jet-black skin in the slums - and the black tattoos draw attention to this fact, making it a point of pride instead of shame." Behind her, Anitra nodded thoughtfully. "I get it... so dark skin is associated with good health, while pale skin suggests that you're low-class... an obvious sort of way for a standard of beauty to form. And the Hellions basically tattoo themselves to tell anyone who sees them, 'Yeah, I'm poor and malnourished, but if you give me half a chance, I'll still kick your ebony ass and rob you of all you're worth.' Hah. Though..."

She hesitated, and Direza stifled a giggle as she glanced down at her hands - their skin a dark ashen, noticeably paler than the slowly-approaching Sathonyx's jet-black hide. "Yes... I used to be quite self-conscious about my skin-tone..." she admitted quietly. "Like I said, there is a level of personal variation to it, that has nothing to do with health or nutrition. At least when I became High Priestess, people stopped making snide remarks about it. I'm well past caring about that these days, though." Her heart caught in her throat, then, as her beloved Mistress leaned in a bit closer and whispered in her ear, "Really? Personally, I think your skin-tone is just perfect. Makes it far more noticeable when you blush than if it had been fully black."

A shiver of delight ran through her, along with a bit of that blush that had just been mentioned, but she quickly forced it down again and composed her face in a suitably grave mask - having only just enough time to whisper, "Thank you, Mistress..." before Sathonyx came close enough that they couldn't risk any further discussion. The man who had united the slum-gangs of Commorragh looked suitably formidable up close, she thought - striking just the right balance between noble charisma and mean-street toughness, with his bared and battle-scarred chest and his tailor-made trousers and riding boots. The knives that hung from his belt - two of them, which reinforced Direza's earlier assumption that he was an old fan of Lelith Hesperax's spectacular dual-blade fighting style - also looked razor-sharp and well crafted. Probably enchanted as well, something that her dear Anitra would know for sure thanks to her ability to perceive active magical fields - but with any luck, they'd never become relevant.

His eyes, after all, held just the thing she'd expected - inexpertly hidden under a mocking, disdainful facade; a bone-deep need to be acknowledged, shown respect. From someone, anyone, but preferably someone important to confirm that he was important too, and not just the defective waste of space his family had judged him as. It was for this, rather than any true lust for power, that he had united the Hellion gangs, and made himself an icon of worship for the poor and desperate residents of the slums. But in the end, the adoration of gangsters and beggars could never truly make up for the disdain of the Great Houses...

A sardonic smile was on his lips as he stopped in front of her, his arms clasped behind his back in a military fashion, and gave a measured nod. "So, you have indeed returned, 'Your Imperial Highness'..." he proclaimed, making her old title an insult. She smiled lightly - and bowed, not deeply, but just a bit, from the hips. The appropriate method of greeting for a members of the high nobility meeting an equal. The fact that Sathonyx's eyes widened at this showed both that he was aware of this from his early upbringing - where proper modes of address and behavior around his betters would have been drilled into him - and that he hadn't actually had a chance to finish his education in the ways of the Great Game. Otherwise, he wouldn't have let his feeling show so easily.

"I do not believe that I have any claim on that title anymore..." she said calmly as she straightened up. "Nor, indeed, the title I once held as a member of a Great House. No doubt, they disowned me after I betrayed my people and fled to the surface. But then, that makes us much alike, doesn't it? So please, just call me Direza... Sathonyx." Scowling - another inept attempt to conceal his feelings - Sathonyx shrugged. "Suits me just fine. We have little use for fancy titles in the slums - heck, the whole 'Baron' thing was just something I adopted to poke fun of the nobles that came to hire my men, and it somehow stuck." Direza just smiled and nodded at this.

For a couple of seconds, silence reigned before the gnarled Tree of Punishment, while the two pale-skinned Hellions that had accompanied Sathonyx shifted uncomfortably behind him. "Well, 'Direza'?" Sathonyx finally asked, breaking the disquieting atmosphere, which was doing exactly what it was supposed to. "You are the one who so extravagantly invited me to this little 'summit'. Say your piece." Keeping her smile carefully controlled, Direza nodded. "As you please. Though I'm sure I won't be surprising you when I propose an alliance between our factions. Join us, and we'll soon sweep Asdrubael Vect's 'New Truth' out of the way, and then lay siege to the Temple-Citadel. As it stands we, the Reclaimers - now joined by the Cult of Strife - have a cadre of elite warriors and two _dragons_on our side. What we require are the regular troops that any army needs in order to thicken defensive lines and hold captured territory. You have that in spades."

Sathonyx snorted, not nodding, but also not shaking his head. "We do indeed!" He declared proudly. "In fact, I daresay we outnumber every other faction put together, yours included - as any who have impugned on our territory have learned to their detriment." As statements went, that was probably a bit of an exaggeration, Direza judged based on the extensive intelligence gathered by the trio of Rakshasa they had brought along. But not very much of one. Sathonyx, however, at least had the realism and self-awareness to not follow up with the obvious 'So why do we even need you?' question. The obvious answer, after all, was that the hordes of gangsters and street-toughs that made up his forces were untrained, underfed and barely equipped. Against the former army-units that now stood divided between the New Truth and the Loyalists, nevermind the terrifyingly skilled Wyches of the Cult of Strife, they'd be lucky if they could exchange their lives twenty-to-one. Lelith Hesperax alone could likely take out hundreds_of them if push came to shove - and it was unlikely that they had enough enchanted weapons among them to offer _any kind of threat to Blake or Cerulea.

So, he was aware of both his advantages and his weaknesses - which was a rare enough trait in a leader, Direza judged as Sathonyx continued down a rather more sensible avenue of questioning. "But tell me, Direza... once we have crushed the New Truth and the Loyalists, and you have 'reclaimed' your throne in the Temple-Citadel... then what?" His tone was serious, before turning suddenly mocking. "Will you rain gold upon the slums, lifting all of the people who aided you in your return to power out of poverty? Show them the respect they never got before? Would they even be remembered in your no doubt well-written victory-speech?"

Behind him, the two pale-skinned and heavily-tattoos Hellions who'd arrived with him sneered, their eyes hard. Her respectful demeanor had disarmed them even more effectively than their leader, but now his sarcastic mention of what they were likely to gain from such an alliance had reminded them of where they stood. Direza, for her part, smiled tightly. "I can certainly promise to remember you and yours in the victory-speech... but if I promised all the rest as well, I rather doubt you'd believe me." She replied. "There will always be rich and poor, fortunate and unfortunate, in every society... I know that a land where none lack for anything and everyone have all that they require and wish for is possible, but only under truly extraordinary circumstances, so I believe we'll have to settle for merely improving the lives of all Drow. That will include the people who follow you now, if that wasn't clear. They may still wind up having less than most others, but they'll have more than they did before!"

"Not good enough!" Sathonyx declared, clamping his teeth together and hissing through them. "Why would we help place another arrogant noble on the throne, just to languish in - at best - slightly_less_ poverty?" Now, however, it was Direza's turn to shrug. "What is your alternative, Sathonyx?" She asked plainly, and he snorted. "We tear down the Great Houses and the Temple altogether. Let every man be his own lord!" He exclamation with a grand hand-gesture. "No lords, no masters, no_gods!"_ The other two behind him, silent still, were nodding eagerly, eyes bright - possibly not even conscious of it.

Direza, for her part, sighed and shook her head. "Not possible. And I don't just mean that you can't possibly win the current stalemate on your own, though that is certainly true. Nor will either the Loyalists or the New Truth offer you better terms than I have. What I'm saying is that the society you propose cannot exist._A world of pure anarchy, with no higher authority or set castes? Where no person may hold power over any other person? It simply won't happen, no matter _what you do." Sathonyx's eyes were dangerously narrow now, and behind him, his bodyguards were inching their hands closer to their weapons, scowling openly. "Sure of that, are you?" He asked quietly.

She nodded firmly. "Very. Listen to me, Sathonyx... I have traveled the surface. I have met other races, as friends and not as slaves. Humans, elves, dwarves, halflings, even creatures you've never heard_about. And none of them, _none, have lived as equals. Indeed, no animal I know of does so either. It seems an intrinsic part of_life itself_ that hierarchies will form. Some will rise to the top, others will float to the bottom. This is an eternal truth. You know this. You preach anarchy, and yet, tens of thousands follow you without question." Her eyes now left Sathonyx's increasingly conflicted face to linger on his bodyguards instead. "You two!" She barked, making them jump. "Are you prepared to die for your Baron?!"

Her voice was laced with with the whip-crack of command - a skill she'd practiced and perfected extensively in her past life as a High Priestess. For those accustomed to obedience, it tended to spark a prompt response - as indeed it did now. "Of course!" They both cried in unison, hands reaching for weapons, angry that she would even suggest otherwise. They were already starting to look hesitant and bemused at their own reaction as the continued, however. "Why? Are you not your own masters? Do you not fight for a world where there are no leaders, no authorities to compel your loyalty?"

Their only replies were mumbled umms and uhhs, their mouths opening and closing, their eyes refusing to meet hers, as they struggled and failed to put words to what they felt, what they believed in. The truth, however, was plain to see - they believed in Sathonyx. They could mouth the same line about freedom from authority and being your own lord with the best of them, but when push came to shove, and that creed conflicted with their loyalty to the man who'd united them and given them purpose, the anarchist philosophy quickly lost out.

Sathonyx, meanwhile, glanced back at them with annoyance, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly as he restrained the impulse to smile at their clear expression of loyalty. "Please, brothers... let me_do the talking..." he reminded them quietly, and with blushing cheeks - clearly visible against their pale skin, Direza noted with a little spark of very personal delight - they straightened up to stand at attention, their lips tightly clamped together to prevent any other spontaneous outbursts. As Sathonyx turned back to glare at her, she smiled pleasantly at him. "I trust I've made my point..." she said. "If you build a world without hierarchies, it simply means that you'll have no control over what kind of hierarchies naturally and organically _emerge, as they inevitably will."

The annoyance was still in Sathonyx's eyes as he turned to face her again, but he did not immediately contradict her. "Let us assume for a moment that I concede that particular point..." he hedged, "...you would still need to convince me that you are the one I should be throwing my weight behind. Most of my people are men, you know? And Asdrubael Vect promises a bright future for our gender if he were to reach the Obsidian Throne." Direza, once again, nodded pleasantly. "So he says, anyway..." she reminded him - before getting down to brass tacks, explaining how her vision for a new Commorragh and a new future for the Drow as a whole would benefit 'his people' in general, and him _personally_in particular.

The worship of Lolth, with all its human sacrifices and ritualistic torture, would be decisively ended. The matriarchy that this worship had enforced would thus fade as well, but it wouldn't be replaced by the patriarchy that the New Truth touted - rather, both genders would have equal opportunities to succeed... or fail. Slavery would be outlawed - there would be no more raids, and existing slaves would be set free, to either take up work as paid laborers or, where possible, they could be repatriated to their kingdom of origin. These two moves - ending the worship of Lolth and the practice of slavery - would make it possible to normalize relations with the above-ground kingdoms and empires, establishing diplomatic relationships with them... and more importantly, enabling trade and tourism. Which, Direza confidently stated, would be far more profitable in the long run that slavery had ever been.

More importantly to the Hellions, while the low carrying-capacity of their aerial steeds had made them rather hazardous in battle, they fit just perfectly as diplomatic conveyance - especially since it would likely take some time before the sight of a handful of armed Drow on the highroads of the surface wouldn't prompt panic and immediate aggression. The experienced, battle-hardened Hellions that now flew under Baron Sathonyx's banner had once been underpaid military auxiliaries - but they would become elegantly-dressed diplomatic adjutants and bodyguards, charged with transporting Drow ambassadors to those kingdoms willing to receive them, and if necessary get them back out again in a hurry if negotiations went sour. A position worthy of both respect and a rich wage...

The tale she wove was of a distant future still, but public speaking had always been one of her strong suits. The two bodyguards behind Sathonyx, who had been standing so stiff and poker-faced after she'd jolted them into proving her point earlier, started to look starry-eyed, standing straighter and puffing out their chests as they imagined silken robes upon their shoulders, and gilded reins for their steeds. Even Sathonyx looked somewhat pleased with the image she'd painted - and, of course, the prospect of a more egalitarian system where one gender wasn't inherently disadvantaged.

But while he did seem to have some genuine loyalty towards his 'people' - the gangs of rough-necks and thugs he'd beaten into something resembling the shape of an army - Sathonyx was still ultimately a Drow. And Direza was well aware that she'd need to offer him something fetching as well. "Just to be clear, I have no desire whatsoever to take or hold power in Commorragh..." she said bluntly. "I fled this place for a reason, and as soon as I feel confident that the place won't disintegrate back into wanton bloodshed the moment I leave, I shall do just that! As such, somebody else will have to take the reins of the new world I am proposing."

Sathonyx's eyes gleamed at this, but his face was cautious. "Offering to let that someone be me, are you?" He asked mockingly - trying to make it clear that he would certainly not believe any such promise, and yet somewhere underneath his sarcasm, clearly hoping that she'd make it anyway. Smiling more sharply, Direza shrugged. "Yes... and no. I believe it is time to retire the Obsidian Throne. Perhaps keep it as a historical monument - the tourists may enjoy gawking at it and having a chance to sit in it for a half-silver. I doubt any Drow alive can truly be trusted with absolute and sole power, so I am planning to implement a Triumvirate. Three rulers, each with their own sphere of authority, none of them supreme - forced to cooperate in order to exercise their power. And you could, indeed, be one of those three. None can deny that you have a talent for leadership, certainly!"

There was more hemming and hawing after that, but the gleam never left the keen, blood-red eyes of Baron Sathonyx. Somehow, while the idea of a Triumvirate was quite alien to the Drow, the idea that he might be rewarded with one-third of a throne struck the cautious Sathonyx as more believable than a promise to be handed sole power. And the bit about him only conceding her earlier point for the sake of argument had, predictably, been forgotten along the way. Thus, inevitably, the summit ended with a hand-shake... the Hellions would join with the Reclaimers.

Only after making his agreement, however, did an expression of annoyance sneak onto Sathonyx's narrow face - presumably due to realizing that in the end, he'd given her everything she wanted, putting up only token resistance. Then the annoyance evaporated, and a sneaky smile spread across his thin lips instead. "You know, when Lelith delivered your invitation, she told me that she'd made you an Honorary Wych..." he said casually, while Direza narrowed her eyes, trying to figure out what kind of last-minute double-cross he might be planning. "She did indeed." She admitted, cautiously, and stuck her tongue out to wave its split ends at him in the same fashion Wyches usually greeted their fans when they leaped and twirled into the arena. He nodded, still smiling. "A fine idea she had there... and an example worth following. After all, if you are expecting the Hellions to take orders from you, it would help if you showed them that you were one of them. Symbolically, you know."

Direza grimaced - mostly to hide her relief. She knew what his game was now, and it was a childish one at best. Still, it wouldn't do to let him know she thought so. "Surely, that isn't necessary..." she thus hedged, trying her best to sound reluctant, and prompting an eager nod from Sathonyx. "Oh, I'm certain it is! I mean, I have been telling my people to cast off all rulers and masters, and now I'm telling them to obey the previous High Priestess? Without a suitable gesture to show that you indeed have discarded your old name and title, I fear many of them would refuse to assist you no matter_what_ I say..."

The two bodyguards behind him were grinning wolfishly now, displaying their complete inability to hide their emotions one last time. With a sigh and a carefully-engineered shudder, Direza nodded. "Very well... if that is what it will take..." she said heavily. Smiling eagerly, Sathonyx returned the nod. "Excellent... why don't you take that impressive dragon of yours around to our headquarters tomorrow, then, and we'll get it taken care of, hmm?" She grimaced and gave a jerky nod of agreement - and with that, the meeting ended. Couldn't have worked out much better, she thought with a carefully-hidden grin as Sathonyx and his men returned to their steeds and took off into the darkness of the immense cavern with a few noisy flaps followed by a lingering silence. He was clearly _aware_that she'd basically talked circles around him, and just as clearly resented it. But by letting him get that last, meaningless 'win' over her, the resentment would be ameliorated - and heck, he could even be right, and the gesture might help erase any reluctance the Hellions otherwise might have towards taking orders from her.

"What is this 'symbolic gesture' he demanded?" He Mistress asked suspiciously, once Sathonyx and his men were out of earshot. She would have already signaled Lord Blake to come pick them up, but they had a few minutes to waste before he'd arrive. Turning to face her beloved, Direza smiled openly at last. "He wants me to receive a Hellion tattoo, Mistress." She replied readily. "Probably in front of a large audience. Terribly humiliating for a highborn lady such as myself, really." Anitra laughed outright at that. "No, really? How terrible!" she crowed. "Good thing you're willing to sacrifice even your body for a higher cause, my pet."

Giggling, Direza curtsied. "Of course, my Lady. And if you find the resulting decoration displeasing, it can be swiftly removed with the right healing-spell. For the people of the slums, such tattoos no doubt seem quite permanent, but with access to the right magic, they are anything but." Anitra, however, rubbed her chin thoughtfully, still smiling. "Well, that would be a shame..." she said playfully. "I really rather liked the styling of those tattoos. Wild and anarchic to be sure! Do you think they'll let you pick the where and the what to some degree?" Smiling blissfully, Direza nodded. "I expect they'll be willing to entertain any reasonable proposal, my Lady..." She wasn't sure exactly what her dear Mistress had in mind for her, but just the fact that her new tattoo would be, effectively, chosen by her Mistress had already turned it from a minor inconvenience that she'd have to pretend to dislike, to something she was eagerly looking forwards to...

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