Tearing Ancient Webs
Twentieth Day of the Eighth Month 293 AC
For your first offering you draw from your cloak a pair of vials which contain accursed spiders of Venthar. Even released from their prisons of crystal, the spiders are reduced from their colossal stature to something only a little larger than the palm of your hand. Still, the malice in them is undiminished. Though they have no venom they try to bite, scratching with their many legs at your flesh... until that is they spy the great serpent. Even in their currently lessened shape they seem to recognize Yss well enough to try to wiggle from your hand, for all the good it does them. One after another you toss them to the vessel, and each is caught and devoured.
Sacrificed Two Colossal Fiendish Monstrous Spiders
"Speak," it hisses the word that has grown familiar in the telling.
"I ask that you remove the curse of thy foe from those long afflicted."
No sooner had the words been spoken that Dany quickly flings two more bottles unto the hard stone floor, these revealing tormented spider-like beings with far too many legs all tipped with a glistening black claw.
Before either of the accursed ones can move the vessel lunges forward almost too swiftly for the eye to see, but rather than fall upon them it simply looms for a moment, water glistening upon its black-and-crimson scales. A single shining drop slides down upon each of them in silent benediction... not that they seem to find much peace in it. They twitch and writhe in silent impossible pain. If they had mouths they would be screaming... and then they do, screams echoing forth.
Mouths, eyes, ears, and limbs, the transformation is slow and at times nauseating to watch. The curse clinging like tar to the two unfortunates, but in this place and this hour there can be no doubt that Yss is mightier than his ancient foe.
Two warriors in strange armor of polished chitin lay gasping on the floor. Their hair is white as driven snow, though their faces are as dark as dragonglass, and fine-featured like unto those of the Avariel of Armun Kelisk and possessed of that same timeless youth beneath the scars and the lingering marks of pain. In their hands are still clutched bladed swords they must have borne in the moment they had been cursed.
"We mean you no harm," you call, magic twisting your thoughts to that half-demonic tongue you had only seen carved upon stone amid the ruin of Venthar. Somehow it lies even more uneasy upon the tongue than true Abyssal does, perhaps for being ultimately a tongue of mortal beings upon this world.
One of the warriors empties his stomach upon the stones while the other rises shakily to his feet, looking between you, the serpentfolk priest, and at last the great coiled form of Yss. After a moment's hesitation he lays his weapon down with a clink. "What manner of being are you to stand in the halls of the Children of the Serpent?"
There are many answers you could give of course, but you decide upon simplicity before a world much changed: "A dragon."
Even with millennia uncounted separating you that earns a nod of understanding, and a well-hidden glimmer of fear in his eye: "How long has it been?"
"Long enough for that which was broken to begin mending," you reply, hazarding a guess as to precisely what saw the end of Venthar.
For a moment it seems as though the warriors before you do not understand the implications, then the one who had been on his knees still makes a subtle hand sign to the other whose eyes go wide.
"Our world is dead." The words are not a question, hard but brittle, unwilling to show weakness. "What would you have of us?" the first warrior asks while the second struggles to his feet also.
"First your names," you ask, speaking plainly and careful not to let any pity show in your eyes. Renegades though these two may be, you doubt warriors raised under the dominion of that foul demon queen would have much use for pity from strangers.
Thus you find that they are brothers, Morwyn and Tuin by name, scouts and you suspect assassins from the many pouches of daggers and poisons hanging on their belts besides trophies of past kills. As they had killed a high priestess of Lolth she cursed them with her dying breath into the monstrous forms you had seen before, though they claim to remember little of their eons as monstrosities, another part of Yss' repayment you suspect. After all, you had wished to interrogate and recruit them which would have been impossible had they been driven mad by their ordeal, and so they had been given the gift of forgetfulness.
What do you do about the Drow warriors?
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OOC: I thought about moving past this but this pair is about to be confronted with a very strange reality. I'm going to need some idea of how Viserys tries to prepare them for it, not to mention what he wants from them.