Description
Eyes of the deepest gray gaze forth from an extremely angular ebony face. His
nose is small and perfectly shaped. High cheek bones compliment his sharp
pointed chin. His teeth are pearl white, almost as brilliantly stark white as
his ragged long hair which is pulled back and left tied with a small leather
band at the nape of his thin ebony neck. This ones fingers are long and thin,
his nails seem to have been bitten instead of properly trimmed. A variety of
small scars mar the surface of his dark skin where the skin shows.
You also see that.
Role
Death of a house, birth of death.
Added Mon Jun 11 18:44:19 2007 at level 4:
Violet lightning danced across the stone gargoyle effigy as though enjoying
the very play within the violently destructive dance. Sinking into a smoking
ruined pile of unlife, the effigy was the first to fall silently from the
ramparts. The split second of brilliantly colored lights the only noticeable
sign heralding the demise this gargoyle and all of its similarly made stone
brothers. Ah how efficient the drow are with the delicacies of so very
deadly silence, not only moving in such an unheard manner but these
apparently able to drape the cloak of silent death around those they dispatch
as well. Dispatching the militia and guards was no simple matter but not
nearly as difficult as most might find, oh the irony of these mercenaries,
magically locking the doors the guards guard so that they can not enter their
own house of sanctuary to warn those they protect, so very malicious. And how
easy it was for the master of the art to merely dispel the very same
enchantment so that these silent creatures might move into the house
completely unnoticed. One need not portray in any other way what transpired
within, the brutality of the drow is well known to all and shall save you the
dread and nightmares that will most certainly follow a description of such
despicably evil and undoubtedly mentally unstable actions. One item though
must be noted, for such does truly indeed have a rather noticeable effect
upon this tale. After these creatures finished their business which we dare
not speak of, they came upon a single still living young man. This young man
was not only unfazed by the utterly callous actions of these mercenaries, he
had taken his final stand in a corner weapons drawn and ready. Seeming to
sense a similarity, an almost kinship, in the utterly contemptuous and
fearless way with which this drow held himself, the mercenaries began to grow
interested. I shall not bore you with the details of the discussion that
followed and the unnatural, could it have been mercy, no not mercy but
something, with which the mercenaries showed to the lone prince of a now dead
house. One could not know that the Auvry Ndar, which literally translates to
Blood of the Black hearts, was solely comprised of the chosen first born
princes of the extinct houses now living only in the history of Teth Azeleth.
Ah, worry not tired traveler, I shall tell you more, but one can not talk
with such a dry mouth, you understand dont you?
Service.
Added Mon Jun 11 21:48:53 2007 at level 7:
Now now young one, where were we, ah yes of course. Hmm, an excellent draft,
I shall have to thank you later for this delightful drink. You see, the most
interesting thing about these drow is that they are rather mysterious and
hardly known by any, to say the least. Yes yes, I know, drow in general are
secretive and little is known of them, these though, Auvry Ndar by name, and
you could find your death merely for knowing that name, are not known by any.
You must realize that the prince, though his house was dead he was still
that, had had the most spectacular training that influence and money could
purchase. Such is the benefit he had and such is the curse his house fell
from, for they could not pay back their so very large debt of coin and
action. His training in the martial academy was so extensive that he would
himself stand in on the classes that the actual teachers would attend
themselves. He even began to study the art of silent death, reserved for
specific individuals and circumstances. Such you see, is what drew Auvry Ndar
to him, they themselves took it upon themselves to be put in place to accept
the substantial payment to eliminate house Uhevrile, all but the prince of
course. And so, the prince of an extinct house found himself in a most
interest and dangerous situation, either accept their invitation and stand as
one of the Auvry Ndar, or join his house in extinction where none would ever
know of him nor acknowledge his existence. Of course, any creature who has
the cursed blessing of knowing that they will eventually die naturally
strives with all that they are to stay alive for as long as they are able.
Thus Ilmdrin found himself in service to the Auvry Ndar.
Silence.
Added Wed Jun 13 22:36:47 2007 at level 16:
Oh how the Auvry Ndar used him, none to kindly might I add. How do I know all
this? Well young one, I listen. Now, as I was saying. Our poor poor prince,
delegated to a life of service and self sacrifice at the tip of a dagger for
another mans wishes. Of course, young one, it did not help in the least
that the Blood of the Black Hearts had themselves ended every piece of his
former, rather lush, existence. Murder, plotting, intricate and simple, even
pathetic thieving from the various houses, these were his curse and his bane.
Such things delighted him though, he enjoyed them, it was the only time he
felt alive once more, when he was in the thrall of one of his various ordered
missions. Of course the missions never lasted and he would once again
be considered the honored slave, one who could never be trusted and would
merely be used until he was nothing but a husk. The obvious course of action,
for one whom had always considered himself slightly more free spirited then
those whom surrounded him, would be to escape. But our prince could not
merely just steal into the depths of the underdark without some small revenge
for the utter annoyance that Auvry Ndar had caused him. It was no simple
thing to find whom the true ruler of the Black Hearts was. Nor was it a
simple thing for him to make his way into the heavily guarded section of this
ones quarters. Such was rather complex and took time, what was not complex,
what did not take time, what he enjoyed so very immensely was sliding his
familiar knife across the front of his slave drivers throat. Silent, so
silent, clutching the lifeless body close, hugging it gently as he sank down
to the floor, so silent. Just as silently he was gone, into the underdark, to
find his freedom and live however he wished.
Flourishing obstinance
Added Thu Jun 14 19:49:18 2007 at level 18:
How our prince despised the very core of the politics and treachery that had
led him into this struggle of life within the very worst of the wilds that
the underdark has to offer. His struggle at first was obvious, despite his
tenacity with his blades and his cunning with the art of silence, our prince
had trouble finding enough food to survive. His entire days were spent
scavenging for a mere penance of food, just enough to live another day. Words
began to leave him though his thoughts always raced, always he would curse
the twist of fated slavery that ended him here. Deeper his being sank, deeper
and deeper into the very essence of primitive creature that resides within
all, and as he sank deeper he began to live more easily. He began to follow
his senses for food and almost seemed to find it easily. He avoided the
dangers of the cave fisher without even realizing his actions until after he
had subconsciously chosen an alternate route. Such was the way his life began
to flow, day in, day out, gather food and hunt and then scout his terrain to
clean away any predators that may threaten his existence. Days, Weeks,
Months, Years? What is time when one does not keep track, or even have the
simple need of time itself? Suffice to say, our prince spent a rather decent
amount of his adolescent days honing the very fiber of the instincts which
all men possess. Time passed, and still he wandered to explore, in phases. He
would gather food for some time and take it with him. Many of these trips
were rather uneventful, but one, and it only truly takes once for everything
to become unsettled and disrupted. Once, a draft, unnatural to one whom is
used to utter stillness, our prince decided to follow his senses. And so he
found himself in the depths of a mountain range, though what a mountain was,
he had no idea. The nights endless depths, twinkling stars, and the noises,
so much movement, so vibrant, life everywhere. He was so astonished that he
fled back into the depths of the cave to catch his breath, almost terrified.
It did not take long for him to overcome such a simple and utterly
debilitating feel. Our prince crept back out into the ledge and began a slow
surveying decent into the entirely fascinating place.
The text.
Added Sat Jun 16 17:31:56 2007 at level 23:
My my, what a decidedly despicable drow our prince is. Wandering as he
wished, from forest to forest, city to city, down road after road, silently,
almost always by the light of the moon though he did not need it. Taking what
he wished from whomever he wished to take it from whenever he wished to take
what he wanted or needed for survival. He learned the language through mere
listening from the deepest of the darkest shadows. So close to those
conversing that he could have leaned forward and plucked the very hair from
their very heads. Years passed and he continued this way, even going so far
as to break into the various book repositories of Thera, for that is what
this surface world was called, Thera. More years passed and he became more
proficient at living and learning on this surface world. Within this time,
sometime, for he himself is not certain of the exact date that he came across
it, our Prince found and began to study a text that has become rather
precious to him. It is odd, how things happen, and how the currents of time
can shift and take individuals down different winding paths. This text,
scribed by the First Cantor Amberlea Von Straaden, the Sacraa became his
guide down the paths of this new so very fitting life. Ah, how dry my throat
has become once more, young one, perhaps you could gather me a fine red wine
this time instead of more of that horrid bear substance.
An ending, to a story.
Added Wed Jun 27 21:40:21 2007 at level 36:
Ah, excellent, a fine deep red, this will truly do. My tale draws to an end
my dear fellow, and I am sure you have a variety of questions, do ask away
and I shall answer what I may. Mmm, this truly is a decent wine likely made
from a decent berry, much better then..Whats that, oh yes, ask away as you
want. Of course I may not be able to answer all that you ask if even a
little, there may or may not be only so much I know. First though, you shall
have to tell me whom that chap over in the dark corner is, he has been
listening to us after all.
Turning to peer into the deep shadows that were pointed to you see nothing,
as you gaze deeper and deeper something occurs to you. Something rather
troubling about this man whom has kept his form hidden this entire time and
spoken with different accents and pace. His hand, when he reached . . .
everything slows almost as if time itself stands still. So fully you feel the
blade sink greedily through your back, through the spine, and ever so slowly
it explodes through the front of your chest. You slump, all strength gone,
and a hand.. an ebony hand grips your shoulder almost delicately. You feel
heat by your left ear, a breath or presence, and then a whisper.
You truly should have asked what I wished to drink before you assumed so
quickly, dear human. Now, instead of merely ending your life for all that you
know, all that I myself have told you, for we all must have an ear from time
to time. I shall end your life, painfully, for the simple enjoyment of it.
As the last of his whispers drift warmly across your ear the sword sticking
out of your chest twists suddenly and the entire room begins to swim into
darkness.
Dangerous games.
Added Thu Nov 1 20:48:50 2007 at level 47:
The scene unfolds as though curtains of the deepest onyx slide apart before
you. Gliding through the ornate double doors and over the large engraved
scarab upon the floor you near an altar with the grotesquery of rotting heads
lined out upon it. To either side of you are the outline of two shimmering
doorways surrounded by rather simple torches that blaze almost with a life of
their own. Closer still, closer to the altar, and then it surprisingly opens
before you and you begin to glide down the stairs that were hidden within. As
the hallway suddenly widens into a deep chamber two things instantly encroach
upon your visage. The first, central within the squared room is a coffin
resting so very remotely, strange for such a thing to be within an altar
room. And second, against the wall directly to your side two forms seem to be
caught against each other, the very force of their thoughts almost palpable
upon the air. Pressed forcefully up against the wall and down upon his knees
is an dark elf of the deepest ebony, he seems almost balanced though he is
pressed down and against the wall and even though he is apparently off his
guard he still has a hand behind him so close to the hilt of a dagger that is
nearly impossible to see within the folds of his clothing. She though, is an
utterly impressive sight. The steel hard muscles of her fore arm ripple
distinctly as she clutches the neck of the drow in what must certainly be a
bone crushing grip of certain demise. Her thick red hair shrouds her face
just slightly and draws your attention with its lustrous gleam. And even
though she is bent forward to reach down and clasp the drow in a forceful
grip, she still holds the sense of regality that a queen would when holding
an audience with her subjects. The muscles ripple and tighten more, and
though a wheeze of breath escapes the dark-elf that you are sure is his last
he still fervently begins to draw forth the dagger to do what he will to
survive. Just then, she releases him and withdraws ever so slightly,
motioning him to rise, and just as swiftly she encroaches once more upon him
and grasps his arm. Blood wells through the sleeve and just as quickly as she
reached forth she withdraws her arm, ripping the sleeve and some skin with it
as she does. Upon the ebony arm of this drow now resides an intricate
Onyx Scarab.