The voices filtered once more into my consciousness. I wanted to ignore them. My efforts to bring to awareness the great spiders that populated this continent were bearing fruit. Thousands of these arachnids were venomous; some even had warrior properties with their legs ending in cruel claws. Little by little, they had gathered on the outskirts of the elven castle. If what my informant told me was true, there I would find true power—not the crumbs offered to me by those who now poured their lives into my bowl.
My head emerged from the cave. There it was—their blood in a bowl. Little, but they were nearly starved. They did not want to find food if I did not tell them what to eat. Lately, they were boring. As I drank their power, their life, they reported to me. The instructions of that stupid but cunning character were true. At the bottom of the mountain, my—slaves?—had found remains of dragon bones. Nothing as large as the one we were prevented from obtaining, but now they were not guarded. According to my informant—a bit frightening, formed by thousands of dead creatures piled into a vaguely human shape—these bones belonged to the dragon, so he did not allow them to be used against the mountain's inhabitants. But no one said we could not benefit from them.
I saw them smile stupidly. They had certainly fallen low. I remembered their tribe—thousands of years ago, running in a cave, seeking to escape the dragons. There were fewer than five thousand. Among them was one who desired salvation, who sought someone to help them. While the others worked preparing weapons and defenses, he alone prayed in a corner. He sacrificed his blood. Without realizing it, I received his power—a small, tiny flame that I consumed until I could communicate with him. I told him how to flee underground. Look at him now—he is the High Priest. They all gave me their blood and power. But after so long, only half his people remained—many too weak to provide me power. They grew mushrooms in the darkness, sharpened their ancestors' bones, tanned the skins their warrior brothers wore—all under their leader's ideas. I told him what to do, and he filtered it so he always came out ahead... I was tired of them. Yet I could not let them leave—more power was still needed.
The elves admired me. These were Drown—drowned in their misery and feverish desire for me to give them guidance. So that was what I did. I ordered them to equip themselves with those dragon bones, clarifying that this would not leave their ancestors behind—that it was just a way for them not to suffer while they fought the battle for their lives. Curious how when a lie does not work, you just tell them you have found new information or reinterpret what you say, and they believe it. No one, from the youngest at fifteen hundred years to the oldest who was now their clan leader, had doubted. All began preparations. If my power kept growing like this, I could soon get rid of them. They had an important function—armed, they must go against the chaos hordes. These were guarding the mountain. There lay the bones of the most powerful dragons. The miseries they had found were only remains of green and earth dragons. If I managed to equip myself with armor from some stronger dragon, it would be worth it. The deal would be fulfilled.
It took them a few weeks. The bone collectors were warriors but not elites, so I expected one or two casualties per squadron. However, the elites were another story—I sent them to the dwarven population centers. It worked in the past: they would arrive, eliminate the population, prepare our arrival. Nothing I had not done before. But the result changed. My troops returned diminished. Frankly, I was worried that these old men were losing their abilities, not just their power. They shed blood as an apology; one cut off a finger—nothing that served me. I drank the blood, but his power was minimal. As punishment, I sent them to guard us from the chaos hordes. When the weapons arrived, they were the last to be equipped. But it was a short time; I already had my troops. Now, only to wait. The orders of the one who would give me a place in the palace of the elves of this continent—the one who would keep these remains when they died. The Lich gave me power; I intended to use it to subdue all the arachnids there. I would conquer those beasts of chaos. My troops would die underground but be reanimated. Thus, he would have someone to rule while I would be Arach, the true Goddess of Spiders... I could barely wait.