Four: A tale of a blade and few far too late

[Mord]

I ask my mind why I agreed to do this as me and my troupe consisting of the noble Auvryndar Vedo, the Auvryndar aspiring priestess Faerylene who I fantasized over last cycle, the commoner Pharaun and two lowly duergar servants sprint, certain death embodied chasing us through the twisting caverns located west of Ched Nassad. Pharaun is running first, followed by Vedo then Faerylene and me after. The two filthy little sacks of excrement are lagging behind on account of their inferior bodies. As I ponder my willingness to join this dubious group I find my eyes lingering on Faerylene’s alluring form in front and suddenly my mind reaches a conclusion. The sheer obviousness of the reminder hits me like a hammer to the face. “I am in no position to refuse anything, how silly of me to even ask”

How did I even come to be here?

The scene is pleasant, bordering on comfortable. Mildly soothing sounds conveyed by the harp being plucked so elegantly by the attractive female sitting in a the corner of the rather large dining hall of a restaurant on the sixth level of Ched Nassad . I am staring at a whore, but no less an attractive whore. I think she said her name was Sharintla or some such, a noble priestess of no particular note. At the time though I was more interested in taking in her tasty body and contemplating what the blade tucked into my sleeve might do to it than listen to the mindless prater these wretched sluts usually drone on about. She is sipping a moderately aged glass of fine Azure she carelessly ordered without even considering the price, or perhaps she did and is now quite content to see me squirm as the cost of this extravagant meal mounts. I stare at my own glass, not thirsty nor particularly hungry, not for food anyway. The slut is a noble female of Qu’ellar Despana who took a particular interest in me after I quite elegantly persuaded her not to bludgeon me to death with the large bloodied Morningstar resting quite menacingly in the air, hanging fastened to a silver chain attached to the ivory handle in her hand. This unnerving device of death came to be raised at me after an unfortunate incident involving her personal servant and the blade now conveniently hidden in the left sleeve of my two piece D’sherenth Aranltho, black and white three buttoned suit.

It seems Sharintla’s personal assistant, who usually accompanied her on her routine walks through the common levels, had a penchant for belittling and abusing as many male commoners as could be found in as little time as possible. The lithe but decidedly vicious Sharintla was usually dressed in costly and most extravagant mithril armor, blue and black with black spikes quaintly littered about the piece to add that extra touch of menace. From her belt swayed a formidable mithril morningstar, no doubt painted with the blood of countless unfortunate males in its time. As it so happened, I came to be present at one of these little outings.

Trailing them as I had for about ten minutes while taking in both of their graceful forms, I remember wondering if they would rebuke the idea of me asking them to join me for a cycle of enjoyment at the nearest inn. I remember the shouts of the assistant disrupting a most pleasurable fantasy involving me, the priestess, her assistant, a vat of costly azure, the broken leg of a wooden chair and two of my most delicate silken ropes. I find myself momentarily scowling at the interruption only to have it warped into an amused grin when see the assistant barking curses at some random commoner. The assistant slaps him in the face as I, now almost intoxicated on the anticipation close in on the scene. The male is obviously a lowly commoner, probably without permanent residence. His hair is unkempt, his skin is in a horrible state and he reeks of excrement. We Ilythiiri are not exactly known for our keen sense of smell, but any fool can feel this wretch coming for miles. He whines on and on, fallen to his knees as he pleads with the priestess and her assistant to spare him, of course they do not oblige. The assistant kicks him in the face and he flails to the uneven ground with a dull thud.

Then something altogether surprising happens. A sudden flash of catches my attention and it seems to have shot out from where the commoner dug his hand into his jacket a second ago. I move closer, the anticipation is tangible now. The commoners face transforms into a red inferno of vile hatred as the assistants throat explodes. It seems the glint had been glow from a nearby faerie fire reflected off of a concealed blade drawn from the commoner’s jacket. The same blade was now slowly making its way into the assistant’s windpipe, rupturing countless veins and quickly pouring warm blood into the windpipe, encouraging the assistant to gargle large bubbles of blood in hilarious fashion. The assistant coughs, blood mixed with saliva trails down a quivering cheek before the pain wracked form drops lifelessly to the ground besides the enraged commoner.

What happens now is quite tiring in its predictability. The priestess, finished with the commoner, steps over the remnants of what used to be a recognizable sentient being and lets her cold gaze scan the area. Hate filled eyes lock onto another unsuspecting victim, this one an orc slave which just happened to wander past the scene. I seize the opportunity and rush over to the dead assistant, grab the hilt of the blade and pull. As I am wearing rather expensive clothes, I do not want to be covered with blood and dodge out of the way as the inevitable gush of thick, dark red blood shoots from the ruined throat when the blade is freed from its fleshy tomb. I realize shortly after that the assistant is not quite dead. Dying eyes stare upwards. My mind trails as I grin down at the pathetic thing, mocking its predicament with a complete lack of care for what it might be going through.

What goes through our minds the moment we die?

Later, still seated before the yathrin who so eagerly threatened me to cater to her ego with gold and attention, I smile somewhat when I think of how . My mind keeps telling me to rape and murder this whoring tramp, but I am only paying half attention at this point. The rest of my conscious mind is focused on one of the menus that were delivered by a rather lovely little thing wearing a skimpy black outfit accentuating her rather gratuitous bosom from L’zerth Artoiff. My eyes follow as she makes her way back to the bar. “What is with you! You should be paying attention to me!”. My attention is forced back to the dubious sight of an angered yathrin hissing venomous words of warning and I show my obedience by not slipping the blade from my sleeve and clean out both her eye sockets.

“Faster!” I hear the commoner Pharaun scream back from his position in the front, shaking me from the memory rather abruptly. Shame, I was just getting to the good part as well. Seeing the duergar still firmly at the back of the pack I barely resist the urge to stop and fire a few bolts in their kneecaps, just to see the look on their eyes as they helplessly meet the doom looming from whence we came. “Does anyone see it?!” Pharaun hollers back, the sound of his voice reverberating painfully loud in the cavern. “Nay, I dun see tha bloody beast” bellows one of the cretins back, I have long since given up all hopes of trying to discern one Duergar from another. To me they all form part of a repulsive collective only fit to be abused by its betters. Most of the time I find myself merely keeping a safe distance from their wretched smell, resisting homicidal urges compelling me to do something profoundly horrible.

Back in the restaurant I fight the building tension between me and Sharintla as I realize the meal is coming to an end. Having barely touched what appears to me to be entrails ornamented with eyeballs and severed fingers. No wait, it is cooked deep rothe of only the finest caliber, bred secluded from the rest of the herd, or so the waitress informed me. I see the yathrin finish her meal and my heart tells me it is time to fear again.
“Well my dear” her curiously soft feminine voice soothes my nerves only to destroy any false sense of security in an instant.

“Shall we head to the bedchambers then?”

Before all of this, I had been summoned to D’slevia’s chambers for a matter of some significance. I portalled up to my Yathallar’s chambers on the noble floor and swallowed some apprehension before tapping knuckles on the large obsidian door leading into her domain. “Enter” An eerily familiar voice beckons, I comply immediately and find D’slevia in bed with Valen. “Ah, my most promising hatchling, do come in” As D’slevia raises herself from Valen and down to the marble floor, I notice he is no longer wearing the chain necklace I have become so accustomed to see. D’slevia runs a hand through my hair and I silently curse her for ruining my meticulously arranged mane. “I have an assignment for you my hatchling. You are to oversee a scouting mission to one of the caverns west of the city, but not for another two cycles” I merely nod my subdued answer as she runs slender fingers down my chest, a devious smile curving her red lips.

“Now... I have a task the two of you can perform together”

A couple of cycles later I find myself outside the house unnamed. Inside I see absolutely none, so I wait. And as I assumed, the house keeper Jax appears just as the others in the scouting party decide to make an entry. First comes the Yathrin in training Faerylene, followed by her guardian Vedo, then the commoner and finally the two wretches. Faerylene is wearing black and silver plate armor and her guardian a curiously delicate suit of what appears to be chain. Pharaun is dressed in his usual attire consisting of leathers bound together with firm straps, also leather. They are all armed to the teeth, a hint of what to come my mind tells me. Moments later a formidable behemoth of a minotaur steps into the large hall, the thunder ushered by its steps wreaks my ears with pain before it halts and speaks. “Good, I see we are all here.” The minotaur nods to the large male Jax and he returns it before speaking in turn. “I have summoned you here for a reason, Noble Auvryndar and claddath. We have been getting reports of a band of lizardmen having taken up camp in the western caverns outside of the city. You are to go there and slaughter them all, they have been disrupting trade and attacked our kind for some time now.” I hear muffled grunts emanating from one of the duergar’s armors and I frown deeply, looking at the two of them with a stare saying more than a hundred words. The male Jax speaks again: “If there were no further questions, then you should be off on your task” Jax and the minotaur which seems rather intelligent compared to most of its kin leave to confer amongst themselves, leaving the group and I to consider one and another, before leaving for the city gates. Upon reaching the immense, faerie fire lit stone and metal gates Faerylene gives the marching order. Pharaun in the front, followed by her groveling servant Vedo, then herself and myself. The duergar are on rear guard, something I find rather disturbing.

She leads me up the winding staircase twirling upwards from the foyer of the restauraint, down a long hallway and finally to the exterior of the room I paid for. “Well? Come along you wretched Rothe iblith” her words are soft in tone but cut deep with their underlying condescension. I take a deep breath and follow her into the marvelously extravagant, painfully expensive room.

The caverns are dark, but not dark enough to cover the sight of the two wretched piles of excrement tailing me through the narrow caverns of the lower Underdark. This is a bad place my mind tells me, I can do nothing but agree. Penetrating deeper and deeper into the darkness of the winding caverns, I can not help but think of what D’slevia told me before I left her chambers some cycles before.

“You have potential for greatness, this I can see in your eyes hatchling” D’slevia is sitting atop me, digging her penetrating gaze into my eyes until they hurt from the lack of moisture. Valen had left some minutes ago and we are all alone. “It is not just your, skill, or your mind.. Body…”Sharp, blood red nails trail the contours of my abdomen. “It is deeper.. I can feel it in your heart, hatchling. You are pure”

Pure?

“There” Pharaun indicates something in the expanding cavern ahead. The band came to a halt as he gestured and we are now looking at a small band of lizardmen in the cavern ahead. Just before this I had threatened one of the duergar by placing my crossbow in his vile for talking far too loudly. This gave me some comfort, but not enough to quite quench my apprehension about storming into battle alongside sworn enemies. We form up. Vedo, Faerylene and the larger duergar on the frontline, myself, Pharaun and the other duergar on flanks and myself comfortably supporting with crossbow fire.
The battle ensues.

Vedo storms in, pulling his immense sword from its scabbard after being blessed by Faerylene, followed by the large duergar wielding a large axe and Faerylene herself. The two nearest vermin suffer bloody deaths as the other lizardmen camped on the ridge running along the caverns edge notice us. I fire a bolt up towards the ones on the ridge and manage to hit one of them in the leg. It lets out a scream of pain and the others in my band take notice of the multitude of Lizardmen making their way along the ridge. Pharaun has the remaining lizardmen below the ridge flanked now, who are currently busy screaming their curses and pain at the three other forms laying death and destruction to them.

They are quickly disposed of, and I am grinning with sheer bloodthirsty lust for carnage as I loosen yet more bolts at the lizardmen now making their way down a steep slope towards the others. I hit one of them in the head and it slams to the ground and tumbles down the steep slope, a fountain of blood spraying from the wound staining the slope red with satisfaction. Even though the Lizardmen have the high ground, they lack the skill and determination of a pack of bloodthirsty Ilythiiri being cooped up in the city for far too long.
Both Pharaun and Vedo strike at the first lizardman and it splits in twain from the beautiful symphony of violence they craft. Dodging the falling, split lizardman, Vedo springs towards the other remaining unwashed vermin and cleaves one of them in half between its head and shoulder with a large sweeping downward strike. The second falls as its legs have conveniently been removed from a low sweep by Pharaun’s rapier and shortsword. Wails of agony complement the singing of blades.

Such beauty in death.

As soon as the battle commenced, it is over. Pharaun took a rather nasty blow to the shoulder, Vedo seems unscathed but the duergar is quite bloodied. Faerylene calls down Lolth’s blessing and heals Pharaun in a brilliant red cloud then tends to Vedo briefly, whispering her blessings. The duergar stumbles over to the rock face, collapsing and my mind implores me to end his suffering with excruciating pain. I consider against it though, mostly because I would be considered a liability to the mission by the remaining. However I strut over to where the duergar is now sitting with his back against the wall, eyes closed. Crouching over his bloody form and deftly retrieving the blade which is still hidden in my sleeve I hold it to his throat as he regains consciousness.

His expression is priceless. I take the opportunity to whisper something to add insult to grievous injury.

“Sleep is death in the underdark, remember that filth.”

She is naked now, staring at my equally exposed form. Her eyes are hungry and her voice yearns, “Come here” she says lying on the silken bed in the room I paid for. “Kill her, kill her” my mind is chanting to me. “Rip out her whore tongue! Stuff it in her sex!” I many a dark and dreary time find comfort in the ranting of my mind and this time is no exception but I manage to sway the urges from becoming a reality as I climb onto and into her.

The battle is over but groans of pain indicate that there are survivors, or at least a survivor. It seems the Lizardman who lost its legs by the hands of Pharaun is still alive, and is now being questioned. I can not hear its words but I know it is afraid as Pharaun threatens with severing its link to its manhood. More words are exchanged, but I am more concerned with how the battle affected the manicure I got just the cycle before. Almost humiliatingly, I am told to wait at the top of the large ridge, outside the entrance to a much smaller cavern. I take this opportunity to reminisce as I wander over to the now armless and legless Lizardman writhing on the hard ground.

Ever since retrieving the blade from the dead assistants excavated throat I had felt some sort of tie to it, something not quite tangible but not out of reach. A feeling of warmth when I grip its hilt, a very strange emotion elicited by touch.

“Run! Run you fools!” Pharaun’s voice beckons me into the present as I see my whole band running for dear life from the cramped cavern I have been guarding for some hours now.

Which brings it all to the present.

We are still running like mad through the caverns, but panic seems further from a reality at the moment. The duergar are still behind me, Pharaun, Vedo and Faerylene in front. Soon we reach familiar territory and I recognize the rothe herders belonging to Ched Nassad. We have made it home again it seems. Vedo urges us to return to the house unnamed as soon as possible, and Faerylene agrees. I find comfort in reminiscing about the lizard which amused me as I waited.

The lizardman stares up at me, its bloodshot and nervous eyes making heir plea of mercy. I take this opportunity to draw forth the warm blade again and I display it to the lizard in gruesome fashion. It wails for a moment, knowing what is to come but not coming to terms with the reality of the situation. I run the tip of the blade along its chin for some moments before stabbing it just beneath one of its eyes. With great enthusiasm I display the plucked eye to the lizard’s remaining one and laugh. I toy around with the lizardman for an hour or so before growing bored and leave it to its misery, but not before aiding it just enough with a vial of healing concoction to survive.

Such good times

We are all standing before the house unnamed, six exhausted forms lingering before the gates of uncertainty. Upon entering, Faerylene makes her courtesy with Jax and the minotaur who are standing discussing something. “report” jax speaks.“We found the lizardmen” she responds, “we annihilated their outer defences, but upon entering their inner sanctum, we came too late to stop their shamans from summoning a demon” The Minotaur answers: “Then it is as we feared”. Jax nods, obviously there is more to this than a mere killing mission. “You have peformed, adequately.. you may return to your respective houses with the thanks of the city”

Sharintla writhes in pleasure atop me on the bed in the room which I paid for. This would not have been too undesireable an experience if it had not been for the tiny barbed whip she holds in her right hand, and uses on me whenever my intensity fails to please her. “That is it, you rothe iblith! Like that!” Her words are poison but taste sweet. My mind wails at me to do something about this situation, and this time I do not fail to act. Sharintla is clearly distracted and I reach for my jacket and pull out the blade concealed in its sleeve.

“Hey! Whore!” Sharintla is confounded as I scream and cease digging into her. Sheer shock as the sharp tip of the blade digs into her temple instantly makes her go rigid. I scream and laugh in pure bliss as the spastic corpse drapes the silken sheets red with blood.

Serenity

I am standing outside the house unnamed after a most ambiguous foray into the wilderness of the underdark, watching the two duergar move away. I dig my hand into a pouch and pull out something round and slippery, then flick it at one of the duergars. It hits him on top of the head.

As the panicked screams of the duergar reverberate through the cavern, I smile.

“Pure?” I ask D’slevia, searching her eyes for any sign of weakness. “Yes, my hatchling.. Even though you can not see it yourself, I have been blessed by our mother with the gift of insight.”

“You embody what our mother values most hatchling.”

“You are hate most pure”

[Mikayla]

Excellent read Mord, I liked it a lot. I am sad for Sharintla and angered by her death, but such is my reaction upon hearing of any Yathrin's demise ... save for those I kill myself.

Two things though:

First...Mord wrote:

I ask my mind why I agreed to do this as me and my troupe consisting of the noble claddath Vedo, the Claddath aspiring priestess Faerylene

Vedo and Faerylene are Auvryndar, not Claddath.

Second...priestess-slaying can get you in a lot of trouble me thinks....

Aluve.

[Mord]

Hehe, a slip on my part. And the part where he kills the priestess will be elaborated upon eventually

[Brokenbone]

Some pretty disturbing images make for a memorable story...!

[Burt]

I don't think Faerylene was actually on that assignment, but it was entertaining nevertheless!

[Drankathar]

good story mord, aint understand it.. appart from the fact that you killed a priestess and screw alot, but a good story.

[Zakharra]

I know Faerylene was not on that little job. And killing a priestess is bad karma. Especially a Despana. I like Despana's.

[Mord]

Please keep in mind that most of this is stuff I just made up on the fly.