Rollplay Lore: Abigaël's Beginnings P 1

"Abigaël, open your eyes."

In a daze, she complies, and the wind was suddenly knocked from her chest. The village that she had been raised in was consumed by blue flames, the bodies of her family tossed amongst the burning ruins. Crying, she quickly turned and falls to her knees, covering her face with her hands.

"Don't weep, this is your doing Abigaël. You brought me here, I'm only following through with your prayers. Live without regret, what's done is done."

Still crying, Abigaël tears her hands from her face to try to find the source of the seductively calm voice, "I didn't ask you to kill them! I asked you to help me! You said you would make me strong enough to change things!"

"Kill them?" questions the voice, "I merely gave you the strength to change your environment. You did the rest, and you did I fine job if I might add."

"I didn't do any of this!" Abigaël begins to cry again, still searching for the voice. "I love my family and I love my people! Leave me alone!"

"Don't be a child, take responsibility. I don't imbue mortals so that they may blunder about, I imbue them because I believe that you'll do something truly special to this world." Slowly, the blue flames began to die down, and Abigaël is left in the dark.

She continues to sob, clenching her sides with each convulsion, along amongst the ruins.

Abigaël bolts up in her bed, still crying. She feels beads of sweat dampening her nightgown, and she still feels a sense of dread from her dream. Alone in the dark, she can't hear any grasshoppers chirping, nor can she hear any wildlife grazing: an impossibility in an Elven village. A figure clothed completely black steps forward from the shadows, evidently unafraid of being revealed to Abigaël.

"Who are you, what are --," suddenly a leather glove covered her mouth, another intruder that she hadn't noticed. The glove stood firm against her resistance, and soon the intruder's other hand holds her to her bed: an easy feat due to Abigaël's young age and thin figure.

The figure holding Abigaël heaves a quiet yet heavy sigh, then begins quietly speaking to the black clothed figure in a language that she can't comprehend. The words are succinct and harsh, yet graceful at the same time: it sounds to her like a pervaded form of Elvish, yet crueler. It sounds like her nightmares felt.

After a few moments the black figure removes her hood, revealing her face. Her face looks like beautifully sculpted black marble, topped with bone white hair pulled back into a single braid. Her eyes pierce Abigaël's soul, red diamonds in the darkness. She refuses to express emotion, her composure is that of a statue. She averts her gaze to the other intruder for a moment, then turns her back on the pair.

Kneeling to the ground, she begins cooing into the hallway. A large arachnid, about the size of grown dog, walks into the room. The woman bows her head to the spider, spreading her arms to give it a chance to strike at her heart. Ignoring the dark skinned woman, the spider instead turns its many eyes to Abigaël. It clicks its mandibles together, and skitters onto the bed frame. Abigaël begins to shake in fear, her fear of arachnids kicking in. Her captor holds firm, continuing to subdue her. The spider crawls up Abigaël's legs, finding a place on her belly before it stops moving. Covered in sweat, Abigaël locks eyes with the creature, terror stricken. It clicks its mandibles together once more, moving closer.

The woman stands, walking over to the bed while overseeing the spider's movement with close scrutiny. She reaches out, petting the spider on its hairy back. She begins to coo in her language to it, continuing to maintain eye contact.

Another dark figure appears in the doorway, clothed just as the woman is. It holds a long scimitar with wicked hooks on the inside of the curve, dripping wet with blood. With its free hand it pulls back its hood, revealing another dark statuesque face, only this time its hair is short. Speaking to the woman, the man speaks quickly and jubilantly, smiling widely.

Agitated by the third figure's entrance, the spider turns to face him. Hissing, the spider clicks its mandibles together furiously. The woman shoots the man a dark look as his ecstatic face is drained into a grim frown similar to that of the woman. He bows deeply to the spider, breaking eye contact with it so that he can bow as deeply as possible.

The eyes of the spider and the woman return to Abigaël. The spider moves further up Abigaël's body until its eyes are inches from hers. Abigaël begins to shake uncontrollably, the edges of the woman in black's lips begin to slightly curve up.

After a few moments of locked eyes, the woman in black's face begins to turn to a look of awe. Her companion with the bloody scimitar mirrors her while maintaining a healthy distance. The arachnid suddenly turns away, instead turning to face the woman. She looks quizzically at the creature, waiting patiently for it to make an action.

It begins to click its mandibles, hissing softly to the woman. Nodding in accordance, the woman stands and removes her cloak, leaving her nude except for a talisman in the form of a star with eight points, centered with a red gem. There seems to be webbing between each of the elongated points, although Abigaël can't get an accurate look. The woman, impossibly lithe and beautiful, offers her neck to the arachnid.

The spider bites the woman on the neck, then continues to turn to face Abigaël once again. A look of pain flashes across the woman's face, although it is quickly controlled and replaced by her stern glare. The man with the scimitar stares at the arachnid throughout the ritual, completely enthralled by its behavior, ignoring the nude woman.

Abigaël begins to see stars, her skin becoming more pale than usual. The arachnid reaches over her chest and bites viciously into her neck, inflicting excruciating pain. It lifts its head, leaving a trail of web between its face and Abigaël's wound. Abigaël promptly passes out from the pain.

She awakens with a splash of water over her face. She remembers the original dream of flames and death, and hopes that perhaps she merely dreamed the black figures. As she rubs her eye's to regain sight, she feels a throbbing at her neck where the spider had bitten at.

"Good, she's finally awake. We move as soon as she's ready to." The words sound unfamiliar yet understandable to Abigaël, sounding like the voice from her nightmares. Abigaël sat up, still in her bed, looking for the source.

The two figures that she had seen joined by a third new one stood alertly in the room, the third holding a now empty bucket. The woman had dressed but she left her hood off, while the other two were indistinguishable in form. "Well, did it work?" questions one of the figures, sounding impatient regarding the matter.

The woman turns to the figure, her eyes smoldering in juxtaposition with her hair. "Silence," she hisses angrily, "who are you to question the effectiveness a of child of Lolth!"

The figure shrugs, turning to the door. "Come find me when she's ready to go, I'm going to go kill some more Darthiir. We're not here just for you, sister."

The figure departs, and the remaining two approach Abigaël. The woman reaches out with her hand, "Hello? Can you understand us, Darthiir?"

Abigaël trembles at the situation, convinced that she wasn't dreaming. "Whoo-oo are you? What is 'Darthiir'?"

The remaining figure removes its hood, revealing a visage very similar to that of the other male figure, only harsher. He has creases on his face, betraying his age. "Maybe she can't understand the idiosyncrasies of the language but she can understand the basics," he suggested to the woman, "I have no idea, I've never heard of something like this."

The woman nods, "This must be terribly confusing," she coos to Abigaël softly, "Darthiir means elf of the surface. We're 'Drow', elves of the Underdark."

Abigaël's eyes widen in surprise "You're-ee from the Underdark? Why are you here? What do you want with me?"

The male smirks and turns to the woman, "Let me handle this Gwen, back at the academy we used to discuss what we would tell any Darthiir if we captured them and somehow managed to communicate." Turning to Abigaël, the man maintains his smirk. "See, we were sent to the surface as a sort of trial by fire. If we kill enough of you, we're deemed worthy to serve as rangers." He reaches to his feet and removes a gem encrusted dagger with a spider-like hilt, waving it gracefully in the air "This blade alone has drunk the blood of thirty five of your finest. My scimitar has been consecrated by the blood of nearly double that. Don't mistake our intentions, we aren't sent here to prove our worth because we value you as opponents. We're sent because our teachers want us to prove that we won't express mercy to your kind when we're slaughtering. Don't fret, no Drow ever has or ever will." Ending his speech, sheathing his dagger, turning away from her.

The woman approaches Abbigail now, arms open again. "We're of the Underdark, we serve Lolth as faithful servants." Pausing, she looked quizzically at Abigaël, still not fully convinced that she could understand her. "Lolth sent us here to find someone of importance, my brothers and I are children of a great house and this is our christening into the aristocracy. We're required to bathe in the blood of Darthiir before ascending to our place below our mother. However, I didn't plan for us to attack your village, it's quite a bit out of the ways. Lolth, however, had other plans, and I faithfully refuse to question her will."

"Why are you telling her all of this? She's filthy and pitiful, I think she even soiled herself. What is Lolth thinking, bringing us all the way out here to find a despicable creature like this."

The woman, Gwen, turns on her heels, smashing her hand into the side of the male figure. The man crumples soundlessly to the ground, motionless. Returning to Abigaël, she apologizes: "Someone who questions Lolth is no brother of mine. We must move, I don't know how persistent your rangers are, but if they're anywhere near as tenacious and bullheaded as my brothers then it'll only be a matter of time before we're discovered."

Finally gaining the courage to speak, Abigaël looks into Gwen's eyes, fear slowly being replaced by anger. "I'm not going anywhere, the woods are telling others of your presence as we speak."

Gwen, patient with Abigaël as if she was newly born, responds softly, "Lolth told me why I'm here. I know how they treat you, a ditzy child without any talents. They think you're useless, the priests and druids scorn your parents for bearing you. Your friends scoff when you trip over the smallest branch, your teachers sigh dejectedly as you fail you control even the stillest of waters. What are you clinging on to? Let Lolth give you what you've always wanted: Pride. Achievement. Power."

The question stings Abigaël deeply, she knew that she would eventually outgrow the forest and its inhabitants. She despised those who mocked her, wished them pain beyond comprehension. The Elves sat idly by as the world withered, she thinks, why would I associate with such lethargy. "Power you say.. If you give me power, know that I'll turn it against you, I'll destroy you for what you've done here tonight."

Gwen begins to smile, "Power is power, nothing more nothing less. I'm not here to judge you, chosen of Lolth, you're free to do as you please. I respect those with the power to destroy and the willingness to wield such power, and I kill those without said respect." She kicks at her fallen brother's corpse, "Such is the will of Lolth."

"Fine, let's go then." Abigaël stands, walking to the corpse. Her legs continue to shake from a mixture of excitement and horror.

Gwen approaches, kneeling to the body, removing the man's cloak and tossing it to Abigaël. "Here, you'll want to not be seen where we're going." Abigaël catches the cloak clumsily, fumbling her gown off while replacing it with the black garb. "Not too bad, maybe you'll pass for a Drow someday.. Here, take this, I always carry a spare." Gwen reaches into a hidden pocket, removing a necklace similar to the one she wore earlier. She tosses it to Abigaël.

Abigaël puts the necklace on slowly, looking at Gwen suspiciously. "Drow indeed, let's go find my brother."

Abigaël smiles, "Wait, there's someone that needs to come with us. Mr. Muggwuggles, where are you? Come out from hiding."