Neit gave only gave the magic spear to the Goblin after her slaying of the existing cheif, and explained it's many interesting human-gouging uses on the spot. If she remembered the small thing's name, she failed to mention it again, but she did at least seem mildly impressed with the swiftness of the takeover.
"I should really teach you how to torture stuff, too, little one. I mean, like, how else are you supposed to make people think you aren't a liar?" The crowish woman smiled, and almost accidently patted the slimey unclean little savage on the head by accident. Instead, she just turned back to the troll, and revealed another 'governing tool'. "Ever seen one of these? It's a bar of soap. Will make pretty pretty and people will respect, understand? People will think you're too good for them to even touch, understand?"
It was pretty patronising... But you could already see her sizing up Huzhke's measurements and trying to figure out if any of her dresses would fit the squirmy Goblin woman. So I guess it was her method of honestly trying to help, I guess?...
"The Mighty One doesn't demand we torture." Grebna said flatly, still rifling through the chief's loot piles. "I know what soap is." She added, trying to hide her anger at the patronizing Drow lass.
"So... what... you'll be by here every month for your cut? You gonna send someone? How will we know they're with you?"
"Oh, I'll just send some random slob. Ask him for a password-" "-and I'll give you a new one, each time, in advance." The second half of the sentence managed to slip out without her moving those lips again. "Maybe some new treats and things too, if you do an extra good job."
"...The torture, well... Nobody is supposed to tell you how to do it, sweatheart." She smiled, letting out a small sigh. "You really mean if there is somebody you super hate, you just let them die, just like that? That's... adorable! I didn't think anybody could even be that innocent!"
"You really should try it, through. Nobody is afraid of a mercy killer. You sure you're trying to do it right? Maybe I could teach you some time! It could be really fun! :>"
"S'not our way." The little Goblin lass said, clearly a bit uncomfortable around the Drow woman. "And you'll keep sending us stuff, right? Just want gold? Because the Mighty One wouldn't want us giving your Webspinner any sacrifices or nuthin'."
"Gold, magic stuff, whatevs." Neit sighed. "If you bring me really nice stuff, I can get you special presents, too... Yanthinser isnt' the best city around these parts just because it's pretty, ya know. They can make stuff you can't get anywhere else. Think about that. Think about what kind of an opertunity I'm giving you here."
"-and then, think about how nice I'm being." The crowish woman stroked the bushy frills of her spider's maw rather than touch the goblin, but the body language was there. "I've murdered people, torn them appart in ways more horrible than your race is capible of imagining. But, I'm being nice to you... Please remember this."
With that, the party mounted back up and began to make their way back to Yanthinser. Neit hoped that the goblins would live up to their end of the bargain without too much of a fuss. She didn't perticularly want to kill any of them, but the candour of the impolite little 'leader' they had chosen didn't perticularly impress her.
It really wasn't like she had to be so nice...
There was a trail of perfume following behind Alsiif's riding spider. "I'm never going back there again! Unless you want me to burn it down..." She emptied another bottle of rare perfume into the air until her body was dripping with the stuff.
"Oh please, you afraide of a liddle goblin slime? I thought you mighte 'ave been a bad ass for a split seconde." Neit teased Alsiif, whilst mentally commanding Huzhke to cast inertial armor on both of them for the twentieth time today. Nothing could keep the surrounding grubby scange away quite like a field of pure psychic energy. Made her look pretty swave, too.
"Huzkhe, stop nose bleedinge on me! What in Lolth's tits is wrong with ya?! It's like a super super easy spelle!" Whispers, and a sharp elbow.
"sorreyh mishtruss." The rotund thingy just shrugged, already using all four hands trying to stop the flow. "not good at not leaking, forgive... :/"
Neit just put her feet up and used it as a cushion.
"Honestly, the kinda filthe I put up withe. :/ :/ :/"
Mesmerising red and blue braziers underlit the vicious crowd as they set about destroying themselves one drug at a time, knocking out grey matter as effectively as the lethal pit fights which served as a centrepiece for their rampant debauchery. One could confuse the low cavern ceilings and barely existent lighting as cheap, but Neitar knew that stylistic brutality, the stylised crudeness, was in itself part of the sinister masquerade.
The witch had spent all week looking for that special kind of hell, and now that she had found it, she was willing to wallow there until she either ran out of consciousness or money. The crowd was a pack of bastards, every one of them; Broke Shebali gamblers and drugged up gore fetishists, the kind that were liable to poke a rich whore like Neitar in back of the head for the change in her pockets, regardless of any house alignment.
It had been two weeks to the day since she had killed her own daughter.
Oldest and the smartest of her progeny, Erthe Inthuul.
Stuck a rapier through one of her lungs and pinned her to the wall, then let her bleed out.
The fucking chitine was right, all along.
Somebody was after her, she knew that. Neitar's brain was creeping and insidious, able to pry and nudge through the thoughts of others at will. Erthe never had the gift, but had the knowledge to systematically block it and work around it. Maybe somebody paid her off, she would never know.
Moving the family in was when the shit started to roll. Huzhke bleated and squeaked like a blithering idiot, telling her exactly when and how it was going to happen. Gift or not, the ugly half-breed slave just sounded like she was sucking up. Neit had punished her, sticking her in a pit with Taldi's worst stock and intending to forget she existed.
Only, she was right. Dead on. Exactly as said. Stupid mutated little turd should have learnt a little Drowy self-preservation and kept her mouth shut. What did she expect was going to happen?
A sudden juddering motion in her peripheral vision.
Khaliizi. Her son. Smuggled in the poisoned blade which embedded itself half way into his mother's sternum. Damn hard to continue puppeteering his mind so carefully with so many drugs riddling her senses.
“Drink.” The mental command pulled his strings. She clambered up onto the table, so that she could review the fight currently exploding in the middle of the arena.
Some masked freakshow doing unholy things to another person with her bare hands. The sign on the door said that the fights here were always to the death, but that's not quite what she was expecting.
A vicious smile formed.
She looked at Khaliizi again.
The smile turned into a truly twisted laugh.
“Oh... Lolth's tits... I like her...”
“You know nothing, Brawn Jo-Jo!” a dark gray drow woman clad in black with blue and red accents shouted. She paced about a grungy dirt ring. The brighter-than-average lights illuminated her deep red eyes and gave her long silver hair that extra sheen and flow-y look. The lights. The very first time I saw them, they marked a new beginning. Now, they always mark an end.
“Please, spare me!” a light gray drow woman clad in long pink pants with white boots responded. She had a mask on with two glass eye-covers, though one was shattered. One of her hands was dedicated to keeping her balanced as she crouched above the dirt ring, and the other keeping her innards in her body. Through her stomach were two blades, both with the words “Brawn Brings the Brawl!” etched into them, filled with the drow’s blood. I remember when I was crouched something like that. The first time I saw the lights. Something inside me changed, made me hungry and thirsty, all at once.
“Spare me, she says!” the dark skinned drow belted into the crowd mockingly, holding up the other drow lass’s white bra in her hands. The crowd roared in disappointment. Pathetic. Get up! Do something! Don’t just lie there and take it, get up and kill me! “Sorry, kiddo, the cards aren’t in your favor today!”
“You can’t do this!” Brawn Jo-Jo screamed.
“Can’t do this? Do you mean to imply there are rules?” The crowd boo-ed the notion. “There are no rules in a steel cage!” The audience shifted to a tone of approval.
“We’re not in a steel cage!” Dumb bitch. If you’re not going to get up and fight some more you’re going to go down into the dirt like a piece of shit right now!
“Irrelevant! Tonight, you die!” The dark skinned drow threw the bra on the ground and smashed the other drow’s head into the ground and through layers of dirt in one fell swoop. The crowd erupted in cheers, ripping the atmosphere apart with excitement and bloodlust. She began smashing the drow’s head in with her heel. Dumb! Arrogant! Slut! Why! Didn’t! You! Dodge! “Sa-brae! Sa-brae! Sa-brae!” the crowd belted in unison with Sabrae’s stomps, each member of the audience chanting the words several times before they couldn’t contain themselves any longer, and reverted back to shrieks of pent-up aggression and pure, unfiltered venom. Sabrae drew in breath deeply, and filled her lungs with the rage and passion of the air. There’s nothing like killing for a crowd.
When Sabrae returned to fighter's recuperation lounge, it had seemed singularly dark and empty. A night full of thunderous noise and screaming faces made any other situation look dim and isolated in comparison, really.
Only, unlike the thousands of other nights, this time she was not quite alone. It was the glint of silver jewellery and a crimson wine glass which first aroused suspicion, but the thin and gaunt thing was wreathed in a cloud of visceral black smoke. An obscuring gown of jet black feathers. Glossy unblemished skin, dark like graphite.
"I like the way you hurt people." It spoke, softly. A lit cigar curled through a sadistic smile, only apparent now that the thing had inhaled on it again. "Ever consider renting your services out to a... more refined establishment?"