Avaricious Creators

Ruel Za'Darmondiel.

[Artificing Paladin, Celestial Mech Commander.]

[Ranging Warlock, Matriarch of the Spring Wolf Cove.]

[Sorcerous Witch, Celestial First Responder.]

***

It was no surprise to learn that many drow had the same experience as me. Etan knew what we wanted and acted on it in ways that made us prove our disloyalty to the spider. We were cast out by our Goddess, and the will to live saw us switch to the greater god- a devil whose deals made it impossible to betray him, and him us. Though, because of necessity alone, the ensuing boons and knowledge given to us for merely accepting him was what made us stay.

All of us, except for one. My sister.

Raki had always been… volatile. So was Blude, it turned out. And Blude was far stronger than Raki, so nature followed its course. And yet, it did not. Raki died, in a way, yet kept living just as I lived, yet still died. Reborn, we both were, in both similar and dissimilar ways.

While she went to Blude's Uma upon her death, I was already within Geri's, a silver and white room contained in the body of a water beast. And therein I was given something I never had before. A choice. A choice to live free or die in bondage, then a choice to join a conclave or find my own path in this empire.

Naturally, I took the bite.

I took the bite… and died. Then rose once more. Not as a winter wolf. But a springtime Loup-Garou. Then I was given more choices.

I had the choice to form a business or work in finance. I could fight in any way I wished. I could pilot these divine machines, command them, or build them. Or all of the above. And so, I made my decision with my only second thoughts being for my sister. And soon after, I found myself back in that foul pit, destroying the demonic beasts of House Yril'Lysaen with my newfound powers of air, water, light; of nature and life itself.

While challenging in its own right, in hindsight, I learned that was merely a test before the ultimate test. A means for us to get comfortable with our abilities before we made ourselves legendary in the Darkroom. And now, with that test complete, we found ourselves in an exotic land belonging to our God. A verdant forest of arcane colored flora trapped in a land of gray.

In a way, it was like the gray wash of night vision interspersed with color. Tree trunks and plant stems were as dark as shadows and the skies were a bland gray, yet some colors shone through: eyes, clothes, blood, fire, and, of course, magic.

Like many, we took to exploring it at once. Some traveled on foot, took flight, or even did so from the comfort of their abodes. In a way, we- me, Nhildia, Qiryyn, and Pharryl did a combination of the three.

Like the augmented ones, our Uma was not an Uma at all, but the ArcaTech jumping spider that found residence in Amun's hair before coming to our aid in Zimysta, where it met my sorcery and molted into an armored body of war.

Its internals were remade with sorcerous wood and seasonal webs in the flash of a blade, compressing life sustaining conduits and coolant pipes against the dense chitinous metal to vacate its interior and make it livable. And so it grew, blooming to the size of those houses strewn about the surface, topped with a crane-like spell cannon.

Up in Eotrom, we had hardly a chance to explore her interior and make our claims before we entered the Darkroom and were stripped of her presence. We fell into a state of pondering- developing the tactics to use when she was by our side. But when the War Phase ended, and we were reunited, she- Rakija, quickly became our pride and joy; our home.

So it was. We spent the rest of our time in the Darkroom with her; mastering her abilities like we mastered ours. We assigned ourselves stations; me as Commander; Nhildia as Captain; Qiryyn as Engineer; Pharryl as Gunner; and we became rangers of a moving conclave. Or rather, our Rakija became a ranger.

Already a living being, her celestial chitin merged with her divine machinery allowed her body to be the conduit for our spellcraft; and with that, she could do everything from altering her size and taking flight to projecting spells through her fangs and venom.

When Qiryyn and Pharryl went to work with enhancements and upgrades; tools of survival and weapons of war; we truly became indomitable rangers who would thrive for the eternal service we died for; for many of those devices had equal roles to play during peacetime; or, in this case, during times of leisure.

Using his own pool of resources partitioned in our cargo hatch, Qiryyn designed and fabricated one of said devices to assist our current play.

Launched via self-installed tubes near the 8 joints, the seed-shaped devices arced across the land on high trajectories, aimed in the general direction of the cities Amun passed during his walk.

As they reached their apex and fell, the wind caught the fan-like leaves wrapped tightly around the bulbs, unfurling them into wide static petals to arrest their fall with enough force to release its shell. Within sat a spring green flower, glowing, bulbous, and with small, almost hair-like petals. A scrying berry with wings of leaves and a stem that could transmit its findings to Rakija's looking glasses.

In every city, we saw undead doing all the hard labor; or what little labor that was to be done. Sentient beasts, augmented with hides of metal, stood beside undead-powered machines to carve networks of underground complexes and filling them with light bright enough to grow food under, leaving the wild spaces above untouched by farmlands.

Even then, the many natives who stayed had since The Walk had migrated to the capital, leaving the undead free to toil on the roads, abandoned cities, and deep country to establish more infrastructure: witch huts, schools and universities, orphanages and youth schools, Legion Recruiting Centers, and testing facilities for the nearby countries; and other more mundane things.

Though much of the roads were complete, they were rarely used by the natives in their daily lives, given the warp points Iris had emplaced when they returned to Nydorden. As such, the roads became an extension of the testing grounds spread across the lands, wherein citizens operated and often crashed their vehicles as learned to use them.

The undead did much more than just work, however. Shujen, as a whole, had become a necropolis with a mortal population. And just as the humanoids had hierarchies, the undead did as well.

While regular undead were common laborers, sentient undead were noble artisans, distinguished by the tools installed in their flesh and bones, powered by their very necrotic energy. Whether they be in the world above or these lands below, they created undead technology to befit the people of Shujen in ways that were downright exotic.

For example, many homes or barracks had busts or carvings of their loved ones on their doors or mantles imbued with their very souls to allow them to stand guard over their families and permit whoever they deemed worthy entry.

Such levels of sentience were imbued into many weapons, items, infrastructure, and even equipment; increasing the popularity of the country in the eyes of its neighbors artificing, bardic, and wizardly neighbors.

Such popularity only increased once the thaw came, and the undead built up to Shujen Bay's beaches. Mobs of visitors flocked to the shores as a place of relaxation. And once the mafia returned, they sought it out as a place of leisure, for the island that had breached the shores was unrivaled even by Chor.

While the visitors depended on ferries to bring them to the isle, and passes to bring them deeper within, we sat comfortably in our posts while Rakija charged into the waves with not a break in her stride.

The lands beneath the water was a mirror to those on the surface. Rolling hills of verdant green gave way to stone outcroppings and flowery fields of coral backdropped by a kelp forest. Or rather, a valley of rippling meadows, surrounding the towering mountain of stone, coral, and aluminum bronze at the Bay's deepest point. Winding rivers of dark, dense water churned through the space and pooled before the walls like an ultra-saline moat, overlooked by coral plateaus and shining metal landing platforms protruding from the mountain.

Encased in an air bubble, we arrived on one such platforms near the base and entered a cave illuminated by glowing seashells, remaining completely submerged until it sealed behind us with the sound of countless bubbles echoed through the voice boxes scattered across the bridge.

We converged in the abdomen to take the central elevator down and forward through the the antechamber, or 'airlock,' emerging from a stairway descending from under Rakija's mouth to arrive in the same dank cave filled with airy water.

Not steam or humid air, Silversteam. The breathable water exclusive to the Mafia and their Goddess was… unsettling. It was visible and looked just like regular water, was thick enough to swim in, and even formed bubbles. Yet, it restricted no movement and kept things drier than a dust desert.

As if to cement those properties home, a made member of the mafia floated just beyond our elevator, the gold necktie indicating her station just as much as the purple shirt, socks, and trim paired with the Mafia's iconic black suits. Moreover, her face was familiar.

"Lady Ruel and crew, I welcome you to the Grand Hadal Suites." The human said with a flourishing bow, then waited for our acknowledgment before rising to meet her violet eyes with mine.

"I remember you," I said flatly, dismissing the information passing through the net for another time.

"Please," she curtsied again. "Allow me to reintroduce myself as Mother Raydron, for I have been reborn, just as you, Lady Ruel. Indeed, it was I who reported to your sister during my life as House Za'Darmondiel's senior maid slave. Now, I am the School of Exemplary Service's Maid Mother.

"Please, allow me to be your guide." She bowed a final time. "Forgive my presumption in believing you would care for a tour."

"After you," I said, a bit unnerved by the level of professionalism displayed, both here and throughout the tour. It was downright uncanny, answering questions before they were asked, moving with efficient practice, and ensuring every want or need was met, even before we could ask.

The docking bays where they stored Rakija aside, the complex resembled any city seen in the Darkworld, only with a lot more order. Wide streets held self-propelled carriages, light posts, food stands, and several other things scattered between towering buildings, deep alleys, and vast superstructures that only occasionally reached the domed ceilings; glassed to cast a soothing blue ambiance on the city.

Pointing out a few windows and looking glasses, Raydron told us were passing through Redd's industrial yards, which mostly extended beyond these vast halls to the fields of coral domes sprawled across the waters beyond. Within, many gray dwarves were purely content with toiling away with their machines, building whatever they fancied between the blueprints billed to them by the mafia.

I did not pry into what those were, for we skipped to the surface and ascended more to reach the spire raised at the peak of the island they'd created. Within Lizlee's lighthouse, we saw how she used her perks and magic to broadcast music, news, entertainment, weather updates to the sailors, pirates, fishers and coast-dwellers across Shujen. Of course, we also saw how she gleaned as much information as she could from her listeners, if only to sell it to the highest bidder.

After, we descended to expansive hills and castles spread beneath the lighthouse. Each square meter of both the surface and interior had been carefully designed and carved to create the most elegantly efficient space for Sam's Kitchen.

While extensive, only one wing of the castle was open to the public. Named after the district in which it sat, it was both an esteemed culinary destination for the wealthy and a lifeline for the poor. The rest of the space was reserved for Sam's School of Culinary Excellence; a free but extensive course where anyone could elevate their culinary prowess.

Yet, further in those walls sat Legion-specific regions. The Meal House, which supplied magic-enhanced food and more for the ever-growing machine that was the Legions. That, and the Host Academy, for any legionaries who wished to learn the Way of the Chef, Study in the Bardic School of Cuisine, or live by the Culinary Philosophy.

Raydron saw to it that we had one of Sam's meals, for she had a rare magical affinity revolved solely around food. With her victuals magic, we were completely satiated and immensely satisfied by a simple boiled egg, unseasoned and yet savory, perfectly salted, and luxuriantly textured.

The taste remained to distract us from Gwehn's domain- almost, for it was something we drow would have never thought of. The barbaric human turned the relatively small shores and lowlands of their island into a place of might, physical challenges, and drive.

Naturally, the Island Gym Complex, or IGC, as she called it, attracted many Shujen natives and even those from Knighilia who were lacking in the magical department. Collectively, they seemed enthralled in building their physical prowess under the tutelage of her subordinates- the ones who were not hired as goons to protect and punish, at least.

Taking advantage of Sam's Kitchen, she imposed strict dietary regimes on all those who entered, ensuring to teach them as much about nutrition as she did about health and fitness. Naturally, this was done for the Legions, albeit with a twist.

The Legion Training Center, or LTC, was a specialized gym for the mighty and superpowered. A place where even Freki could test his strength. Thus, their programs were formed for legionaries to train between their path's steps to develop superpowered attributes. 

Going down, we then passed by Kali and her clinic, placed just on and below the water's surface. Within, more elderly and young ones were being treated than those of a mature age. And nearly all of her subordinates were present, for there were few, if any, individuals in need of an assassination. Thus, we moved on to Chloala and her House of Pearl; auction houses mirroring the largest markets one could believe.

Past Portland; Emily's mecca of drugs, we returned to Redd's industrial yards to look upon the free trade schools and rentable workshops before plunging beneath the moat surrounding this vast island to enter a dark trench.

A realm of dark waters and hollowed stone sat within the outer walls of that ringed trench, accessible only to a few outside the Mafia or Legions. For those that could, their limit was the lobby, meeting rooms, and offices on the uppermost level, for those deeper levels contained the expansive Orcus Vaults, a place where everyone between rogues and royalty could house their treasures safely.

The inner walls of that ringed trench, at the base of this submerged mountain, held my sister's domain, a castle tucked beneath a dome, illuminated by a field of bioluminescent kelp, coral, and fish.

It was a place where the Mafia's paladins were created, oathed to exemplary serve the Legions, so beloved by our Eternal God-Emperor.

Created by the hands of my sister.

***

Raki 'Rippa' Za'Darmondiel.

[Bardic Paladin. Ministration of Exemplary Service.]

[Sorcerous Rogue. Matriarch of the Rippa Pod, Orcinus Mafia.]

[Druidic Warlock. Hadal Domain.]

[Artificing Witch, Marine Engineer.]

***

Through battle, training, war, and outright camaraderie, I had grown closer to the Mafia- to the Pods, both above and below. The other matriarchs and our final sister, still yet unborn, had become a genuine family, even before we entered the Darkroom. Now that we had graduated, we were more. Legionaries of the Nox. I was more. A veritable demigod to my Goddess, Blude, who in herself was a Goddess to our Emperor of Emperors, God of Gods, Amun Za'Darmondiel Nox; my... cousin.

Though we were here, there was still much work to do. Suites had to be built in the lands of every Legion, for starters. Then butlers and maids had to be assigned to every high-officer. Passes needed distribution to their troops. Countless individuals need to be brought up to the standards of cleanliness. In time, they all would happen. In the meantime, it was time to meet the 11 other Gods of our pantheon. The Legions' Gods, and the Legions of Demigods they led.

I was just leaving when my Maid Mother entered with a most esteemed guest.

"Raki!"

I could hardly respond in kind before she was upon me, wrapping me in her embrace. Thus, I had to pry her off of me, which was a struggle. "A pleasure to see you too, sister." I turned to Raydron and her counterpart, Myr, the Begat Butler. "Thank you, Raydron. You and Myr enjoy your leave."

They bowed their acknowledgment while Ruel took to dragging me out the door, offering to show me her Uma that was not quite an Uma.

It was a sight for sore eyes and a sore on the eyes as well. A jumping spider, donned in metallic chitin, its massive eyes staring at me with interest, and Ruel with reverence. Inside, however, was quite the surprise.

We entered via a stairwell that descended from the folds beneath the mouth, bringing us into a grand foyer that doubled as a place of leisure, sealed off from the crossed intersection just beyond the partition that doubled as a pair of lifts. Beyond sat the cargo bay. A vast warehouse bathed in golden light like the rest of the space, partitioned into three spaces, each with temperature and temporally controlled crates for provisions and volatile substances..

Leading left and right through the intersection led to the lower levels of Qiryyn's engineering bay, running the vessel's length on both sides from the legs to the top, and from the fangs to the spinnerets, connected via catwalks throughout.

While the abdomen held the cargo bay on the lower level, filled with provisions, raw resources mostly, the upper level was reserved for Pharryl's armory, connected to his cargo partition below to facilitate the manufacture, maintenance, repair, and replacement of all of their offense and defensive gear.

Like the foyer below, the crossed intersection in the pedicel doubled as a recreational space, with seating and various means of entertainment sealed off from the chambers ahead of and behind us. Thus reserving the vast space behind the eyes for the bridge.

The bridge's entrance was wide, albeit with a relatively low ceiling to accommodate Captain Nhildia's quarters. A series of high walls, though not high enough to touch the ceiling, partitioned the space into two sections, granting bridge stations for the gunner and engineer's subordinate undead.

Further down, past a brief series of steps, the bridge opened up vertically to just past 2 stories, as the looking glasses connected to the spider's optic nerves dominated the forward wall like two massive view ports; two smaller ones straddling them near the top.

With Ruel's quarters hidden beneath the deck, accessed by a hidden trapdoor between the eyes, the forward bridge was dominated by a pair of black-green metal thrones- command stations for Captain Nhildia and Commander Ruel.

While nice, it was all so… quaint. The gilded rays of a spring morning contrasted peacefully against the verdant metal making up the decks, whose springtime essence produced a grassy texture beneath one's feet. It was... nice, yet made for war. The same and yet the opposite of my Uma; nice, for it was a place of luxury.

It was all so strange. Akin to me, Ruel held the power of water and air. On top of that, she held the power of light and life itself, yet she remained uncomfortable beneath the open skies. So much so that she hardly left her spider, and when she had to leave it, she paraded around in her beast form.

And so, it came as no surprise to see her crew tuck their spider against some trees outside the city and emerge with thick violet-silver fur, long ears, and green-marked snouts pointing deeper into the necropolis.

As I followed the songs of my sisters, she followed the scent of hers, and in due time we came upon our matriarchs, Blude and Geri, standing amongst our God-Emperor as his eyes remained skyward; aimed at a world of icy death.