The Journeys of Unen Faer'xal
Posted: Sun Mar 15, 2015 6:30 pm
by PaulImposteur
Herein lies the tale and fall of Unen Faer'xal.
Year 1344 The loss of the Ilharess
Year 1345 Who tlun Usstan?
Current Year 1350 My encounter with Lis'intha of Lloth
Year 1344 The loss of the Ilharess
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The large Half-Drow wept crumpled to the floor, holding a still and small framed woman in his arms.
The Drow soldiers around him turned foot and left, with disgust evident on their faces.
Unen pulled closer to his now deceased mother, sobbing. Her last words were ones of mockery, and blame for the loss of Lloth's faith. These words he minded not, for he expected them. But, this sudden urge of pain, watching his mother die, was like none other he ever experienced.
He looked up to the ceilings of the once great Hall of the Faer'xal, cursing his father and mother alike for conceiving him. In his great grief he pulled a dagger from his belt, and held it to his chest.
"Coward! Pretender!" He exclaimed about himself, as he threw the dagger away. Soon, he was fast asleep, exhausted from his surge of emotion.
He awoke later, to find his hand wrapped around his mother's small and delicate fist. He never once, saw her so peaceful in his presence, until that day.
The Drow soldiers around him turned foot and left, with disgust evident on their faces.
Unen pulled closer to his now deceased mother, sobbing. Her last words were ones of mockery, and blame for the loss of Lloth's faith. These words he minded not, for he expected them. But, this sudden urge of pain, watching his mother die, was like none other he ever experienced.
He looked up to the ceilings of the once great Hall of the Faer'xal, cursing his father and mother alike for conceiving him. In his great grief he pulled a dagger from his belt, and held it to his chest.
"Coward! Pretender!" He exclaimed about himself, as he threw the dagger away. Soon, he was fast asleep, exhausted from his surge of emotion.
He awoke later, to find his hand wrapped around his mother's small and delicate fist. He never once, saw her so peaceful in his presence, until that day.
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'Who am I?' Kept creeping into the mind of Unen Faer'xal as he traveled through the great caverns of the upper dark, towards the lower areas.
He knew this question was rhetoric in a sense, he was Unen Faer'xal. But, in his heart's mind, he was lost. The sudden swallowing feeling of grief was one he never experienced, it was one he often could see in the faces of the Shevarash as he slew their Scouts, or put them through tortures.
It was nasty business, that despite his kin, he did not find enjoyment in it. It was tedious. But he always felt curious of their nature (The Shevarash), always yearning for information of the 'Surface'. Despite the constant claims of the priests and wizards whom said going there would likely burn the skin from your bones, his curiosity was never satiated.
He knew that their common expression, was now one he wore. Being of tainted blood, he thought he knew what being lonely felt like. Now that he had lost everything, he realized how little he knew of loss, and this pain.
His mother had only living sons, and despite her cruel words, and public displays of violence. Unen had always felt his mother coo'ed a soft spot for him by her side. She always spoke to him private, often of her troubles and struggles. Though never did she smile or compliment him but, when she needed to speak of herself she always called upon him.
This left Unen with a feeling of attachment to his mother, as he knew her treatment of a half-drow son, was extremely unorthodox in her showing of mercy and small kindness.
The death of his two brothers left him untouched, as they were sick and twisted men. They were craven, though talented in magics.
It was then, that Unen began to blame his mother for his weakness of grief. The memories flooded of his mother's small kindnesses, her delicate and gentile handling of punishment, regarding Unen. The thoughts made him grip for his heart in another strike of grief.
He knew this question was rhetoric in a sense, he was Unen Faer'xal. But, in his heart's mind, he was lost. The sudden swallowing feeling of grief was one he never experienced, it was one he often could see in the faces of the Shevarash as he slew their Scouts, or put them through tortures.
It was nasty business, that despite his kin, he did not find enjoyment in it. It was tedious. But he always felt curious of their nature (The Shevarash), always yearning for information of the 'Surface'. Despite the constant claims of the priests and wizards whom said going there would likely burn the skin from your bones, his curiosity was never satiated.
He knew that their common expression, was now one he wore. Being of tainted blood, he thought he knew what being lonely felt like. Now that he had lost everything, he realized how little he knew of loss, and this pain.
His mother had only living sons, and despite her cruel words, and public displays of violence. Unen had always felt his mother coo'ed a soft spot for him by her side. She always spoke to him private, often of her troubles and struggles. Though never did she smile or compliment him but, when she needed to speak of herself she always called upon him.
This left Unen with a feeling of attachment to his mother, as he knew her treatment of a half-drow son, was extremely unorthodox in her showing of mercy and small kindness.
The death of his two brothers left him untouched, as they were sick and twisted men. They were craven, though talented in magics.
It was then, that Unen began to blame his mother for his weakness of grief. The memories flooded of his mother's small kindnesses, her delicate and gentile handling of punishment, regarding Unen. The thoughts made him grip for his heart in another strike of grief.
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I encountered a young and beautiful Drow woman, upon exploring some caverns I was tasked to map. Her presence struck awe to my core, or mayhaps it was fear. Be it one or the other, I fell to my knees, praying she would not strike me down.
Not only did she not strike me, she gave me a blessing upon my scimitar. My heart pounded, as all her cruel words were cast aside with that simple gesture, she knew she was helping my chances of survival.
Goodness was always found and eradicated in my House and all others of the Drow. Our society does not see it fit for growth and power. . . Yet- I see it evident in some, in the hearts of my pure-blood kin at times, despite their attempts to claim other-wise.
I am curious to if she found satisfaction in helping me, as I have found myself feeling in the past. These feelings I have are dangerous, though they make me curious. Are we truly so far lost from such powerful emotions of caring?
Mayhaps I dwell to deep on these matters, and it is only my mixed blood to blame for my conflicting thoughts.
Regardless, that day I called her name in the caverns as I had slain escaped slaves,
"Usstan strike dos in the name of Lis'intha of Lloth!"
Not only did she not strike me, she gave me a blessing upon my scimitar. My heart pounded, as all her cruel words were cast aside with that simple gesture, she knew she was helping my chances of survival.
Goodness was always found and eradicated in my House and all others of the Drow. Our society does not see it fit for growth and power. . . Yet- I see it evident in some, in the hearts of my pure-blood kin at times, despite their attempts to claim other-wise.
I am curious to if she found satisfaction in helping me, as I have found myself feeling in the past. These feelings I have are dangerous, though they make me curious. Are we truly so far lost from such powerful emotions of caring?
Mayhaps I dwell to deep on these matters, and it is only my mixed blood to blame for my conflicting thoughts.
Regardless, that day I called her name in the caverns as I had slain escaped slaves,
"Usstan strike dos in the name of Lis'intha of Lloth!"