Three: Failure usually follows failure

[Mord]

“Harder!!”. I am already winching from the deep, and in my mind quite excessive scratch marks littering my chest. “Faster! Faster you Iblith excrement!”. Tearing into the lithe form which seems to have taken a particular interest in lodging itself onto my manhood, I comply somewhat reluctantly. Although my body seems most preoccupied with the present, my mind has already wandered away from the moderately priced marble room I rented some time ago for exactly the price I expected from such a mediocre establishment on the fifth layer of Ched Nassad.

Away from the fact a Yathrin d’Lolth saw it fit to demean me by demanding I pay for the room she so eloquently had commanded me to pleasure her in this cycle. At first I hesitated, but the pure and simple unadulterated fact of life made evident by the rather pointy spears which were so rudely shoved at my throat made the absence of choice obvious, enough.

But I am simply not there…


It was about three cycles ago now. My regular routine after passing from reverie includes soaking in a hot bath for half an hour, employing a number of carefully selected expensive herbs and potions imported from Menzoberranzan to my body. The feeling of the water mixed with the herbs on my skin is divine, almost cathartic one might say.

After this I wrap my long hair into a cream colored towel with blue and black pyramide like patterns lining its edges from Zatharr Aruntz and go about inspecting my skin for any visible flaws. I remember this particular cycle for I found a most disfiguring scar running along my left thigh. Winching for a mere second as I recalled what brought on the curious mark, I proceed to applying the miracle vanishing cream I purchased from a peculiar boutique just before I left Menzoberranzan.

I distinctly recall the male behind the counter, his perfect, flawless skin bathing me in a dim light of envious superiority as he spouted: “It will make any scar a thing of the past, sire”. I had great difficulty believing him at the time, but my mind was howling at me to grab him and pull him into the backroom, where I would carefully remove the skin from his flawless little face with a dull spoon. So to avoid garnering the wrath of the guards, I decided to buy the cream and spare myself of any further incentive to do grievous harm to the patron of the establishment.


The priestess squeals as I continue my absent minded carnal onslaught. I seize the opportunity consequent of her distraction and call her a filthy slut, that I will eat the brains out of her stupid whore skull. She doesn’t even hear me.
How typical.


Applying the cream, which cost a lot more than I would have been willing to part with normally, I watched the scar slowly grow in on itself until completely fading from my eyes. “Saves me an arduous trip and the trouble of getting the stains out of my clothes” my mind told me, and I felt inclined to agree.

After patting my thigh, I applied a number of delightful perfumes from Xart’etrl Et Xor and slipped into some wonderful black robes with yellow and purple snaking patters running along the sleves and collar from D’zhere Artoiff. My hair was surprisingly easy to arrange into the intricately patterned silver band I picked up at Rhanzolthual’s, and have now come to adore more than anything else I possess.
Well, besides the obvious.

After all of this, my mind tells me to head down to the commoner levels to do some shopping, and so the rest of my body along with my legs complies more willingly than I had thought they would. Upon sending my being down amongst the rabble and filth occupying the rather seedy lower levels, I chance upon a rather amusing spectacle.

A noble priestess is for an unknown reason gracing a commoner male with her attention by letting the rather huge mithril mace in her hand so attentatively impact his flesh, tearing large chunks off in a beautiful symphony of violence. I watch this for a while, pondering which boutique I should try first. Seeing the commoner reduced to a mere puddle of torn flesh and crushed bone, the Yathrin cleans the mace on the nearest horrified male bystander, and to my great disappointment leaves without further incident.

Or so it appeared.
Actually she was merely strutting over to a second commoner, this one a female being held down by a enormous orc slave. This didn’t seem terribly exciting to me at the time, so I turned to leave, only to hear the dying screams of the orc after the commoner had planted a rather large dagger in its spleen. Suddenly the commoner lunged from the grip of the dying beast and sprinted in my direction, barely dodging the giant mace swung by a most infuriated priestess. I have no idea why, but when she arrived near my body she gripped me by both shoulders.

“Please! You have to help me!!”
I took this opportunity to fetch my latest toy, a wicked looking spiked brass knuckle I picked up not a ten-cycle ago from my pocket. After slipping it on, I slowly caress her panic stricken face. She is fair, too fair for a simple commoner.
The skin, it is flawless, and her eyes.


The yathrin squirms in my arms and I force my hands away from her throat.


It is about now my heart skips a few beats, an occurrence which commonly tells me something is wrong but my mind simply does not register it yet. Then it occurs to me. Her eyes, they are a shade of brilliant blue, deeper than any I have ever seen in my 70 year long life. As time and place fade away, they beckon to me. They awaken something I thought did not even exist, nor would have any place in my heart.

Something vile and disgusting I believed only the hated Darthiir were prone to experience.

"They must call it compassion, or at least a hint of it in my case." I tell my mind.

Even though the feeling is fleeting, it is most profoundly intoxicating. It is like drinking azure or digging my teeth into the soft tissue of a female’s neck, only deeper, more esoteric. I am completely confounded.

The moment stretches, grows thin and subsequently fades away as my spiked fist digs its way into the soft tissue of the commoner’s dumbfounded face, tearing veins, rupturing sinew and finally hitting bone. A spray of surprisingly warm blood hits me in the face and I gasp for more, so I pound my fist into her jaw. It gives way, making her face seem deformed and ugly and I laugh. Only moments after I register a sharp pain in the back of my head and everything swirls, fading into comforting blackness.


Will you cease digging your claws into my face you stupid whore?!


“Dioud uou rraolrl thhikkk uuu cooo grttr awrwwar wihhh iiiit” my ears registered. I struggled and told my mind I wished to linger in this dream state, but my mind would not have it. It suddenly became all too clear as my eyes and ears seem to be working again. “Did you really think you could get away with it?” The voice came again, clear and menacing this time.

“The traitor was MINE to SACRIFICE, but you had to let her get away, didn’t you?!” I sensed that loathsome rhetorical tone again and I almost gag. “Well…” The voice drones on: “Now that I cannot have my sacrifice, I shall at least have SOMETHING to entertain myself with”. Something bright flashes in my eyes, and I realize it is a scalpel.

“Do not fear though, Noble Claddath, you shall survive this cycle.”A laugh penetrated my ear canals and left them bruised while I eyed the multitude of torture equipment littering a nearby table.

A cycle later our house healer stares at me in disbelief.


I snap back into the present as I sense I am close to climax, the female atop me writhing in consummate bliss. I glance over at my clothes on the cold marble floor. Somewhere within the pile of fabric lies two perfectly sharp serrated daggers and I wonder if I can get away with gutting this bitch. My mind tells me I can’t and since I have a habit of following its advice I acquiesce unenthusiastically. Merely moments from the end though, I pull out, her surprised expression greeting me as I leap atop her and culminate all over her face.

Priceless comedy…

After several hours, a multitude of vicious cuts, five broken bones, a crushed wrist, dislocated shoulder, seven broken toes, five crushed fingers and subsequent healing I stagger out of the inn. I remember giving praise to my goddess for returning my body to its original state, unflawed. I head up to my Qu’ellar. I keep telling myself it was worth it.

Several cycles worth of uneasy sleep later I am standing before my yathallar as she summoned me for some presumably insignificant and menial task. I am to spy on the priestess f some mercenary house, Danylla Melarn. Coincidentally, I am to go to The glowing goblet, where this priestess will attend a meeting with whomever. My yathallar is telling me to find out exactly what the priestess is meeting the others for, and I nod.

“Yes honoured Yathallar, your will shall be done most swiftly”.

It is not long before I stand in the glowing goblet, glancing around as I head towards the bar. “Damn, where is this whore.” I order an expensive wine from a most delicious dish wearing nothing but a skimpy two piece red and black tight sitting outfit from J’heaut Rhelex. We exchange more than friendly courtship a while and I feel the murderous rage building up inside me again.

“Wait.. Where *is* that damn whore” My eyes frantically scan the premises for signs of the Priestess but no meeting is taking place anywhere. A dark sense of failure creeps up on my mind and releases a multitude of emotions, all of them adding to the layer of cold sweat coating my forehead.

So this is how it feels to fail.

“You wish to join me in my quarters after I am done with my shift, handsome?” the harlot asks me. I tell her I need to return some clothes I borrowed from an associate, and that I will meet her here later”. She seems to believe the untruth and struts away to serve a pair of inebriated males currently busy screaming like idiots.

You lucky, lucky whore.

I discuss my current predicament with my mind for several moments.
Do I want to return empty handed to the Qu’ellar and my yathallar? No, most certainly not. Do I have a choice? Well, as much choice as a male allowed to choose the way he dies has. I will not last long alone outside of Ched Nassad, and if I hide in the city I will be found sooner or later. No, reason dictates I return to the Qu’ellar, and pray D'slevia sees it fit to spare my life. And so I do.

Upon entering my family’s grounds I spot a familiar figure near the gates. It is the commoner, the one called Phaeraun. He wears a surprisingly confident smirk and approaches. “Yes?” I greet him somewhat disgruntled. “I have been sent by the lady Melarn, to deliever you a message. Spy on her again and the next time she will deliver something a lot nastier than words”.

The humiliation…

“Fine, now begone” I retort, finding myself quivering like some child faced with his coming of age. Phaeraun merely smiles. “I bid you a fair cycle then, noble claddath”. His words bite at my self esteem, sending icy cold chills racing up my spine into my brain, culminating as a reminder that this is just the beginning. I still have to face D'slevia.

It is not the sharp pain from her whip, nor her harsh words. Nor the way she mocks me as I writhe on the floor, urging me to contemplate this failure. No, it is the way she looks at me. Her voice is filled with anger and hatred and talk about impending death and doom, but her eyes. Her eyes remind me of the commoner. The commoner who needed me, needed my aid, and I mocked her by scorning her plight with violence. The sea of malevolence in D'slevia's soul boils but the drop of compassion, it remains.

I am alive because of it, and I hate it so.

[Burt]

Wow, very nice.

[Mikayla]

I love it Mord. Nice writing.

[PensivesWetness]

I love it Mord. Nice writing.

did he say he nutted on the Priestess he was banging?

o.O whoa...

[Mord]

All in the name of fun innit.

[PensivesWetness]

All in the name of fun innit.

moreplzawesomeyes?

[Mord]

Patience, grasshopper.

[Brokenbone]

Very, very interesting stuff.

I'm reminded of books like Glamorama, or American Psycho, for some of the focus on certain fashion details or internal monologues... well except for all the drow. Look forward to reading more!

[ravin]

well i'm impressed. we shall have to play out further chapters when there is time.

D'Selvia will want her lovely hatchling at hand for the continuance of the shadow wars

[Cynon]

Dude!

[Magonushi]

Bah Vedo is still most sexier.