(WP) Arachne’s Revenge

(WP) Arachne’s Revenge

               She had been ignored, insulted, for too long. And now it was time, at last, for revenge. She would seize what she was owed, no matter how much bloodshed resulted.

               Arachne had spent years honing her ability for the healing arts, only to have it squandered upon her ungrateful peers.

               But now she had found her place, where she truly belonged. She had never realized just how fun it was, to be bad. To do things just for the hell of it.

               She’d led her new band of brigands and marauders to the inn at which her former party had been staying; she wanted them to die first. When they fell, she would take over everything.

               Why, exactly, had she wasted so much time being good? Wasn’t that just a philosophical concept, relative depending on the person? How naïve it was, to believe in something so trivial and boring.

               And who knew just how easy it would be, to turn her healing arts into something completely different?

               Necromancy was her true calling. To know that the dead were at her disposal was a power so delicious and wonderful; the mere thought of it caused laughter to bubble up in her chest. But she tamped it down; she and her band could not afford to give up the element of surprise.

               But then again, an army of dead warriors wasn’t exactly subtle…

               It mattered little. Once her former team was out of the way, she would officially announce her coup, and the Empire would fall under her tidal wave of the dead.

               Just thinking about it made her want to dance with glee.

               “I will go inside alone,” She murmured to her murderous band, a smile tugging at her lips.

               “When I come out of the inn, we set it ablaze and begin the march on The Empire. Stay out of sight!”

               **

               Arachne walked into the inn, a filthy little hovel on the side of the road, resisting the urge to cringe at the filth that lay like a film on the proprietor’s desk. The man himself was short and rotund, with a bald pate; he wore no shirt, only breeches. It took everything in her not to flee.

               She shook herself; she was made of stronger stuff than this, and anyway, she had an empire to conquer. But she wanted to indulge in a little vindication first.

               “Excuse me, sir,” She said to the man, and he looked up, giving her a yellowed grin.

               “Are you lookin’ for a room, madam?” He asked.

               “I’m actually looking for some people. A party.”

               “If those are in fact, some of my clientele, I can’t very well betray their location.”

Arachne reached for a sack of coin, acquired for this very purpose.

“Might I sweeten the pot?”

She set the bag on the counter, waiting impatiently for an answer.

“Top floor, first door on the right,” He answered, busying himself with counting his money.

She didn’t even wait, she just went up the stairs.

She could hear them chattering, laughing amongst themselves as if she’d never even existed.

Standing in front of the door, Arachne called up blue-green hellfire and set it to the floor.

If anyone survived, they would know that she was the culprit soon enough.

**