I. [ADRIFT]
The caravan crept down the tunnel paths at a slime's pace. The Rothe groaned and grunted under their burden, and the Riviil riders lashed at them all the harder for their protest. Through many Cycles, Sev'ltas had remained with the Thayan caravan, bound for Sshamath, at the command of The Masters, but he was used to much lighter, much faster travel. This was to be an exercise in patience. But, with the portals of Undrek'Thoz experiencing a period of instability, the only way to get to Sshamath would be the oldest way: walking. And to walk alone through the Wilds of the Underdark was suicide.
The caravan headed straight for Sshamath on the most direct route possible, but even that was a winding trip through ancient tunnels, massive caverns, and floating barges across unfathomable black seas. To make mattes worse, the Riviil insisted on using artificial lights to see, which only served to draw further unwanted attention.
Despite it all, there were only a few minor conflicts; mostly animals and monsters looking for an easy meal. They would have to look elsewhere, for this caravan was guarded by the most avaricious humans Sev'ltas had ever met.
After far too many Cycles, the caravan finally approached the outskirts of The Conclave's territory. The caravan master gave Sev'ltas a gift, as thanks for protection along the route -- a bottle of Evermead. The gesture surprised him, given their greedy talk of profit and gain for most of the trip.
Now, at the entrance to The City, Sev'ltas was set truly adrift -- no more Masters, no more training. No regimented lifestyle, other than the one he carved out for himself. So he did what any sensible Drow might do in his position: he set to carving.
Sshamath was strange to him, though -- it was unlike any other City he had encountered before. New rules, new governance, and an entirely foreign social construct left him grasping for answers that fell through his fingers like sand. Rudeness was overlooked, while etiquette was met with suspicion and hostility. The best route, it seemed, was to remain silent, until another set the tone for a given conversation.
With some time allowed for learning, Sev'ltas set out to find She who had summoned him. It was not difficult, and intuition showed him most of the way. He waited outside the gates for the better part of a Cycle, before a foreboding Jaluk confronted him outside the Zau'afin compound. After some tense introductions, a polite conversation, and news that the Ilharess was indisposed for the time being, Sev'ltas took his Reveries, and then took his leave. It is always wisest not to lurk about a spider's web without explicit permission.
Adrift yet again, he made his way back to the strange City, and occupied his time as best he was able. Occasional odd jobs paid for his room and board, and allowed him additional time to polish his training before presenting himself to the Ilharess. Along the way, he had met several colorful Drow, with high ambitions of their own, and the will to see it through.
Time passed, and it briefly occurred to him that there might have been a mistake -- that the summons was not intended after all, and that he was well and truly adrift on this mad island of Drow.
//EDITS: Spelling.
Sev'ltas: Finding The Way through the Darkness
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DeepFriedMoose
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Sev'ltas: Finding The Way through the Darkness
Last edited by DeepFriedMoose on Mon Jun 26, 2017 5:01 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Brokk Skul'i, Company Man (Bio)
Sev'ltas Zau'afin, The Black Crow (Bio) || Journal: "Finding The Way through the Darkness"
Sev'ltas Zau'afin, The Black Crow (Bio) || Journal: "Finding The Way through the Darkness"
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DeepFriedMoose
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Re: Sev'ltas: Finding The Way through the Darkness
II. [A Stone in Still Water] (The Test, pt. I)
It had been mere hours since his meeting with the Ilharess, when he met another. Where the Ilharess had the wisdom and patience born of experience, this one was young, full of fire and anger -- and some other emotion that Sev'ltas could sense, but not fully articulate.
He had been in the training room when she walked in on him, half-way through his form set, striking chips and splinters off the training dummy. Stripped down to the waist, a trickle of sweat beaded down his bare shoulders and back. Sev'ltas paused as he heard the door open. Even from across the room, he could feel her contempt for him -- 'Finally' he thought; 'a sensible Jalil in this insane City.' Her immediate dislike of him was obvious from the sneer on her face. She made no apologies for it, either.
"So, you are the First Son, then?" she spat, apparently unimpressed.
"I am, Jabbress. Newly returned." he said, dipping his head in deference.
Vierdra made no motion to speak for some time. She turned on one heel, and left the room without further comment. The loyalty bred and beaten into him since childhood pulled him after her, but wisdom gave him pause. He wiped the sheen of sweat from his raven skin, and set to gather supplies for his chores. He had inspected the Altar to Lolth earlier, and it was in need of deeper cleaning than an the uninitiated were capable of. Such work was beneath the Yath'erin and Ilharess, and so the work fell to specialists like him.
With bucket and brushes in hand, he approached the door to the Altar room, only to find Vierdra waiting in the open doorway.
"You." She barked; "you will make yourself useful to me. Consider this your first of eight tests."
Sev'ltas was momentarily dazed -- "Tests"? Had he not already gone through the many trials it took to get this far? Survived the tests of the Temple Initiate? Mastered the discipline of self to become an instructor within the walls of the monastery?
He gazed into the room, and felt the crackle of energy emanating from it, like the smell of lightning before an oncoming storm.
"There are eight gems within the room. Collect them and bring them to me. If you survive, you will have passed. I do not need to tell you what will happen if you fail."
He looked back once more to the Jabbress he had spent less than an hour with in total since arriving in Sshamath, and placed his cleaning supplies on the floor.
"NOW!" She barked.
Before his thoughts could catch up with him, he was already in the room. He vaulted a bench, slid beneath another, and gathered the first gem as the wards began to explode around him. He ducked, weaved, flipped and danced his way through them all, scooping up gem after gem from the floor. He knelt before Vierdra, and presented the gems, smoke and steam rising from his bare shoulders, but utterly unburned.
His success was met with a sneer of contempt. The Jabbress collected the gems, and began to prepare a spell.
"Your next test, Jaluk." Her hand reached out toward the hallway, and she seized the mind of one of the House Guards. "Defend me." She said simply, and with no other instruction.
The House Guard charged into the room, sword trailing behind, eyes set on Vierdra. With barely any time to think, Sev'ltas lept at the guard, striking at his knees. Unhindered, the guard's baleful gaze met Sev'ltas, as his blow glanced off the guard's armored shins. Caught unawares as he was, Sev'ltas could only watch as the sword came down upon him instead. He half-deflected the blow, only to catch the full force of the shield as it slammed into his ribs with a sickening crack. A pommel-strike to the bridge of his nose left Sev'ltas momentarily blinded, giving ample time for the sword to find a new home in the young Jaluk's ribs. Once again, intuition prevailed, and a sudden twist of his shoulders at the last moment prevented the bite of the steel from sinking too far.
It did not take long for Sev'ltas to recover his wits, but by the time he did, the fight was half over, and he was already losing. Time slowed for him, then -- seconds into minutes, minutes into hours -- and the world came down to focus on a single point. He peppered the guard with blows, denting and crushing the armor with his bare fists, and putting the larger Jaluk on the defensive. A twist of the hips brought his heel around to smash against the guard's shield, and it splintered in two, as well as the bones in the arm behind it. To his credit, the guard did not stop his attack, and drove the sword home once more, drawing blood from Sev'ltas' leg. But the movement was too slow, and the young Jaluk capitalized on the moment to hammer a vital strike to the unprotected area between the guard's chin and breastplate. Panic showed in the guard's eyes as his breath stopped in his throat, and Sev'ltas was allowed all the time he needed to dismantle his opponent.
The guard fell to the ground with a thud, armor ruined, and in one or two places, pierced straight through. Sev'ltas did not fare much better -- his wounds bled freely, and he was on the verge of collapse. Vierdra looked at him again with disgust, and it was then that Sev'ltas suspected that this was no test -- it was a gauntlet, crafted from the Jabress' anger and frustrations. She had no way to vent them -- until, that is, the new Jaluk arrived. New and untested, he was a perfect target for her barbarous cruelty. The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning, but rather than shocking and disabling him, he found the strange peaceful center that turned up whenever he confronted death head-on. It was a feeling that Destiny was at hand, felt most keenly during an assassination or usurpation attempt at the monastery -- a feeling that any ending here was pre-ordained, and that worry was unnecessary.
Vierdra hissed at him and left the room -- the Jaluk had the audacity to remain living, and she had had enough.
Sev'ltas stood at attention, waiting for her return -- she had not given him any instruction, but nor had she dismissed him. Body trembling under the weight of his injuries, he stood tall and still. He modulated his breath, and brought his hands in front of him, as if to cast a spell. Blood flowed freely down his side, slicking his pants, and filling the boot before oozing out onto the floor. Focusing on this, Sev'ltas slowed his breath even further, slower and slower, and the blood flow slowed, and stopped.
"Who are you, and why are you half-dressed, Jaluk?" Came a voice with no owner.
"I am Sev'ltas, and I wait for my next Trial from Malla Vierdra."
"Interesting..." Said the voice, from a different part of the room. "You are a new Sargtlin?"
"Xas, Jabbress." He replied.
A figure began to take shape behind him, and Aniarithe appeared within it. She looked him over with a calm detatchment of her own. "You are like a stone in still water, Jaluk."
The observation caught him off-guard -- this was a Cycle filled with too many surprises for his taste. "Xas, Jabress."
"If you die from your wounds, do you expect you'll be raised as you are, or as an undead?" She mused at him.
"I will not perish this Cycle, Jabbress. Mine is a destiny yet unseen, but I intend to fulfill it."
This seemed to amuse her some. "You stand tall, like Selvatarm?" she quizzed.
"Selvatarm is a lesser being, and not truly a god. Only Lolth is deserving of devotion. It is with she that I stand or fall."
Again, his answer seemed to amuse her in some way. Neither spoke , and a long silence filled the room. Sev'ltas' eyes focused on the brushes and bucket in the hallway just outside. He suspected that Vierdra would not return this evening.
"Ten thousand pardons, Jabbress. The Ilharess has assigned duties to me, and I mean to complete them. If Malla Vierdra returns, will you tell her that I am ready for my next Trial?"
Distracted by something, Aniarithe waved off the request. "Yes, yes.. I'll let her know."
Sev'ltas bowed his head in thanks, and walked from the room, unbent, unbroken. His corded muscles trembled with the effort. He collected his supplies, and headed off to complete his chores.
It had been mere hours since his meeting with the Ilharess, when he met another. Where the Ilharess had the wisdom and patience born of experience, this one was young, full of fire and anger -- and some other emotion that Sev'ltas could sense, but not fully articulate.
He had been in the training room when she walked in on him, half-way through his form set, striking chips and splinters off the training dummy. Stripped down to the waist, a trickle of sweat beaded down his bare shoulders and back. Sev'ltas paused as he heard the door open. Even from across the room, he could feel her contempt for him -- 'Finally' he thought; 'a sensible Jalil in this insane City.' Her immediate dislike of him was obvious from the sneer on her face. She made no apologies for it, either.
"So, you are the First Son, then?" she spat, apparently unimpressed.
"I am, Jabbress. Newly returned." he said, dipping his head in deference.
Vierdra made no motion to speak for some time. She turned on one heel, and left the room without further comment. The loyalty bred and beaten into him since childhood pulled him after her, but wisdom gave him pause. He wiped the sheen of sweat from his raven skin, and set to gather supplies for his chores. He had inspected the Altar to Lolth earlier, and it was in need of deeper cleaning than an the uninitiated were capable of. Such work was beneath the Yath'erin and Ilharess, and so the work fell to specialists like him.
With bucket and brushes in hand, he approached the door to the Altar room, only to find Vierdra waiting in the open doorway.
"You." She barked; "you will make yourself useful to me. Consider this your first of eight tests."
Sev'ltas was momentarily dazed -- "Tests"? Had he not already gone through the many trials it took to get this far? Survived the tests of the Temple Initiate? Mastered the discipline of self to become an instructor within the walls of the monastery?
He gazed into the room, and felt the crackle of energy emanating from it, like the smell of lightning before an oncoming storm.
"There are eight gems within the room. Collect them and bring them to me. If you survive, you will have passed. I do not need to tell you what will happen if you fail."
He looked back once more to the Jabbress he had spent less than an hour with in total since arriving in Sshamath, and placed his cleaning supplies on the floor.
"NOW!" She barked.
Before his thoughts could catch up with him, he was already in the room. He vaulted a bench, slid beneath another, and gathered the first gem as the wards began to explode around him. He ducked, weaved, flipped and danced his way through them all, scooping up gem after gem from the floor. He knelt before Vierdra, and presented the gems, smoke and steam rising from his bare shoulders, but utterly unburned.
His success was met with a sneer of contempt. The Jabbress collected the gems, and began to prepare a spell.
"Your next test, Jaluk." Her hand reached out toward the hallway, and she seized the mind of one of the House Guards. "Defend me." She said simply, and with no other instruction.
The House Guard charged into the room, sword trailing behind, eyes set on Vierdra. With barely any time to think, Sev'ltas lept at the guard, striking at his knees. Unhindered, the guard's baleful gaze met Sev'ltas, as his blow glanced off the guard's armored shins. Caught unawares as he was, Sev'ltas could only watch as the sword came down upon him instead. He half-deflected the blow, only to catch the full force of the shield as it slammed into his ribs with a sickening crack. A pommel-strike to the bridge of his nose left Sev'ltas momentarily blinded, giving ample time for the sword to find a new home in the young Jaluk's ribs. Once again, intuition prevailed, and a sudden twist of his shoulders at the last moment prevented the bite of the steel from sinking too far.
It did not take long for Sev'ltas to recover his wits, but by the time he did, the fight was half over, and he was already losing. Time slowed for him, then -- seconds into minutes, minutes into hours -- and the world came down to focus on a single point. He peppered the guard with blows, denting and crushing the armor with his bare fists, and putting the larger Jaluk on the defensive. A twist of the hips brought his heel around to smash against the guard's shield, and it splintered in two, as well as the bones in the arm behind it. To his credit, the guard did not stop his attack, and drove the sword home once more, drawing blood from Sev'ltas' leg. But the movement was too slow, and the young Jaluk capitalized on the moment to hammer a vital strike to the unprotected area between the guard's chin and breastplate. Panic showed in the guard's eyes as his breath stopped in his throat, and Sev'ltas was allowed all the time he needed to dismantle his opponent.
The guard fell to the ground with a thud, armor ruined, and in one or two places, pierced straight through. Sev'ltas did not fare much better -- his wounds bled freely, and he was on the verge of collapse. Vierdra looked at him again with disgust, and it was then that Sev'ltas suspected that this was no test -- it was a gauntlet, crafted from the Jabress' anger and frustrations. She had no way to vent them -- until, that is, the new Jaluk arrived. New and untested, he was a perfect target for her barbarous cruelty. The realization hit him like a bolt of lightning, but rather than shocking and disabling him, he found the strange peaceful center that turned up whenever he confronted death head-on. It was a feeling that Destiny was at hand, felt most keenly during an assassination or usurpation attempt at the monastery -- a feeling that any ending here was pre-ordained, and that worry was unnecessary.
Vierdra hissed at him and left the room -- the Jaluk had the audacity to remain living, and she had had enough.
Sev'ltas stood at attention, waiting for her return -- she had not given him any instruction, but nor had she dismissed him. Body trembling under the weight of his injuries, he stood tall and still. He modulated his breath, and brought his hands in front of him, as if to cast a spell. Blood flowed freely down his side, slicking his pants, and filling the boot before oozing out onto the floor. Focusing on this, Sev'ltas slowed his breath even further, slower and slower, and the blood flow slowed, and stopped.
"Who are you, and why are you half-dressed, Jaluk?" Came a voice with no owner.
"I am Sev'ltas, and I wait for my next Trial from Malla Vierdra."
"Interesting..." Said the voice, from a different part of the room. "You are a new Sargtlin?"
"Xas, Jabbress." He replied.
A figure began to take shape behind him, and Aniarithe appeared within it. She looked him over with a calm detatchment of her own. "You are like a stone in still water, Jaluk."
The observation caught him off-guard -- this was a Cycle filled with too many surprises for his taste. "Xas, Jabress."
"If you die from your wounds, do you expect you'll be raised as you are, or as an undead?" She mused at him.
"I will not perish this Cycle, Jabbress. Mine is a destiny yet unseen, but I intend to fulfill it."
This seemed to amuse her some. "You stand tall, like Selvatarm?" she quizzed.
"Selvatarm is a lesser being, and not truly a god. Only Lolth is deserving of devotion. It is with she that I stand or fall."
Again, his answer seemed to amuse her in some way. Neither spoke , and a long silence filled the room. Sev'ltas' eyes focused on the brushes and bucket in the hallway just outside. He suspected that Vierdra would not return this evening.
"Ten thousand pardons, Jabbress. The Ilharess has assigned duties to me, and I mean to complete them. If Malla Vierdra returns, will you tell her that I am ready for my next Trial?"
Distracted by something, Aniarithe waved off the request. "Yes, yes.. I'll let her know."
Sev'ltas bowed his head in thanks, and walked from the room, unbent, unbroken. His corded muscles trembled with the effort. He collected his supplies, and headed off to complete his chores.
Brokk Skul'i, Company Man (Bio)
Sev'ltas Zau'afin, The Black Crow (Bio) || Journal: "Finding The Way through the Darkness"
Sev'ltas Zau'afin, The Black Crow (Bio) || Journal: "Finding The Way through the Darkness"
-
DeepFriedMoose
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Re: Sev'ltas: Finding The Way through the Darkness
III. [Visions] (The Test, pt. 2)
"Xas, Jabbress." the Jaluk replied with a bow of his head.
Sev'ltas headed into the training room, changed his clothes, and sat on the floor. Eyes closed, he focused his Ki, sharpened his mind, and fell into a trance amid the soft, red glow that surrounded him. He found himself in darkness, falling limitless distances into an unknown void.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
"You cannot keep him, Jabbress." The Yath'rin said softly, yet urgently. "He is too great a risk. He will bring attention to us all."
Sev'ltas sat at the feet of the Jalilen, barely a toddler by Drow standards. He played with toy spiders spun from copper wire, and blunted daggers, never mixing the two, for the earliest lesson taught to any Drow was that Spiders were sacred. They were important -- even more important than him. So the spiders wrestled, and tackled each other in mortal combat, and when he grew restless, he would waddle around on chubby legs, clutching his little, blunted dagger, and hunting for "Prey", himself. His burbling voice and meaty, bare feet slapping against the polished black stones were the only sound in the Inner Sanctum. The child was oblivious to the very real danger he was in at that moment. He had no possible way to understand death -- especially his own. Sev'ltas had been brought there to die.
Lomith gazed down at her child as he trundled up to her to nurse, and grimaced at the thought. This boy always drew blood as well as milk. It was a good trait among Drow -- a sign that he would have grown strong, perhaps even mighty. She held him to her breast for one last time, and looked at the Yath'rin with cold, burning eyes.
"It is bad luck to Sacrifice a First Born; even if it is only a Male." She turned her eyes down to her son, his eyes closed, and tiny fist still gripping his toy dagger.
"Be that as it may, Lomith; your enemies will seek to use him against you. They might try to kill him themselves, or merely kidnap him to use against you later. He cannot live."
The child began to snore softly in Lomith's arms, and the dagger fell from his hand as he fell deeper into his reverie. She stood, slowly, trying not to break his trance, and placed him upon the Altar. His small arms twitched, and Lomith imagined him dreaming of driving his tiny dagger home into the back of some foe.
"It is for the best, Lomith. For the good of us all..." The Priestess reassured, trying to keep the new mother from losing her nerve.
"Xas." She said, with an empty voice. Lomith drew her ritual dagger, and held it above her sleeping son. "Lolth, take this sacrifice as proof of my promise to you. Let the blood spilled here fill your cup, and nourish you. Take this soul, and add it to your web. Your gift to me, returned, with interest..."
With a flick of the wrist it was done -- blood splashed across the Altar, and the release of power was felt throughout the room...
... Except by the Yath'rin. The Priestess clutched at her throat, eyes wide with surprise as her life blood trickled through her fingers and stained her robes. Lomith stared into those eyes as the light faded from them.
"This is for the best." Lomith hissed. "None shall rob me of what is mine, least of all some skinny harlot." She grabbed the Priestess by the face, and threw her down against the flagstones.
On the altar, Sev'ltas stirred from his trance, giggling and kicking his feet at the spray of blood that had broken it. Lomith scooped up her child, and left the room.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Again into darkness he stumbled. Sev'ltas' breath condensed against cold air.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The young boy was cold, and felt the stirring of frozen air pressing slowly through the tunnels. It was a new sensation to him. The chamber was thick with fog, and the stalactites that hung from the ceiling were rimmed with frost where the moist air of the tunnel met the biting cold of the dry desert winter. He perched on the saddle of the Rothe, and drew his cloak around him while his mother spoke.
"He is not too young. He is strong enough to begin his training." She argued coldly.
"Jabbress, he would die within days -- even the first few hours of his training. The Order of Silent Spiders brooks no weakness." The ancient-looking Drow male replied. His voice reminded Sev'ltas of the Aboleth hide on the grip of a sword -- Rough. Steady. Dry.
The woman looked at The Master for a long moment. The boy felt the tension rising, and before he could stop to think, he heard himself shout: "I can do it! I am strong. I will not fail... I--"
With a clap like thunder he was dismounted, and laying in a heap on the ground before he could finish his final sentence. Breath would not fill his lungs, and he looked about the cavern in desperation. He saw his mother then, looking at him dispassionately. She would not help him. The Master held a curious gaze upon him as well, palm still outstretched, standing motionless in the cold. The frozen air was still, save for a lingering gust that crept away from The Master, past the Rothe, and into the gloaming. Sev'ltas had not even seen the man move, and he was too far away to have reached him sitting high upon the Rothe... How had he done this?
Hubris fell away to humility, but Sev'ltas could feel his chances growing slimmer by the second. He forced the air to fill his chest, ribs scraping against each other sending weakening stabs of pain up his neck, and stood, back straight, facing The Master. The Ancient Drow's whispy eyebrow twitched -- the only sign of his response. Sev'ltas stood as still as he was able, doing his best to show no weakness as a burning sensation filled the right side of his chest. The moment stretched into eternity, and the boy's head began to swim. The standoff ended as he coughed, sending a crimson mist into the white fog. Time slowed again. The red droplets hung against the cold air, stark against the white background, falling in slow motion onto the dark pave-stones. He gritted his teeth, bit the inside of his cheek, and the world sped up again into frantic spasms of pain. Sev'ltas pressed his lips together into a thin line, and straightened his back again. His breath came in a gurgle he could feel bubbling in the right of his chest, but he was resolute.
Lomtih gazed on, and gave no impression of her emotions on the matter. She looked back to The Master, silent.
The Ancient Drow lowered his palm, and tucked his hands back into the open sleeves of his robes, hidden against the chilled air. He stared at the boy, waiting for him to fall again, and when he did not, he returned his attention to Lomith.
"We will see to his training..."
// EDITS: Changes to names based on DM feedback.
This entry contains mild instances of child endangerment. If you are sensitive to this type of material, please use your discretion before reading. Thank you, and enjoy.
The Jalil squinted at him suspiciously, anger still burning in her eyes. "Your third test will begin shortly. Prepare yourself, Jaluk.""Xas, Jabbress." the Jaluk replied with a bow of his head.
Sev'ltas headed into the training room, changed his clothes, and sat on the floor. Eyes closed, he focused his Ki, sharpened his mind, and fell into a trance amid the soft, red glow that surrounded him. He found himself in darkness, falling limitless distances into an unknown void.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
"You cannot keep him, Jabbress." The Yath'rin said softly, yet urgently. "He is too great a risk. He will bring attention to us all."
Sev'ltas sat at the feet of the Jalilen, barely a toddler by Drow standards. He played with toy spiders spun from copper wire, and blunted daggers, never mixing the two, for the earliest lesson taught to any Drow was that Spiders were sacred. They were important -- even more important than him. So the spiders wrestled, and tackled each other in mortal combat, and when he grew restless, he would waddle around on chubby legs, clutching his little, blunted dagger, and hunting for "Prey", himself. His burbling voice and meaty, bare feet slapping against the polished black stones were the only sound in the Inner Sanctum. The child was oblivious to the very real danger he was in at that moment. He had no possible way to understand death -- especially his own. Sev'ltas had been brought there to die.
Lomith gazed down at her child as he trundled up to her to nurse, and grimaced at the thought. This boy always drew blood as well as milk. It was a good trait among Drow -- a sign that he would have grown strong, perhaps even mighty. She held him to her breast for one last time, and looked at the Yath'rin with cold, burning eyes.
"It is bad luck to Sacrifice a First Born; even if it is only a Male." She turned her eyes down to her son, his eyes closed, and tiny fist still gripping his toy dagger.
"Be that as it may, Lomith; your enemies will seek to use him against you. They might try to kill him themselves, or merely kidnap him to use against you later. He cannot live."
The child began to snore softly in Lomith's arms, and the dagger fell from his hand as he fell deeper into his reverie. She stood, slowly, trying not to break his trance, and placed him upon the Altar. His small arms twitched, and Lomith imagined him dreaming of driving his tiny dagger home into the back of some foe.
"It is for the best, Lomith. For the good of us all..." The Priestess reassured, trying to keep the new mother from losing her nerve.
"Xas." She said, with an empty voice. Lomith drew her ritual dagger, and held it above her sleeping son. "Lolth, take this sacrifice as proof of my promise to you. Let the blood spilled here fill your cup, and nourish you. Take this soul, and add it to your web. Your gift to me, returned, with interest..."
With a flick of the wrist it was done -- blood splashed across the Altar, and the release of power was felt throughout the room...
... Except by the Yath'rin. The Priestess clutched at her throat, eyes wide with surprise as her life blood trickled through her fingers and stained her robes. Lomith stared into those eyes as the light faded from them.
"This is for the best." Lomith hissed. "None shall rob me of what is mine, least of all some skinny harlot." She grabbed the Priestess by the face, and threw her down against the flagstones.
On the altar, Sev'ltas stirred from his trance, giggling and kicking his feet at the spray of blood that had broken it. Lomith scooped up her child, and left the room.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Again into darkness he stumbled. Sev'ltas' breath condensed against cold air.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The young boy was cold, and felt the stirring of frozen air pressing slowly through the tunnels. It was a new sensation to him. The chamber was thick with fog, and the stalactites that hung from the ceiling were rimmed with frost where the moist air of the tunnel met the biting cold of the dry desert winter. He perched on the saddle of the Rothe, and drew his cloak around him while his mother spoke.
"He is not too young. He is strong enough to begin his training." She argued coldly.
"Jabbress, he would die within days -- even the first few hours of his training. The Order of Silent Spiders brooks no weakness." The ancient-looking Drow male replied. His voice reminded Sev'ltas of the Aboleth hide on the grip of a sword -- Rough. Steady. Dry.
The woman looked at The Master for a long moment. The boy felt the tension rising, and before he could stop to think, he heard himself shout: "I can do it! I am strong. I will not fail... I--"
With a clap like thunder he was dismounted, and laying in a heap on the ground before he could finish his final sentence. Breath would not fill his lungs, and he looked about the cavern in desperation. He saw his mother then, looking at him dispassionately. She would not help him. The Master held a curious gaze upon him as well, palm still outstretched, standing motionless in the cold. The frozen air was still, save for a lingering gust that crept away from The Master, past the Rothe, and into the gloaming. Sev'ltas had not even seen the man move, and he was too far away to have reached him sitting high upon the Rothe... How had he done this?
Hubris fell away to humility, but Sev'ltas could feel his chances growing slimmer by the second. He forced the air to fill his chest, ribs scraping against each other sending weakening stabs of pain up his neck, and stood, back straight, facing The Master. The Ancient Drow's whispy eyebrow twitched -- the only sign of his response. Sev'ltas stood as still as he was able, doing his best to show no weakness as a burning sensation filled the right side of his chest. The moment stretched into eternity, and the boy's head began to swim. The standoff ended as he coughed, sending a crimson mist into the white fog. Time slowed again. The red droplets hung against the cold air, stark against the white background, falling in slow motion onto the dark pave-stones. He gritted his teeth, bit the inside of his cheek, and the world sped up again into frantic spasms of pain. Sev'ltas pressed his lips together into a thin line, and straightened his back again. His breath came in a gurgle he could feel bubbling in the right of his chest, but he was resolute.
Lomtih gazed on, and gave no impression of her emotions on the matter. She looked back to The Master, silent.
The Ancient Drow lowered his palm, and tucked his hands back into the open sleeves of his robes, hidden against the chilled air. He stared at the boy, waiting for him to fall again, and when he did not, he returned his attention to Lomith.
"We will see to his training..."
// EDITS: Changes to names based on DM feedback.
Last edited by DeepFriedMoose on Wed Jun 28, 2017 10:47 am, edited 2 times in total.
Brokk Skul'i, Company Man (Bio)
Sev'ltas Zau'afin, The Black Crow (Bio) || Journal: "Finding The Way through the Darkness"
Sev'ltas Zau'afin, The Black Crow (Bio) || Journal: "Finding The Way through the Darkness"
-
DeepFriedMoose
- Recognized Donor
- Posts: 273
- Joined: Mon Apr 13, 2015 1:40 pm
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Re: Sev'ltas: Finding The Way through the Darkness
IV. [Temptation] (The Test, pt. 3)
Sev'ltas sat in quiet meditation, eyes closed, palms turned up and resting on his lap. His bare skin was slick with sweat from his training, but his breath was calm and even, forcing out the discomfort of his fatigue. Steam rose from his shoulders, arms, and hands as his mind became focused on the progression of his training.
From somewhere lost in that vast Darkness, he felt a powerful presence enter the room. He felt his energies wane, and pushed through the dampening effects. Before he opened his eyes, he knew who had entered the room, and why.
"Vendui, Jabbress... I thought I felt the touch of Power enter the room." He said softly as he broke from his contemplation; there were greater threats to face in this world than in the Inner world...
"Mm." Vierdra growled at him from the doorway, with a single, smooth, raised eyebrow. Precisely how long she had been watching him was yet unclear to him, but her normal tension was lacking. The Jaluk felt like an insect being observed through a lens -- the weight of Vierdra's gaze was palpable.
He stood, and bowed. "Do you wish to continue my Tests, Malla Vierdra?"
The Yath'rin pressed her lips together into a fine line. "Xas. Mahalath! Come!"
The room again filled with menace and power, as Vierdra summoned and bound a creature from the Lower Planes. As the form crawled from the cracked floor and took shape, Sev'ltas felt the strange Serenity creep over him -- he was facing Death yet again...
Glowing red eyes, and a curvy form materialized from the Planes, and a long, slender tail swished with mischief and excitement. A sweet smile lingered on the demon's beautiful features. "How may I serve you, Malla Yath'rin?" She asked, coyly.
"The Jaluk. Take him. Now."
The sickeningly sweet smile turned his way, and Sev'ltas felt the weight of its evil attempting to overshadow his mind. "Of course..." The Succubus said with a thinly-veiled interest. It's flaming eyes gazed at the Jaluk's half-dressed from, and the flames flickered with excitement.
Sev'ltas stood speechless. Was he meant to fight this creature? Or simply resist it's charms? Or was the test to see if he could survive it's pleasures beneath the withering scrutiny of the Yath'rin? Before he could consider all the implications, the answer was made clear for him.
The lithe creature strode up to him on long, slender legs, and reached out a finely-manicured hand. It had nearly touched him when Sev'ltas regained his wits, and took a step back. Dark power rushed from the creature's fingertips -- an enervating bolt that shook him to the core. The Jaluk's fists erupted into holy fire, and he fended off the first wave of attacks before the creature giggled at him seductively.
"Come on, Jaluk... Stop fighting. We could have soooo much more fun." She said with a wink, and a forked tongue flickered across her full, perfect lips.
Sev'ltas hazarded a glance at Vierdra who stood, motionless by the door. A mix of emotions played across her face; impatience, anger, pride... jealousy? He was given no time to contemplate; the glance had been a mistake, and the Demon had seen it. She pressed the advantage. Already on the defensive, the Jaluk took a second step back, and realized he had already lost.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
"No, like this." The Instructor corrected. "Never take more than a single step backwards. If a second step is needed, it should be to the side, to engage, or into the enemies attack, to rob them of the power of their stroke."
"Yes, Instructor." the young Jaluk replied, and mirrored what he had been taught. His nimble footing spun him around, and to the side of his Instructor, revealing an exposed flank.
"Good. From there, many vital points are revealed. You see them, yes?"
"Yes, Instructor."
"Good. Now repeat. And remember, Sev'ltas, the fighter that takes a second step in retreat has already lost the fight..."
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Broken, and laying upon the floor, Sev'ltas felt waves of negative energy crackling within him, robbing him of his strength. He writhed under the horrible pleasure of it, drawing inward to keep his mind from being taken.
"Enough, Mahalath." The Yath'rin called. The Succubus stepped back with a pout on it's plump red lips. Sev'ltas struggled to get to his feet, but only managed to get to his knees drawing ragged, exhausted breaths.
Vierdra circled around him as he knelt helpless on the floor. "You failed to defeat this creature."
The Jaluk nodded, and gulped the stale air of the training room. "Xas... Jabbress..."
"Why?" She asked, her tone angry; bordering on the edge of furious.
"Too... strong..." He panted.
She raised a delicate eyebrow. "Too strong? or are you too weak?"
He shook his head, unwilling to admit defeat before the Eyes of Lolth. "No... Too strong... Fight... again, Jabbress..."
The Priestess gestured to the supple form of the Demon. "This is only a minor tanari, Jaluk..." The Succubus scrunched her nose at the dismissive comment. "You are not weak, Jaluk?"
Sev'ltas drew a deep breath, slowing his heart, and he stood on unsteady legs. "No, Jabbress."
"Then finish the job." She barked, words dripping with venom.
The Jaluk summoned the last of his strength to stand upright. He looked at the irresistible form of the Succubus, and waited for Serenity to find him again, but it did not. He was left alone and naked in the room, surrounded by those that wished him dead, only for their own pleasure. For the first time since he returned, he missed the Monastery -- missed his Brothers. Even if they tried to kill him as well, it was only to better the Order, or to weed out the weak. This... was not the Order, and he had never felt so alone in his life.
The giggle of the Demon brought him back to the task at hand. Barely wounded herself, she clapped her hands with the anticipation of finishing the job, herself. "Let's play, Jaluk..." she taunted, swaying her full hips, and swishing her tail.
He gritted his teeth, and felt a new power rise within him -- one which he had thought was gone, mastered -- Hatred. Like a gout of Balefire, it filled him, and consumed his thoughts, but it also gave him strength. In the far reaches of his mind that remained un-cowed by the advances of the Demon, and un-burned by the Balefire Rage, he locked a thought away; he would need to explore this sensation better, when time permitted.
The Demon blew him a kiss, and it was too much to bear. His hand went to the baton in his sash, and in an instant, his staff was at the ready in his hand. The Demon smirked at him for his efforts, and he launched himself into another flurry of attacks.
Fueled by rage and humiliation, he lashed out again and again, driving the staff across the supple flesh of the Succubus. It cast a spell, and his staff slammed across her fingers. It summoned bolts of energy, and the force of his rage caused them to fizzle before they struck. Surprised by his renewed efforts, the Succubus took a step back. Mind fully occupied on the singular task of survival, the Jaluk placed his staff on the ground behind her, and jerked the shaft past her knee, driving the Demon to the ground. He spun the staff in a blinding flourish, and brought its full weight down on her collar, shattering the bone into splinters.
Mahalath looked up at him, and smiled at him with her ruby lips. He had been too focused on pressing his attack, and it had given the Demon a chance to prepare another spell. He spun the staff again to interrupt the attack, but it was too late -- frozen in place, paralyzed by the magic, he looked on helplessly as she rose to her feet again. His muscles burned and ached, driven beyond exhaustion.
"Its you or her, Jaluk. If you fail again, that will be the end for you..." Vierdra warned, dispassionately. Truly, she could not care if he lived or died.
His eyes never strayed from the Demon. The Succubus prepared another spell, and began to speak her words of power. The Weave bent to her will, and in that moment, Serenity returned to Sev'ltas. In a flash of insight, his wisdom flooded back, and he pressed against the spell that held him with his own will until it broke, shattering in the Umbral planes. The Demon's eyes grew wide -- he was beaten, exhausted! This mortal creatures mind was hers, and he resisted!
Sev'ltas leaned into the remaining force held at bay by the spell, and drove his elbow into the Demon's throat, silencing her. It was down to raw force, at least. The Succubus gagged on the force of the blow, and took a step back -- her second step back. The pair traded blows, both utterly spent from the exertion. The staff found its mark again and again, and the Demon gave as good as she received with deep wounds from raking claws. But the battle was already decided.
With a final crack of his staff, the Demon collapsed to the floor. The flagstones crumbled, and skeletal hands reached from the Abyss to claim their fallen.
Utterly spent, Sev'ltas leaned heavily on his staff, knees weak, arms weighted like dead things on his shoulders. He felt like vomiting. But he would not waver. Not in front of Her. If he showed any weakness now, she may just finish the job. Blood streamed down his cheek and chest from the claw-wounds that would not heal until he could summon his life force again. He pushed against the staff, forcing him to stand upright. But he was spent...
"You're still breathing..." Vierdra said, as she circled him. "Shall I call another?"
Sev'ltas closed his eyes. This creature truly meant to kill him. He knew that now. This had to stop...
"If... you require it... Jabbress... I will... fight again..." He panted.
"Bwael." She said, and his heart sank. But a second demon did not come. He braced himself for death -- this was only the Third Test. He could not imagine a scenario where he survived much longer. "I require you to survive." She said, after a loaded pause. "you must prepare yourself for what is to come."
The Jaluk's knees gave out at the relief of it. He leaned heavily on his staff, swaying like a drunkard.
"Why did you not use your natural gifts? Why did you not cloak yourself in Darkness?" She quizzed.
"Demons... can see through... this effect... Can they not, Jabbress?" he asked. He truly wasn't sure; the Monastery had taught him to kill living things, not those from the Outer Planes.
She laughed, a bitter sound to his ears. "Xas.... Xas... Many can, indeed." She circled around him again, sounding pleased. "But not all enemies can be brought low with brute force alone, Jaluk. Think on this, while I give you a taste of what you shall one day face..."
Vierdra called into the Darkness again, and again it answered. Two hulking demons crawled from the Abyss, and stood on either side of the exhausted Jaluk.
"Meet Bonegrinder and Bonesnapper." She said. His mind reeled at their sheer size. The rank breath of the creatures blew across his face; hot and sticky with the smell of rotting flesh. "It is these two that you will one day face." She called sweetly.
"LET IT BE NOW, MISTRESS...." snarled one of the beasts. "LET ME REND HIS FLESH!" Said the other.
"No. That day is not today. Begone. Until I summon you again." She said to the two, and the gates of the Hells opened for them, and received them once again. The Yath'rin stepped closer to him.
"You have surprised me today, Jaluk. I did not think you had the... strength... to defeat Mahalath." She stepped closer to him, chest pressed against his. It was all he could do not to fall over. "Now taste the reward of my pleasure." She wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, and pressed her lips against his. Her mouth parted, and swarms of ethereal spiders flowed into his mouth, crawled up his face, and into his nose and eyes. The creatures flowed into him, and spun their webs, closing his wounds, and knitting his flesh. With the last of his will spent, he fell to his knees as the swarm consumed him from the inside out, leaving a renewed Drow in their wake. Vierdra smiled at the scene.
When the spiders had done their work, and faded back out of this reality, he looked up at her. Behind his placid facade, something stirred behind his crimson eyes. It squirmed, begging to be released. He gripped his quarterstaff, and the wood creaked under the might of his hands. Her prayers and spells were spent. He might succeed in killing her now, and ending all this madness. His Breath returned to him, and he released it in a stream of heat that condensed in the cool air.
Perhaps she sensed his intentions, perhaps not. She glided gracefully toward the door. "Do not forget what I have said to you, Sev'ltas." It was the first time she had called him by name, and stunned him for a moment. "Grow stronger. Impress me."
"Aluve, Jabbress." he felt the squirming in his skull subside. "I shall continue my training."
She paused at the open door, scrutinizing him once more, before silently leaving.
Sev'ltas remained kneeling on the floor for a few more moments, pondering the events of this Cycle.
This had to end...
Sev'ltas sat in quiet meditation, eyes closed, palms turned up and resting on his lap. His bare skin was slick with sweat from his training, but his breath was calm and even, forcing out the discomfort of his fatigue. Steam rose from his shoulders, arms, and hands as his mind became focused on the progression of his training.
From somewhere lost in that vast Darkness, he felt a powerful presence enter the room. He felt his energies wane, and pushed through the dampening effects. Before he opened his eyes, he knew who had entered the room, and why.
"Vendui, Jabbress... I thought I felt the touch of Power enter the room." He said softly as he broke from his contemplation; there were greater threats to face in this world than in the Inner world...
"Mm." Vierdra growled at him from the doorway, with a single, smooth, raised eyebrow. Precisely how long she had been watching him was yet unclear to him, but her normal tension was lacking. The Jaluk felt like an insect being observed through a lens -- the weight of Vierdra's gaze was palpable.
He stood, and bowed. "Do you wish to continue my Tests, Malla Vierdra?"
The Yath'rin pressed her lips together into a fine line. "Xas. Mahalath! Come!"
The room again filled with menace and power, as Vierdra summoned and bound a creature from the Lower Planes. As the form crawled from the cracked floor and took shape, Sev'ltas felt the strange Serenity creep over him -- he was facing Death yet again...
Glowing red eyes, and a curvy form materialized from the Planes, and a long, slender tail swished with mischief and excitement. A sweet smile lingered on the demon's beautiful features. "How may I serve you, Malla Yath'rin?" She asked, coyly.
"The Jaluk. Take him. Now."
The sickeningly sweet smile turned his way, and Sev'ltas felt the weight of its evil attempting to overshadow his mind. "Of course..." The Succubus said with a thinly-veiled interest. It's flaming eyes gazed at the Jaluk's half-dressed from, and the flames flickered with excitement.
Sev'ltas stood speechless. Was he meant to fight this creature? Or simply resist it's charms? Or was the test to see if he could survive it's pleasures beneath the withering scrutiny of the Yath'rin? Before he could consider all the implications, the answer was made clear for him.
The lithe creature strode up to him on long, slender legs, and reached out a finely-manicured hand. It had nearly touched him when Sev'ltas regained his wits, and took a step back. Dark power rushed from the creature's fingertips -- an enervating bolt that shook him to the core. The Jaluk's fists erupted into holy fire, and he fended off the first wave of attacks before the creature giggled at him seductively.
"Come on, Jaluk... Stop fighting. We could have soooo much more fun." She said with a wink, and a forked tongue flickered across her full, perfect lips.
Sev'ltas hazarded a glance at Vierdra who stood, motionless by the door. A mix of emotions played across her face; impatience, anger, pride... jealousy? He was given no time to contemplate; the glance had been a mistake, and the Demon had seen it. She pressed the advantage. Already on the defensive, the Jaluk took a second step back, and realized he had already lost.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
"No, like this." The Instructor corrected. "Never take more than a single step backwards. If a second step is needed, it should be to the side, to engage, or into the enemies attack, to rob them of the power of their stroke."
"Yes, Instructor." the young Jaluk replied, and mirrored what he had been taught. His nimble footing spun him around, and to the side of his Instructor, revealing an exposed flank.
"Good. From there, many vital points are revealed. You see them, yes?"
"Yes, Instructor."
"Good. Now repeat. And remember, Sev'ltas, the fighter that takes a second step in retreat has already lost the fight..."
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Broken, and laying upon the floor, Sev'ltas felt waves of negative energy crackling within him, robbing him of his strength. He writhed under the horrible pleasure of it, drawing inward to keep his mind from being taken.
"Enough, Mahalath." The Yath'rin called. The Succubus stepped back with a pout on it's plump red lips. Sev'ltas struggled to get to his feet, but only managed to get to his knees drawing ragged, exhausted breaths.
Vierdra circled around him as he knelt helpless on the floor. "You failed to defeat this creature."
The Jaluk nodded, and gulped the stale air of the training room. "Xas... Jabbress..."
"Why?" She asked, her tone angry; bordering on the edge of furious.
"Too... strong..." He panted.
She raised a delicate eyebrow. "Too strong? or are you too weak?"
He shook his head, unwilling to admit defeat before the Eyes of Lolth. "No... Too strong... Fight... again, Jabbress..."
The Priestess gestured to the supple form of the Demon. "This is only a minor tanari, Jaluk..." The Succubus scrunched her nose at the dismissive comment. "You are not weak, Jaluk?"
Sev'ltas drew a deep breath, slowing his heart, and he stood on unsteady legs. "No, Jabbress."
"Then finish the job." She barked, words dripping with venom.
The Jaluk summoned the last of his strength to stand upright. He looked at the irresistible form of the Succubus, and waited for Serenity to find him again, but it did not. He was left alone and naked in the room, surrounded by those that wished him dead, only for their own pleasure. For the first time since he returned, he missed the Monastery -- missed his Brothers. Even if they tried to kill him as well, it was only to better the Order, or to weed out the weak. This... was not the Order, and he had never felt so alone in his life.
The giggle of the Demon brought him back to the task at hand. Barely wounded herself, she clapped her hands with the anticipation of finishing the job, herself. "Let's play, Jaluk..." she taunted, swaying her full hips, and swishing her tail.
He gritted his teeth, and felt a new power rise within him -- one which he had thought was gone, mastered -- Hatred. Like a gout of Balefire, it filled him, and consumed his thoughts, but it also gave him strength. In the far reaches of his mind that remained un-cowed by the advances of the Demon, and un-burned by the Balefire Rage, he locked a thought away; he would need to explore this sensation better, when time permitted.
The Demon blew him a kiss, and it was too much to bear. His hand went to the baton in his sash, and in an instant, his staff was at the ready in his hand. The Demon smirked at him for his efforts, and he launched himself into another flurry of attacks.
Fueled by rage and humiliation, he lashed out again and again, driving the staff across the supple flesh of the Succubus. It cast a spell, and his staff slammed across her fingers. It summoned bolts of energy, and the force of his rage caused them to fizzle before they struck. Surprised by his renewed efforts, the Succubus took a step back. Mind fully occupied on the singular task of survival, the Jaluk placed his staff on the ground behind her, and jerked the shaft past her knee, driving the Demon to the ground. He spun the staff in a blinding flourish, and brought its full weight down on her collar, shattering the bone into splinters.
Mahalath looked up at him, and smiled at him with her ruby lips. He had been too focused on pressing his attack, and it had given the Demon a chance to prepare another spell. He spun the staff again to interrupt the attack, but it was too late -- frozen in place, paralyzed by the magic, he looked on helplessly as she rose to her feet again. His muscles burned and ached, driven beyond exhaustion.
"Its you or her, Jaluk. If you fail again, that will be the end for you..." Vierdra warned, dispassionately. Truly, she could not care if he lived or died.
His eyes never strayed from the Demon. The Succubus prepared another spell, and began to speak her words of power. The Weave bent to her will, and in that moment, Serenity returned to Sev'ltas. In a flash of insight, his wisdom flooded back, and he pressed against the spell that held him with his own will until it broke, shattering in the Umbral planes. The Demon's eyes grew wide -- he was beaten, exhausted! This mortal creatures mind was hers, and he resisted!
Sev'ltas leaned into the remaining force held at bay by the spell, and drove his elbow into the Demon's throat, silencing her. It was down to raw force, at least. The Succubus gagged on the force of the blow, and took a step back -- her second step back. The pair traded blows, both utterly spent from the exertion. The staff found its mark again and again, and the Demon gave as good as she received with deep wounds from raking claws. But the battle was already decided.
With a final crack of his staff, the Demon collapsed to the floor. The flagstones crumbled, and skeletal hands reached from the Abyss to claim their fallen.
Utterly spent, Sev'ltas leaned heavily on his staff, knees weak, arms weighted like dead things on his shoulders. He felt like vomiting. But he would not waver. Not in front of Her. If he showed any weakness now, she may just finish the job. Blood streamed down his cheek and chest from the claw-wounds that would not heal until he could summon his life force again. He pushed against the staff, forcing him to stand upright. But he was spent...
"You're still breathing..." Vierdra said, as she circled him. "Shall I call another?"
Sev'ltas closed his eyes. This creature truly meant to kill him. He knew that now. This had to stop...
"If... you require it... Jabbress... I will... fight again..." He panted.
"Bwael." She said, and his heart sank. But a second demon did not come. He braced himself for death -- this was only the Third Test. He could not imagine a scenario where he survived much longer. "I require you to survive." She said, after a loaded pause. "you must prepare yourself for what is to come."
The Jaluk's knees gave out at the relief of it. He leaned heavily on his staff, swaying like a drunkard.
"Why did you not use your natural gifts? Why did you not cloak yourself in Darkness?" She quizzed.
"Demons... can see through... this effect... Can they not, Jabbress?" he asked. He truly wasn't sure; the Monastery had taught him to kill living things, not those from the Outer Planes.
She laughed, a bitter sound to his ears. "Xas.... Xas... Many can, indeed." She circled around him again, sounding pleased. "But not all enemies can be brought low with brute force alone, Jaluk. Think on this, while I give you a taste of what you shall one day face..."
Vierdra called into the Darkness again, and again it answered. Two hulking demons crawled from the Abyss, and stood on either side of the exhausted Jaluk.
"Meet Bonegrinder and Bonesnapper." She said. His mind reeled at their sheer size. The rank breath of the creatures blew across his face; hot and sticky with the smell of rotting flesh. "It is these two that you will one day face." She called sweetly.
"LET IT BE NOW, MISTRESS...." snarled one of the beasts. "LET ME REND HIS FLESH!" Said the other.
"No. That day is not today. Begone. Until I summon you again." She said to the two, and the gates of the Hells opened for them, and received them once again. The Yath'rin stepped closer to him.
"You have surprised me today, Jaluk. I did not think you had the... strength... to defeat Mahalath." She stepped closer to him, chest pressed against his. It was all he could do not to fall over. "Now taste the reward of my pleasure." She wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, and pressed her lips against his. Her mouth parted, and swarms of ethereal spiders flowed into his mouth, crawled up his face, and into his nose and eyes. The creatures flowed into him, and spun their webs, closing his wounds, and knitting his flesh. With the last of his will spent, he fell to his knees as the swarm consumed him from the inside out, leaving a renewed Drow in their wake. Vierdra smiled at the scene.
When the spiders had done their work, and faded back out of this reality, he looked up at her. Behind his placid facade, something stirred behind his crimson eyes. It squirmed, begging to be released. He gripped his quarterstaff, and the wood creaked under the might of his hands. Her prayers and spells were spent. He might succeed in killing her now, and ending all this madness. His Breath returned to him, and he released it in a stream of heat that condensed in the cool air.
Perhaps she sensed his intentions, perhaps not. She glided gracefully toward the door. "Do not forget what I have said to you, Sev'ltas." It was the first time she had called him by name, and stunned him for a moment. "Grow stronger. Impress me."
"Aluve, Jabbress." he felt the squirming in his skull subside. "I shall continue my training."
She paused at the open door, scrutinizing him once more, before silently leaving.
Sev'ltas remained kneeling on the floor for a few more moments, pondering the events of this Cycle.
This had to end...
Brokk Skul'i, Company Man (Bio)
Sev'ltas Zau'afin, The Black Crow (Bio) || Journal: "Finding The Way through the Darkness"
Sev'ltas Zau'afin, The Black Crow (Bio) || Journal: "Finding The Way through the Darkness"
-
DeepFriedMoose
- Recognized Donor
- Posts: 273
- Joined: Mon Apr 13, 2015 1:40 pm
- Location: GMT -4
Re: Sev'ltas: Finding The Way through the Darkness
V. [Steam]
His quarry was close, and the Jaluk could feel the weight of the anticipation on his shoulders. He strided up to the inn -- "The Spider's Kiss". He had heard rumors since he arrived, and had otherwise never planned to enter the place. But, unless she were truly some base barbarian, his Thief would surely have come here. Serenity did not find him then -- this was not a matter of death, but a matter of honor. His Qu'ellar had been stolen from, and he would see a debt repaid in blood.
The cloying smell of perfumed oils and incense only barely masked the scent of sweat and sex, neither of which overly concerned him. Somewhere in the depths of the building, he heard the crack of a whip, and a groan. He picked up snippets of hushed lewd conversations as he made his way to the desk at the far end of the room. Perhaps he had judged this place well.
The concierge behind the desk looked at him, and did a double-take, eyeing the Jaluk's pressed black coat tails, and the crisp lines of his shirt. "How may I help you this Cycle, Jaluk?" She politely inquired.
"I seek a Jalil." Sev'ltas replied simply. She answered before he could continue.
"Many Jaluk who walk through that door are, though you've been the most direct about it." She said with a smirk. Sev'ltas, already on edge and bordering on impatient, met the Jalil's gaze, and she wilted a bit in his presence. An unexpected malice drifted off him like smoke from smoldering coals.
"I am not here to rut like an animal." he replied coldly. "I seek a thief."
"I... of course, sir." She stammered. Shadows had lengthened in the room, and the faerie fire candles flickered under the intangible force, setting the spider carvings on the wall dancing amid their webs.
The Jaluk took his time in describing his quarry, down to the details of her voice. The concierge nodded along as she followed the conversation, occasionally glancing nervously to other patrons in the room. "Yes, I've seen someone that looks like that." the Jalil said, pointing off to a side room. "She went down there only a few moments before you arrived."
Glancing toward the open door, Sev'ltas felt the anticipation welling within him again. He made his way toward the stairwell, and in the lobby, the candles slowly resumed their steady burn, and the spiders ceased their dancing.
Stopping at the end of a hallway, Sev'tas tilted his head at the sound of conversation coming from beyond the heavy wooden door. The smell of the place was damp, and hot, but lacked the smell of mildew and decay common in the tunnels. Steam drifted up from beneath the door, and condensed on the gold buttons of his jacket. Muted voices spoke in relaxed tones. He was not sure how many were inside, but he was certain he could enter the room unseen, and be done with the thief before anyone else was the wiser. Escaping the scene might prove more difficult, and a protracted fight with an unknown number of enemies did not appeal to him.
He placed his hand on the door handle, and pulled the door open only a crack. Nothing but a damp wall beyond -- the blasted door opened the wrong way to see inside clearly. He weighed his options, silently. it had been days since he had encountered The Thief, and he might not ever get the chance again. He took a calming breath, tore open the door, and stepped inside.
"Sev'ltas!" a familiar voice called with merry surprise. The Jaluk's fierce gaze darted around the room. His muscles tensed, ready to spring, but something in the back of his mind held him back. "We didn't expect to run into you here. Care to join?"
Join? Join what? He looked about the room again, and finally noticed the bobbing heads of both acquaintance and ally alike on the surface of the steaming pool. 'Where is she?' he nearly blurted out, but he stood dumb and confused . She was supposed to be here. This was a moment for blood and vengeance, not merry-making. The fury of opposing emotions tore across his face, playing out a mixture of anger, relief, outrage, confusion, and curiosity. It was the latter that finally won out.
"What are you all doing here?" Asked Sev'ltas.
"What are we doing here, says the party crasher." boomed a baritone voice from the steam that Sev'ltas knew as a friend and ally. Xeyn stood up in the waist-deep water, and waded over to the edge of the pool. He grinned at Sev'ltas. "Come on in and join us." He ordered. Everything Xeyn said sounded like an order. It was something Sev'ltas had enjoyed about his company since they met -- he always knew where he stood in Xeyn's estimations.
Again, Sev'ltas weighed his options. He had come here to deal with a thief, but his lead had suddenly and unexpectedly gone cold. Without another, he would be stymied until he could speak with The Surfacer. He looked beyond the scarred, hulking frame of the Sargtlin, and examined the others. The pile of white dreadlocks gave away Jarven -- it would be good to smooth things over with the Jaluk after his encounter with Vierdra and Sev'ltas in the tunnels. Next to him was another familiar face, with a distinctive, baleful gaze that matched that of her brother; Kiyata floated along the surface of the warm waters, pulling heavily from a bottle of spirits. To Jarven's other side was a face less familiar, though at least known to him. He knew her as 'Maeve", and as an associate of Jarven, and for now that would have to suffice. He was in as good a company here as he was ever likely to find, and lacking any plausible leads to continue his pursuit. The tension pulled at his shoulders, and he felt the exhaustion of the last few Cycles beginning to catch up with him. An evening of relaxation might be useful, after all.
He shrugged at Xeyn's offer "I don't see why not." he said, and stepped off to the side, unbuttoning his jacket. He folded his pants, neatly preserving the crisp lines, and draped them across the back of a chair, along with his jacket -- the steam might loosen the pressed creases, but it was a small matter to iron them back. He stepped toward the pool on naked feet, and felt the welcoming heat of steam wash over his bare flesh. He had guarded many a Jalil and Yath'rin in the many geothermal pools in Undrek'Thoz, but had never, ever been asked to participate.
"There's a test before you can get in, though." Xeyn said. "You pass, or you can't come in."
"Test?" Sev'ltas repeated. He was beyond tired of tests, lately.
"Yep. Gotta do a flip to get in."
. . .
...Can... is he serious? Sev'ltas looked at the others in the pool for confirmation, and they grinned at him with mischief.
" 'fraid so, Sev. We all did it." Jarven added, most unhelpfully.
Suspicion and the flicker-flame of danger danced in the back of his mind. Was this a trick? A trap? To what end? Was there some magical barrier they were asking him to throw himself into? What in the Nine Hells was happening here?
Some of his suspicions of danger were allayed when Kiyata reached across the rocks for a bite to eat from the platter beyond the water. The one-eyed warrior looked up at Sev'ltas while she chewed on some dried meat and mushrooms, appraising his physique. "Come on, Jaluk. Show us what you got." She said.
He looked at the others, who all looked at him, waiting for some response other than awkward, mute silence. He was embarrassing himself, and by extension, Qu'ellar Zau'afin. Without thinking, he placed his palms on one of the large stones, and gracefully flipped his legs up into a hand-stand. He balanced there for a moment, turned once in a circle, and allowed his athletic form to tip toward the water, where his body slapped against the surface like a board.
Emerging from the water, he took a breath, slicked his hair back, and shook the water from his ears, to the sound of cheers and laughter. He hadn't behaved like this since he was a child, and long since before his time with The Masters. At The Order, the young disciples played tricks and pranks like any children, but it was always muted and restrained to avoid gathering too much attention from The Masters. Open play was frowned upon as idleness -- if one had the energy to play, they had energy to train. It was never a dour place, but always one of serious contemplation, study, reverence, and introspection. Frivolity had not been a part of his life for nearly two centuries, and he stumbled blindly into it again, for the first time.
"See, I told you." someone said -- Sev'ltas suspected they were talking about him, but he had missed too much of the conversation to be sure.
"Hey, Kiyata.... you never did your flip..." Jarven said.
"Oh? I'm pretty sure I did." She replied.
"Nope. He's right." Xeyn grumbled. "Get on up there. Sev did his part." He grinned.
"Tsk. Fine." The Jabbress said, and clambered back out of the water. Sev'ltas took the opportunity to return the scrutiny he had received himself, though with a greater deal of subtlety. Kiyata took two steps back from the edge, sprinted for the water, and landed with a greater slap than Sev'ltas did -- and without the theatrical intentions. She burst from the water cursing and laughing, and Sev'ltas could not restrain a smile of his own, hiding it below the water line.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The evening wore on, with games, wine and casual conversation. Aniarithe somehow emerged from the water in the middle of the group like some terrible, tiny Leviathan, to the entertainment of the others. He admired Aniarithe's ability to simply enjoy herself, no matter the setting, and wondered if he would ever have that level of freedom... Sev'ltas allowed himself a few swallows of wine, and relaxed in the heat among his own kind for the first time since he had memory. It was a dangerous position -- relaxed is never far from un-guarded, and between the wine, the steam, the pleasant entanglement and the conversation, it was entirely too possible to lose his balance on this knife-edge. While that edge might occasionally cut his feet, it was no less the path he must walk; for on either side of that razor was nothing but limitless Abyss...
Eyes closed, and stretched out across the rocks like a napping panther, Sev'ltas tried not to think about any of that while he waited for his skin to dry. He could occasionally feel the weight of leering eyes upon his naked form, but for now at least, he didn't care. He had come down to this place seeking blood, and had found something far more valuable that he might never have sought out on his own -- a simple moment of peace.
His quarry was close, and the Jaluk could feel the weight of the anticipation on his shoulders. He strided up to the inn -- "The Spider's Kiss". He had heard rumors since he arrived, and had otherwise never planned to enter the place. But, unless she were truly some base barbarian, his Thief would surely have come here. Serenity did not find him then -- this was not a matter of death, but a matter of honor. His Qu'ellar had been stolen from, and he would see a debt repaid in blood.
The cloying smell of perfumed oils and incense only barely masked the scent of sweat and sex, neither of which overly concerned him. Somewhere in the depths of the building, he heard the crack of a whip, and a groan. He picked up snippets of hushed lewd conversations as he made his way to the desk at the far end of the room. Perhaps he had judged this place well.
The concierge behind the desk looked at him, and did a double-take, eyeing the Jaluk's pressed black coat tails, and the crisp lines of his shirt. "How may I help you this Cycle, Jaluk?" She politely inquired.
"I seek a Jalil." Sev'ltas replied simply. She answered before he could continue.
"Many Jaluk who walk through that door are, though you've been the most direct about it." She said with a smirk. Sev'ltas, already on edge and bordering on impatient, met the Jalil's gaze, and she wilted a bit in his presence. An unexpected malice drifted off him like smoke from smoldering coals.
"I am not here to rut like an animal." he replied coldly. "I seek a thief."
"I... of course, sir." She stammered. Shadows had lengthened in the room, and the faerie fire candles flickered under the intangible force, setting the spider carvings on the wall dancing amid their webs.
The Jaluk took his time in describing his quarry, down to the details of her voice. The concierge nodded along as she followed the conversation, occasionally glancing nervously to other patrons in the room. "Yes, I've seen someone that looks like that." the Jalil said, pointing off to a side room. "She went down there only a few moments before you arrived."
Glancing toward the open door, Sev'ltas felt the anticipation welling within him again. He made his way toward the stairwell, and in the lobby, the candles slowly resumed their steady burn, and the spiders ceased their dancing.
Stopping at the end of a hallway, Sev'tas tilted his head at the sound of conversation coming from beyond the heavy wooden door. The smell of the place was damp, and hot, but lacked the smell of mildew and decay common in the tunnels. Steam drifted up from beneath the door, and condensed on the gold buttons of his jacket. Muted voices spoke in relaxed tones. He was not sure how many were inside, but he was certain he could enter the room unseen, and be done with the thief before anyone else was the wiser. Escaping the scene might prove more difficult, and a protracted fight with an unknown number of enemies did not appeal to him.
He placed his hand on the door handle, and pulled the door open only a crack. Nothing but a damp wall beyond -- the blasted door opened the wrong way to see inside clearly. He weighed his options, silently. it had been days since he had encountered The Thief, and he might not ever get the chance again. He took a calming breath, tore open the door, and stepped inside.
"Sev'ltas!" a familiar voice called with merry surprise. The Jaluk's fierce gaze darted around the room. His muscles tensed, ready to spring, but something in the back of his mind held him back. "We didn't expect to run into you here. Care to join?"
Join? Join what? He looked about the room again, and finally noticed the bobbing heads of both acquaintance and ally alike on the surface of the steaming pool. 'Where is she?' he nearly blurted out, but he stood dumb and confused . She was supposed to be here. This was a moment for blood and vengeance, not merry-making. The fury of opposing emotions tore across his face, playing out a mixture of anger, relief, outrage, confusion, and curiosity. It was the latter that finally won out.
"What are you all doing here?" Asked Sev'ltas.
"What are we doing here, says the party crasher." boomed a baritone voice from the steam that Sev'ltas knew as a friend and ally. Xeyn stood up in the waist-deep water, and waded over to the edge of the pool. He grinned at Sev'ltas. "Come on in and join us." He ordered. Everything Xeyn said sounded like an order. It was something Sev'ltas had enjoyed about his company since they met -- he always knew where he stood in Xeyn's estimations.
Again, Sev'ltas weighed his options. He had come here to deal with a thief, but his lead had suddenly and unexpectedly gone cold. Without another, he would be stymied until he could speak with The Surfacer. He looked beyond the scarred, hulking frame of the Sargtlin, and examined the others. The pile of white dreadlocks gave away Jarven -- it would be good to smooth things over with the Jaluk after his encounter with Vierdra and Sev'ltas in the tunnels. Next to him was another familiar face, with a distinctive, baleful gaze that matched that of her brother; Kiyata floated along the surface of the warm waters, pulling heavily from a bottle of spirits. To Jarven's other side was a face less familiar, though at least known to him. He knew her as 'Maeve", and as an associate of Jarven, and for now that would have to suffice. He was in as good a company here as he was ever likely to find, and lacking any plausible leads to continue his pursuit. The tension pulled at his shoulders, and he felt the exhaustion of the last few Cycles beginning to catch up with him. An evening of relaxation might be useful, after all.
He shrugged at Xeyn's offer "I don't see why not." he said, and stepped off to the side, unbuttoning his jacket. He folded his pants, neatly preserving the crisp lines, and draped them across the back of a chair, along with his jacket -- the steam might loosen the pressed creases, but it was a small matter to iron them back. He stepped toward the pool on naked feet, and felt the welcoming heat of steam wash over his bare flesh. He had guarded many a Jalil and Yath'rin in the many geothermal pools in Undrek'Thoz, but had never, ever been asked to participate.
"There's a test before you can get in, though." Xeyn said. "You pass, or you can't come in."
"Test?" Sev'ltas repeated. He was beyond tired of tests, lately.
"Yep. Gotta do a flip to get in."
. . .
...Can... is he serious? Sev'ltas looked at the others in the pool for confirmation, and they grinned at him with mischief.
" 'fraid so, Sev. We all did it." Jarven added, most unhelpfully.
Suspicion and the flicker-flame of danger danced in the back of his mind. Was this a trick? A trap? To what end? Was there some magical barrier they were asking him to throw himself into? What in the Nine Hells was happening here?
Some of his suspicions of danger were allayed when Kiyata reached across the rocks for a bite to eat from the platter beyond the water. The one-eyed warrior looked up at Sev'ltas while she chewed on some dried meat and mushrooms, appraising his physique. "Come on, Jaluk. Show us what you got." She said.
He looked at the others, who all looked at him, waiting for some response other than awkward, mute silence. He was embarrassing himself, and by extension, Qu'ellar Zau'afin. Without thinking, he placed his palms on one of the large stones, and gracefully flipped his legs up into a hand-stand. He balanced there for a moment, turned once in a circle, and allowed his athletic form to tip toward the water, where his body slapped against the surface like a board.
Emerging from the water, he took a breath, slicked his hair back, and shook the water from his ears, to the sound of cheers and laughter. He hadn't behaved like this since he was a child, and long since before his time with The Masters. At The Order, the young disciples played tricks and pranks like any children, but it was always muted and restrained to avoid gathering too much attention from The Masters. Open play was frowned upon as idleness -- if one had the energy to play, they had energy to train. It was never a dour place, but always one of serious contemplation, study, reverence, and introspection. Frivolity had not been a part of his life for nearly two centuries, and he stumbled blindly into it again, for the first time.
"See, I told you." someone said -- Sev'ltas suspected they were talking about him, but he had missed too much of the conversation to be sure.
"Hey, Kiyata.... you never did your flip..." Jarven said.
"Oh? I'm pretty sure I did." She replied.
"Nope. He's right." Xeyn grumbled. "Get on up there. Sev did his part." He grinned.
"Tsk. Fine." The Jabbress said, and clambered back out of the water. Sev'ltas took the opportunity to return the scrutiny he had received himself, though with a greater deal of subtlety. Kiyata took two steps back from the edge, sprinted for the water, and landed with a greater slap than Sev'ltas did -- and without the theatrical intentions. She burst from the water cursing and laughing, and Sev'ltas could not restrain a smile of his own, hiding it below the water line.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
The evening wore on, with games, wine and casual conversation. Aniarithe somehow emerged from the water in the middle of the group like some terrible, tiny Leviathan, to the entertainment of the others. He admired Aniarithe's ability to simply enjoy herself, no matter the setting, and wondered if he would ever have that level of freedom... Sev'ltas allowed himself a few swallows of wine, and relaxed in the heat among his own kind for the first time since he had memory. It was a dangerous position -- relaxed is never far from un-guarded, and between the wine, the steam, the pleasant entanglement and the conversation, it was entirely too possible to lose his balance on this knife-edge. While that edge might occasionally cut his feet, it was no less the path he must walk; for on either side of that razor was nothing but limitless Abyss...
Eyes closed, and stretched out across the rocks like a napping panther, Sev'ltas tried not to think about any of that while he waited for his skin to dry. He could occasionally feel the weight of leering eyes upon his naked form, but for now at least, he didn't care. He had come down to this place seeking blood, and had found something far more valuable that he might never have sought out on his own -- a simple moment of peace.
Brokk Skul'i, Company Man (Bio)
Sev'ltas Zau'afin, The Black Crow (Bio) || Journal: "Finding The Way through the Darkness"
Sev'ltas Zau'afin, The Black Crow (Bio) || Journal: "Finding The Way through the Darkness"
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DeepFriedMoose
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Re: Sev'ltas: Finding The Way through the Darkness
VI. [Burns]
Sev'ltas stared up in hatred at the Drow poised over him as his Master hammered the last stake binding him into the sand. The cold, early morning air blew across his naked skin, and he repressed an involuntary shiver.
"Don't look at me like that. You know the consequences for failure, Sev'ltas." the Drow spoke. Unlike the rest of the students at the Temple, Sig'vriss had kept his long white hair, setting him apart from the rest of the Masters. As vain and beautiful as he was, that white hair was now matted and speckled with sand and sweat as he checked the bonds that held Sev'ltas to the dunes.
"You and I both know that it was you that compromised the mission, Sig'vriss." He glared, searching the Drow's face for anything that would give him a chance at escape.
"Fair enough, but that secret will die with you, my best student. A waste, really." Sig'vriss stood, gazing out along the dunes as the late evening brightened along the horizon. "At least you'll get to see the stars fade one last time." He smirked down at the bound Drow, staked to the sands amid the scattered, bleached bones of so many others.
Sev'ltas sneered at him. "May the Light take you, Sig'vriss."
The other Drow laughed; "No, Sev'ltas. That seems to be your fate, not mine." He kicked at the sand, sending white bone shards and sand spraying into Sev'ltas' face. "Aluve."
He craned his neck, watching the other Drow disappear behind the rolling hills toward Thay, and turned his attention to the horizon. The Dawn Star would be upon him soon. Struggling would be useless -- many others before him had tried -- and so he lay there, watching the stars glide across the open sky.
Serenity washed over him.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
His reverie was broken by the rising heat, and the early scavengers that had come for their meal. Sand rats licked the dark skin of his chest and legs, taking tentative bites to assess the danger. Bound as he was, he could only flinch and squirm, but it was enough to chase them away, if only for a few moments.
The sun had risen, low in the sky, setting the dunes awash in dancing currents of hot air. Sev'ltas had stopped shivering, and his skin beaded with sweat that was quickly swept away on the warming breeze. Squinting against the bright light, he looked up again at the sky. The stars were gone now, save for one, struggling against the dawn in a desperate bid for a few more minutes of life.
He saw himself reflected in that vast, empty sky.
The rats returned before too long, hungrier now. They seemed to know he was defenseless. Sev'ltas struggled to keep his mind in check as his blood began to trickle out into the sand. It briefly occurred to him to pray to Lolth for an intervention, but the thought was quickly tamped down. Even if she heard his prayer out here on the Surface, in the sunlight; even if she deemed to answer that prayer... the shame would haunt him for the rest of his life. He turned his head searching for something -- anything that could help him.
Only more sand.
He spat in the direction of a rat that had come to inspect a new place to feast near his shoulder. The creature scurried away to find less inhospitable grounds, when Sev'ltas saw something kicked up by its feet -- a sliver of bone, just a few inches from his face. He blew at the sand, uncovering the curved, jagged shape of gnawed jaw-bone. It might be his only chance.
He reached for the thing, but it was only just too far away. He craned his neck, stuck out his tongue, but was only able to brush the ivory surface. He gritted his teeth in frustration, and tensed his muscled against the ropes that had been slowly flaying away the burning skin at his wrists. The sun grew higher, and hotter -- enough to drive many other Drow in this same place, in this same position, mad.
The jawbone jutting from the sand taunted him. It looked sharp enough to work its way through the ropes eventually, but it sat there in the sand. The ropes dug further into his wrists and ankles, and his muscles threatened to pull his joints from their--
Sockets...
The idea came to him in a flash, and his anatomy lessons showed him the way. Sev'ltas closed his eyes, and relaxed against the biting of the ropes, and the chewing of the rats, planning his strategy. He let his left shoulder go limp, feeling the numbness creep into his bones. With his right, he flexed his corded muscles as hard as he could, pouring his will into making them move, despite the growing discomfort and pain. With a sickening pop, his left shoulder exploded into shrieking agony, but the loosing of the ball from the socket gave him just barely the play he needed. Craning his neck, he took up the jawbone in his lips, and with a flick of his head, tossed it into the sand next to his wrist. With some minor contortions, he reached it, and began to carve at the ropes...
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Sig'vriss lay lounging in the bed of the inn, examining the pale skin of his lover as she slept. His reverie had ended only a few minutes ago, but she would still be sleeping hours from now. It would give him plenty of time to dress and slip out, unnoticed. He listened to the muffled sound of a bar fight in the tavern below, while he traced his fingers along the Thayans intricate tattoos.
A memory nagged at him, though; he had risked his life to taste this Rivvil. His students had died on their last mission while he was chatting her up at this very inn. But, that's not what he had told the Grand Masters when they asked why his pupils had not returned. In truth, they had completed their mission, with that golden-boy Sev'ltas at their lead, and the survivors had come looking for him. No one could know of his... perversions. It would mean his death. It was with that in mind that he had killed them -- all but Sev'ltas -- to cover his tracks. He had left the Golden One alive as a scapegoat; someone would have to be punished over this whole thing, and it wasn't going to be him. No, he had plans. Things were going to change at the Temple...
Sig'vriss' daydreaming crashed around him when he noticed the fight downstairs had gone quiet, but his revelation came too late. The door of his room bust inward off its hinges, and the gruesome spectre of his Best Student strode into the room, naked, burned, and covered in blood. Leather straps still hung from his hands and feet, and the Revenant -- for what else could it be? -- locked eyes with him. The Thayan woman sat up with a scream that died in her throat -- Sev'ltas peppered her shoulders and chest with jabs from his extended, charred fingers. Blood welled in the whites of her eyes, and she simply collapsed.
The shock wore off, and Sig'vriss sprang to his feet, but Sev'ltas had already advanced too far. He defended against a barrage of punches and kicks, stepping back toward the dresser. Sev'ltas advanced again, keeping him on the defensive, forcing a step back around a chest on the floor.
The Revenant grinned with malice. "Second step... brother." his dry voice rasped.
The Master's eyes widened at the revelation. He knew this battle was lost, and sneered at his own words -- his own lesson -- thrown back at him. He stood defiant as Sev'ltas continued his advance...
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Sig'vriss awoke to the dull, throbbing pain in his arms and legs. As his eyes regained their focus, the pain redoubled when their twists and odd-angles came into view. Pinned in by tight, wooden walls, his neck was cramped to the side, and he turned his head with some difficulty against the corner of the box to look up at Sev'ltas, standing over him. Sev'ltas stared dispassionately down into the chest, clothed now in a simple robe, and clutching a squirming cloth sack at his side.
"Don't look at me like that." Sev'ltas said with a hideous smirk. "You know the-"
"-Consequences for failure. Yes, my Student..." Sig'vris spat.
"I am no longer your Student, Sig'vris." The Burned Drow said. "And you are no longer a Master."
Sev'ltas tossed the bag onto Sig'vris' chest and closed the lid. In the dark, arms and legs throbbing and useless, he watched the lumps squirm and struggle under the cloth. He heard fibers rip, and felt the padding of tiny clawed feet skitter against his skin.
Were those... rats?
Sev'ltas stared up in hatred at the Drow poised over him as his Master hammered the last stake binding him into the sand. The cold, early morning air blew across his naked skin, and he repressed an involuntary shiver.
"Don't look at me like that. You know the consequences for failure, Sev'ltas." the Drow spoke. Unlike the rest of the students at the Temple, Sig'vriss had kept his long white hair, setting him apart from the rest of the Masters. As vain and beautiful as he was, that white hair was now matted and speckled with sand and sweat as he checked the bonds that held Sev'ltas to the dunes.
"You and I both know that it was you that compromised the mission, Sig'vriss." He glared, searching the Drow's face for anything that would give him a chance at escape.
"Fair enough, but that secret will die with you, my best student. A waste, really." Sig'vriss stood, gazing out along the dunes as the late evening brightened along the horizon. "At least you'll get to see the stars fade one last time." He smirked down at the bound Drow, staked to the sands amid the scattered, bleached bones of so many others.
Sev'ltas sneered at him. "May the Light take you, Sig'vriss."
The other Drow laughed; "No, Sev'ltas. That seems to be your fate, not mine." He kicked at the sand, sending white bone shards and sand spraying into Sev'ltas' face. "Aluve."
He craned his neck, watching the other Drow disappear behind the rolling hills toward Thay, and turned his attention to the horizon. The Dawn Star would be upon him soon. Struggling would be useless -- many others before him had tried -- and so he lay there, watching the stars glide across the open sky.
Serenity washed over him.
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
His reverie was broken by the rising heat, and the early scavengers that had come for their meal. Sand rats licked the dark skin of his chest and legs, taking tentative bites to assess the danger. Bound as he was, he could only flinch and squirm, but it was enough to chase them away, if only for a few moments.
The sun had risen, low in the sky, setting the dunes awash in dancing currents of hot air. Sev'ltas had stopped shivering, and his skin beaded with sweat that was quickly swept away on the warming breeze. Squinting against the bright light, he looked up again at the sky. The stars were gone now, save for one, struggling against the dawn in a desperate bid for a few more minutes of life.
He saw himself reflected in that vast, empty sky.
The rats returned before too long, hungrier now. They seemed to know he was defenseless. Sev'ltas struggled to keep his mind in check as his blood began to trickle out into the sand. It briefly occurred to him to pray to Lolth for an intervention, but the thought was quickly tamped down. Even if she heard his prayer out here on the Surface, in the sunlight; even if she deemed to answer that prayer... the shame would haunt him for the rest of his life. He turned his head searching for something -- anything that could help him.
Only more sand.
He spat in the direction of a rat that had come to inspect a new place to feast near his shoulder. The creature scurried away to find less inhospitable grounds, when Sev'ltas saw something kicked up by its feet -- a sliver of bone, just a few inches from his face. He blew at the sand, uncovering the curved, jagged shape of gnawed jaw-bone. It might be his only chance.
He reached for the thing, but it was only just too far away. He craned his neck, stuck out his tongue, but was only able to brush the ivory surface. He gritted his teeth in frustration, and tensed his muscled against the ropes that had been slowly flaying away the burning skin at his wrists. The sun grew higher, and hotter -- enough to drive many other Drow in this same place, in this same position, mad.
The jawbone jutting from the sand taunted him. It looked sharp enough to work its way through the ropes eventually, but it sat there in the sand. The ropes dug further into his wrists and ankles, and his muscles threatened to pull his joints from their--
Sockets...
The idea came to him in a flash, and his anatomy lessons showed him the way. Sev'ltas closed his eyes, and relaxed against the biting of the ropes, and the chewing of the rats, planning his strategy. He let his left shoulder go limp, feeling the numbness creep into his bones. With his right, he flexed his corded muscles as hard as he could, pouring his will into making them move, despite the growing discomfort and pain. With a sickening pop, his left shoulder exploded into shrieking agony, but the loosing of the ball from the socket gave him just barely the play he needed. Craning his neck, he took up the jawbone in his lips, and with a flick of his head, tossed it into the sand next to his wrist. With some minor contortions, he reached it, and began to carve at the ropes...
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Sig'vriss lay lounging in the bed of the inn, examining the pale skin of his lover as she slept. His reverie had ended only a few minutes ago, but she would still be sleeping hours from now. It would give him plenty of time to dress and slip out, unnoticed. He listened to the muffled sound of a bar fight in the tavern below, while he traced his fingers along the Thayans intricate tattoos.
A memory nagged at him, though; he had risked his life to taste this Rivvil. His students had died on their last mission while he was chatting her up at this very inn. But, that's not what he had told the Grand Masters when they asked why his pupils had not returned. In truth, they had completed their mission, with that golden-boy Sev'ltas at their lead, and the survivors had come looking for him. No one could know of his... perversions. It would mean his death. It was with that in mind that he had killed them -- all but Sev'ltas -- to cover his tracks. He had left the Golden One alive as a scapegoat; someone would have to be punished over this whole thing, and it wasn't going to be him. No, he had plans. Things were going to change at the Temple...
Sig'vriss' daydreaming crashed around him when he noticed the fight downstairs had gone quiet, but his revelation came too late. The door of his room bust inward off its hinges, and the gruesome spectre of his Best Student strode into the room, naked, burned, and covered in blood. Leather straps still hung from his hands and feet, and the Revenant -- for what else could it be? -- locked eyes with him. The Thayan woman sat up with a scream that died in her throat -- Sev'ltas peppered her shoulders and chest with jabs from his extended, charred fingers. Blood welled in the whites of her eyes, and she simply collapsed.
The shock wore off, and Sig'vriss sprang to his feet, but Sev'ltas had already advanced too far. He defended against a barrage of punches and kicks, stepping back toward the dresser. Sev'ltas advanced again, keeping him on the defensive, forcing a step back around a chest on the floor.
The Revenant grinned with malice. "Second step... brother." his dry voice rasped.
The Master's eyes widened at the revelation. He knew this battle was lost, and sneered at his own words -- his own lesson -- thrown back at him. He stood defiant as Sev'ltas continued his advance...
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Sig'vriss awoke to the dull, throbbing pain in his arms and legs. As his eyes regained their focus, the pain redoubled when their twists and odd-angles came into view. Pinned in by tight, wooden walls, his neck was cramped to the side, and he turned his head with some difficulty against the corner of the box to look up at Sev'ltas, standing over him. Sev'ltas stared dispassionately down into the chest, clothed now in a simple robe, and clutching a squirming cloth sack at his side.
"Don't look at me like that." Sev'ltas said with a hideous smirk. "You know the-"
"-Consequences for failure. Yes, my Student..." Sig'vris spat.
"I am no longer your Student, Sig'vris." The Burned Drow said. "And you are no longer a Master."
Sev'ltas tossed the bag onto Sig'vris' chest and closed the lid. In the dark, arms and legs throbbing and useless, he watched the lumps squirm and struggle under the cloth. He heard fibers rip, and felt the padding of tiny clawed feet skitter against his skin.
Were those... rats?
Brokk Skul'i, Company Man (Bio)
Sev'ltas Zau'afin, The Black Crow (Bio) || Journal: "Finding The Way through the Darkness"
Sev'ltas Zau'afin, The Black Crow (Bio) || Journal: "Finding The Way through the Darkness"