Description
It is evident that the half-drow you look upon suffers from some
form of affliction. What little flesh his gaunt frame supports is
the sickening purplish-yellow color of an aged bruise. His wispy
black hair has been pulled back into a rear ponytail and bound
thrice with a leather wrap. While you can tell he is yet in his
youth his visage is that of one who has suffered from either extreme
hunger or advanced aging. Eyes that might have once been lavender
are now muddled with the lines of ruptured blood vessels and the
milky white clouds that mark cataracts. A boney nose overlooks thin
lips that have receded slightly from his mouth due to the tightening
of his skin. Stark white teeth appear larger than normal due the
retreat of his gum-line. A six-inch goatee of black hair bound by
silver wire has still managed to find purchase on his severe chin.
What garb he sports lends more to the profession of mage than
merchant. Binding his robes are several belts, each supporting
numerous pouches laden with fragrant and odorous substances
While little in the way of weaponry can be seen he does bear a
satchel that barely holds a large tome.
Role
Background Scene #1 - A fog shrouded night
Added Thu Feb 15 22:32:02 2007 at level 16:
a Galadonian who had moved his family to Mutazz after a transfer by the
Tribunal. He spied the glow of Beldan's lantern pole ahead and quickened
his pace to a near frantic clip. As the glow of the lantern turned to meet
him Beldan began to challenge him, "Hey, who goes - - oh it's you Talmas!
What are you doi - ." He cut the guardsman's question off before it was
finished, "Beldan, I think someone has fallen off the south dock! Near the
warehouses! I think I heard a woman's voice from below!" "What in the
seven hells is anyone doing out down there on a night like this?" Beldan
growled, with the smell of whiskey carried thick on his breath. "I'll grab
the sergeant and we'll be right there." As the guardsman turned to run, the
man grabbed his arm and said, "You best not with whisky on your breath.
I bet that would earn you a solid month of bilge duty." The weight of that
truth settled upon Beldan visibly and he grumbled "Then you're gonna
help me then since you made it my problem." Looking trapped the man
nodded dourly and led the way to the south docks, with the only sound
being the clang of the lantern being jostled about as they hastily made
their way.
"The noise came from near here," The man said. "I heard it as I went to
enter the warehouse." Beldan quickly swung the lantern pole below the
dock's edge, cursing the heavy fog as he did so, but the effort was futile.
"If someone stumbled off they may not be too hurt badly. The tide is
pulling out strong by the sound of it, and I bet you a solid piece of the
Sultan's silver there is not more than a hand of water below. The mud
would break a fall well enough, less the poor sap gets put in the dead-
book by falling on his head," Beldan remarked as he moved to where
the man kneeled at the docks edge. "I hear something," said the man,
"faint but definitely a woman's voice." Beldan dropped onto his belly
and cocked his head to listen better, "I don't hear a thing. You must
have had some of that whisky as well." "Well I am not wearing a helmet
either, am I?" the man said as he scrambled to his feet. "Hand me your
helmet so you can hear better and I'll grab the lantern pole," he added.
"Good idea," said Beldan as he passed the cloth-wrapped domed helm.
As he peered back into the foggy haze the lantern pole flew over his
head, quickly making the twelve foot drop to the shallow water.
"Cyradia's own luck to get mugged while on duty," Beldan muttered
from his prostrated position. "No friend, I am afraid it is much worse
than that," he heard the man reply before the world went even blacker.
The helmet met the guardsman's head with a dull thud, the cloth offering
enough padding to not crush his skull. After pushing the limp form off
the dock the man removed a small vial from his belt pouch and quaffed it.
As the magic of the potion gripped him, his form lightened before he
stepped off the dock and floated down to the body in the surf. Keen eyes
cut the darkness as he used a small knife to cut the straps on the breastplate
and then cast the weapons and armor into the deeper waters. Thankfully
the guardsman lived, or of less worth the efforts would have been. The
guardsman stirred slightly as he was hauled up to the seawall near a sewer
drainag
Background Scene #2 - The Bathing Pits of Hamsah Mu'tazz
Added Thu Feb 15 22:46:03 2007 at level 16:
The bathhouses of Hamsah Mu'Tazz are without equal and Kryllos was
taking full advantage of their offerings. As the serving girl lifted herself
out of the steaming waters of the private bathing pit he eyed her form
and smiled, seemingly very pleased with himself. He placed a hot rag
upon his face and leaned forward within the blistering waters to stretch
his back after his efforts. The events of the prior night had faded easily
with his newfound pleasures. He heard the serving girl gather her
garments and water-pot before opening the squeaky wooden door behind
him to leave. Before the door had shut the scent of jasmine and lavender
stirred upon the steamy air. Another girl had entered as the first left, and
this one had a scent that made him regret his relations he recovered from
now. "Poor the water and leave me girl. I have not enough time or coin
for more entertainment now." He said as he spread his arms to let the
edges of the tiled floor support his weight in the bathing pit. Before he
could lean back he felt the girl slide into the water behind him. Her legs
parted to frame his hips, her arms slid up under his arms to stroke his
chest and pull him back where his head came to rest nestled between her
breasts. Her scent was intoxicating, her body a cradle of flesh that set him
perfectly at ease, he knew he couldn't afford her yet he could not bring
himself to resist her embrace. His mind clouded as lips pulled at the lobe
of his ear. He slid the rag from his face but his eyes remained closed as
hands caressed his hair, his chest, his lower abdomen. His skin tingled
from the feel of nails as they lightly trailed across his exposed skin while
her heels massaged the inside of his knees and thighs. Something tugged
at his mind, something within tried to stir him but his relaxation was near
total. Something was awry, some feeling, some smell, some notion
struggled to rouse him. He managed to induce one languid eye to open and
with such, through a world of steam and sensation, he spied what had
troubled him. There had been too many hands, too much pleasure too soon.
The nail that traced lines upon his abdomen was in truth the tip of a cruelly
barbed tail. His mind raged orders to his body to calm, to not betray the
panic that gripped him, but it was too late. He only tensed slightly but that
was enough to elicit a mirthful chuckle from the lips that played with his
ear. At the sound he tried to heave upward to escape, but her heels clamped
down on his inner knees. Arms as fine as porcelain yet as unyielding as a
dwarf's opinion entwined his chest and neck. He was trapped. On his back,
in a bathing pit, within the embrace of a Succubus he awaited his end.
"You know of your error before I speak don't you servant? You make
offerings to that bloated fool Orcus before honoring the greater debt to
my mistress." the Succubus whispered in his ear with no trace of anger
carried by her tone. "I can explain. I was approached - - argh!!!!" Pain
ripped the words from him as the barbed tail extracted itself from his belly
where it had pierced him. His world became agony as he felt his muscles
spasm, his skin scream at the waters touch, and his lungs struggle to draw
breath. The Succubus
Background Notes / Sphere Fate
Added Sat Feb 24 22:43:06 2007 at level 16:
You Have Inherited Eternal Damnation
Jhulsivvis Marahail was not the first dark elf to command the
Academy of Necromancy while not pledged to a house, bed
two differing matron-mothers and live, or sell his soul for
power and gain. He may, however, have been the first dark
elf so glib of speech, daring of ambition, and fervent in his
prostrations that he managed to sell his soul to fifteen differing
powers of the lower realms before he met his end. Nine generations
later those of his bloodline still pay his debt.
Before his demise Jhulsivvis had not only pledged his own soul
but a weight in the souls of others. It mattered not if the other
souls he delivered unto his patrons came via sacrifice or sly
coercion as long as he fulfilled his debts. When Jhulsivvis met his
end his debts were far from being fulfilled, and as a result the
burden has been laid upon each of his bloodline since. Most have
went mad, succumbed and taken their own lives, even a few have
sought redemption, but as of yet none have eluded the burden of
their inheritance. Kryllos is the heir to this misfortune and he
seeks a way to avoid his fate.
Kryllos grew to adolescence knowing of the dealings his family
had with the agents of the lower powers. He had thought such
a situation was instigated by his elders, and one in which they
were in control. It was not until a week two passing months after
his academy graduation that he learned the truth. Agents of nine
differing lower planar powers revealed themselves to him in that
span and educated him that the burden was his now that his father
had been slain in an apparent accident. Twas not the graduation
gift he was expecting.
Sphere Fate
Kryllos struggles against his fate. It is destined that regardless of
his actions or intent he can only stave off a fate that will see him
drug off to the Hells like those before him. He feels he is beyond
redemption, but not fully the wicked man he has been driven to be.
He hungers not for ultimate power, vast wealth, or to be lauded as
the paragon of a field of magic, he just desires to be left alone to
decide his own future instead of being driven madly towards his
predestined end. He wants the life he is deserving of with his
talents. He wants out. Desperately he hopes that his fate is fluid
and may be changed to his ends if not avoided fully.