|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Tue Feb 05, 2008 9:05 pm
 ~Banners courtesy of Yousei Akki (you rock! X3)~
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Feb 07, 2008 7:17 pm
~Introduction~
~Contents~
~Statistics~
~House History~
~Inventory~
~Friends and Enemies~
~Pets/Familiars~
~RP Links~
~Entries/Remembrances~
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Feb 07, 2008 7:19 pm
Age: 78 yrs
Gender: Male
Height: 5'3"
Weight: 120 lbs
House: House Torlyl
Stage: Illharn
Profession: Shebali (Thief)
Personality: Mikaril has come a rather long way from the shy, unobtrusive presence that he was as a Dalharuk. Though he is still capable of childlike moments, his recent cold abandon of the search for his brother has left him more serious and somber, and smiles do not come as easily as they used to. He is more careful and less likely to trust, having taken his brother and mentor's advice that much at least. He also has more confidence in his thieving skills, but would prefer it if no one got hurt in the process, saving his bloodlust for surface elves. He still shies from being touched, and despite a more advanced protection that surrounds his ears, he still very much prefers to have his hood up.
Likes: Flowers, treasure, rowing, causing chaos, solitude, things that glow.
Dislikes: The rest of his family (particularly his sister Haellara), the surface world or being anywhere near it, people who mess with his hood, surface elves, mushrooms, the undead.
(Winging it on the age, height & weight. Some information is based on RP and may change as RPs progress.)
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Feb 14, 2008 10:47 pm
One Big Happy Family- Information and History of House TorlylHouse Torlyl is the 6th house of Undrek'Thoz, and like a typical drow house, it ever aspires to climb higher. The family currently consists of Matron Dilayne Torlyl (currently with no patron), five males and one female. Mikaril is the youngest child, with his sister Haellara being the closest to him in age.
Matron Dilayne is the third Matron Mother to grace the house, having seized it from her own mother when she deemed herself ready. Back then, House Torlyl was ranked 12th in Undrek'Thoz, and since bearing so many warrior children with a raging thirst for blood and fame, it has clawed its way up to 6th in a surprisingly short time.
One rather passionate patron sired all of the siblings, but he met with an unfortunate accident while hunting down runaway slaves in the perilous caves of the Underdark. Curiously, the slaves were discovered to have been following a popular hunting route taken by the eldest son, and their method of escape hinted suspiciously at inside help.
After the customary sacrifice of the third-born to Lolth, there were left six males and one female. When Haellara was born, Matron Dilayne was beside herself with vicious glee, thinking that at last after so many males she would finally be able to bear females and thus strengthen their ranks even more than mere males could. Unfortunately, her last born was another male, and she never quite got over having only one female child. Haellara, being the only one, was treated as though she were made of glass and was allowed to have her way with her brothers any way she pleased; she bullied them, bossed them around, and when her budding aspiration to become a sorceress showed itself, she was permitted also to test spells out on them, provided their ability to fight was not permanently damaged.
In House Torlyl, it was customary for the males to take up the sword and become fighters; the Torlyl males are infamous for their complex and deadly teamwork and various battle tactics that put each fighter in the best position to create the most damage. Each new fighter brought with him a chance to improve the already honed techniques and make them even mre devastating.
So it was until the fourth male, Triellyn, third after the sacrifice, came of age and decided out of the blue to forsake the time-honored tradition and learn the ways of the shebali. Matron Dilayne was furious, and when bribes and threats did not sway the young male, she in a fit of rage banished him from House Torlyl. He left without a backward glance and has to this day been gone, though rumors have been whispered among the lesser household that he had joined up with the infamous rogue group, Bregan D'earthe.
When Mikaril came of age, he announced his desire to follow in the footsteps of his renegade brother, reasoning that he would best follow Lolth by doing something he actually had an interest and a passion for. Instead of losing her temper, this time Matron Dilayne reluctantly welcomed the break in tradition, though her contempt still shines through on the occasions where Mikaril is sometimes treated with as much reverence as a piece of the house furniture.
And so House Torlyl currently stands strong with four warriors, one gifted sorceress, and one thief who is only claimed as a household member when it is convenient.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Feb 14, 2008 10:50 pm
Hooded Cloak: Given to him by his older brother before he was exiled from the house by their mother. Offers a moderate measure of concealment, but more important to its current wearer, it covers his entire head save for his face. He is never seen to lower his hood, and takes special pains to protect his hood and keep it up.
Dagger: A small standard dagger decorated with the symbol of House Torlyl. Seldom used, but within easy reach if ever he finds himself in a threatening situation.
Tool kit: A small toolkit that fits into a small inner pocket on his cloak, filled with various delicate tools of thievery.
Boat: A small rowboat he obtained by trading a stolen piece of House Torlyl trasure with a Kuo-toa, also using it to buy the creature's word (for what it's worth) that he will not be bothered by their people. He hides it near the docks on the farthest right and uses it often to row out a ways on the Glimemrsea, just for the sake of looking up at the shining ceiling and contemplating.
Satchel: His most recently gained possession is a standard brown satchel made from worn leather that looks as though it has seen better days. It's plain and slightly haggard appearance masks a wonderful secret. Working in harmony with the magic of the lair that it was found in, any item that will fit inside, be it coin or trinket or other commandeered item, will be transported to the lair awaiting the satchel's owner to come and put it all in its proper place. However, he has yet to try putting something live inside, like a spider, and when he places items inside, he does his best not to let his hand linger, just in case.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Apr 20, 2008 5:05 pm
FriendsUjool Kyil- Kyil is the first friend I've had outside of the family. I met him by accident in a marketplace near the surface world. He is very kind, and seems to have an entirely different perspective of the life of a drow. He's a great listener, and one of these days I've got to try the rothe steak he brags about. XD
Recently I have returned to his city only to find him out of favor in his establishment and prey to the various scum of the city. I've pulled him out of the gutter and am now teaching him how to stand on his own feet. It will not be easy, since he still has that servant's mentality, but I do enjoy being the one relied upon for a change.
I've come to realize that I view him as the little brother I never had, and really the only drow in my entire life tht I feel entirely safe around.AcquaintancesJaeden Tinuveil- Jaeden was the first female I came across that didn't find it necessary for me to constantly grovel or so much as fetch her a snack. She made quite an impression on me. We might have even been friends had we travelled together a bit longer.Ilphonim Ken Luana- This colorful character was the one who first introduced me to roses; a debt which I can never repay by any means.Imordana Fi'reth'ul- I met her around my own home town. A word to the wise; if she drops something out of her hair, DO NOT pick it up. I pulled off one of my better acts of theivery with her as my partner; typical bossy female, but otherwise relatively painless to work with.Naddaer- A street magician/thief I came across while doing minor jobs in my own city. One of the easiest drow to work with in terms of thievery, but not quite familiar enough to be considered a friend.Irae'afein Do'rett- I can't say too much about him. I met him when I was robbing his house and we had a chat, more or less. Should you wish to do likewise, put something dark and thick over the top of his staff, or you're in for a bad case of eyestrain.Valin Piranor- She's scary. oO When we first met, she pinned me to the ground with mist, then insisted I help her look for some sword that had sentimental value to her. Though it was kind of fun pretending to be her bodyguard for a while.Rusayla De'Rretep- Still in progress, I guess it can go either way. *Shrugs* EnemiesHaellara Torlyl- Hael is my sister, but I would disown her in a heartbeat. She is everything a drow ought to be; sadistic, heartless, totally devoted to Lolth, and taking the greatest pleasure in the pain and anguish of others, something I would surely appreciate more had she not chosen to slake that lust on me. stare
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Apr 20, 2008 5:46 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon May 26, 2008 5:48 pm
Private RP (Mikaril & Jaedyn)
A haphazard search for his brother Triellyn leads him to an adventure with a female the likes of which he has never met before.
Two Shades of Green (Mikaril and Ilphonim)--Postponed--
A chance meeting on the docks of the Glimmersea.
Chance Encounters (Mikaril & Kyil) ~Finished~ heart
A bustling marketplace and a daring theft; what will come of it?Finding a Cure (Mikaril & Imordana)~Finished~Can Mikaril stay out of trouble even when confined to his own city? XDBandit Territory (Mikaril & Naddaer)Double trouble in Undrek'Thoz; Mikaril meets a fellow thief.Eldest Treasure, Youngest Letdown (Mikaril & Irae'afein)I'd love to rename this one: 'Thief and mage meet and proceed to annoy the Hell out of each other.' xd Misunderstandings (Mikaril & Valin) ~Finished~A temporary reprieve from his confinement has Mikaril wandering toward the Glimmersea and a fresh batch of trouble.Misery Loves Company (Mikaril and Kyil)~Finished~With a new set of armor and a new stone cold facade, Mikaril revisits the marketplace where he met Kyil and discovers that there's always someone out there worse off than you.You Call THIS A Low Profile? (Mikaril and Rusayla)Due to a monumental mishap in his own city, Mikaril's matron commands him to go to the city of Llurth Dreir until suspicion is no longer upon House Torlyl. Can he survive in such a city?Usstan ssinssrigg dos Jabbuk (Mikaril & Kyil)~Finished~After being saved from his bout with pigheadedness, Mikaril plots with Kyil on ways of thievery and.....spell thieving? oOSee 'n Strike 'n Run (Mikaril & Ka'dairihn)Taking place between Low Profile & Misery, Mikaril runs into even more trouble following a drow out of curiousity and getting up to his hood in trouble with slavers.How to Steal: For Dummies (Mikaril & Kyil) ~Finished~Mikaril and Kyil plot to pull off a series of daring heists and make a name for themselves in Eryndlyn. Starting with a magic shop. Booty! 8DInto the Demon's Den (Mikaril & Kyil. And Hael. And Nuumia. XD)~Finished~The dynamic drow duo (3 D's! XD) make a journey to Undrek'Thoz, thus setting in motion a series of events that could either end Miky's life or change it forever. oOA Bride, A Groom, and......an Escape? (Miky, Hael, Kyil & Nuu)~Finished~The time has finally come to escape the lair of the demon, but not before Mikaril and his friend Kyil become unwilling guests in a ceremony that sees House Torlyl gaining a new patron.
I Will Make It Better (Same as above)~Finished~- Mikaril and Kyil finally escape House Torlyl, taking advantage of Haellara's love-potioned state.
Down Time (Mikaril, Kyil & Szin) ~Finished~ (1)- The boys take a breather after their harrowing escape, and perhaps a bit of mental housecleaning as well.
A New Life Begins (Miky, Kyil & Ssu)- Just when you think they're finally out of trouble, an innocent bottle of wine sends them spiraling downward......or possibly upward? oO
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Jun 29, 2008 6:41 pm
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Thu Aug 28, 2008 9:55 pm
(Remembrance- Random memories of Mikaril's past. Why? Because I want to! >=D)
"I didn't do it!"
"Yes you did, and I'm gonna tell!"
The young page prince Mikaril sighed and went back to polishing a statue in the House Torlyl chapel; a rather icky one in his opinion. He never liked polishing the ones of priestesses and renditions of Lolth. He always felt a flush creeping through his face when he had to move the rag over the finely chiseled breasts. At least spider statues didn't have any.
"Look at me when I'm yelling at you!" His sister Haellara stomped her foot angrily. He sighed again and looked over at his sister, barely two years his senior, with her little robe in a perfect imitation of a sorceress garment, and a half-dozen magic trinkets hanging around her neck like gaudy jewelry. Her eyes were flashing angrily, and it seemed as though her slightly golden hair was bristling like a cat's. "If I say you stuck your tongue out at me for no good reason, then you did! You can't say you didn't, 'cause I'm a female and you're not. I'm the truth and you're not. I'm the favoritest, and you're not." She thrust out her chin haughtily, and tried to take another step toward Mikaril, when her left foot struck the leg of a pew and sent her sprawling. As tears filled up her eyes, Mikaril turned away with a big smile and muttered, "I'm feeling fine, and you're not."
Almost as if she had heard him, Haellara jumped up and screeched, "You did that on purpose! I'm gonna kill you!" She clutched at one of the trinkets around her neck, then her small hand suddenly unclenched and a wicked smile grew on her face. Uh-oh, thought Mikaril, the last time she had THAT look on her face was when she discovered that boys could be hurt by kicking between their legs.
"I got a better idea," she said happily, and Mikaril watched her reach into her robe and pull out a piece of parchment that looked like it was covered in stains older than his mother. "You know what this is?" she teased, waving it in front of him. I dunno...paper? he wanted to say, but something in her eyes had him holding his tongue. "I found this in one of mother's books that she said I couldn't read yet until I was better at magic. It's a spell. Know what it does?" Without giving him time to answer, she hissed. "It turns you into one of those hideous white beasts that run around on the surface and is sacred to the faeries. You know, the one with the really big horn."
Mikaril couldn't keep the panic from showing on his face. He knew the beasts well enough, and he didn't like where this was going. Haellara walked up to him until she was almost nose to nose. "Mother never liked you, you know. A stupid male. But you know what? I bet she'd like you a lot more if you were one of those. Think Lolth would like you too? As a sacrifice?"
The polishing rag fluttered to the floor, freed from Mikaril's suddenly nerveless grasp. "Y-you....you can't-"
"Yeah I can!" she practically sang out, "Mother already gave me permission to test spells on you males, remember? Any ones I want. And who's gonna tell her it was a spell I stole? Not you, when you have a big ugly yoo-nee-corn mouth! Now you'd better hold still!"
Mikaril had no choice. He shut his eyes, and found himself praying to Lolth. I know I'm just a male, he thought frantically, but I swear that if you spare me from this, I'll serve you forever and ever!! He heard his sister muttering the words and felt the tingle as the magic grasped him with numbing fingers. He waited for his hands to solidify, for his skin to turn bone-white, for his head to explode in pain as a horn would break forth like a sword breaking through an impaled body.
Except nothing happened. The tingling sensation vanished. He opened his eyes and looked down at his small, coal-black hands. He reached up and felt his forehead; smooth as it ever was. He sighed in relief and looked over at Haellara. Her face shone white-hot with anger as she ferociously ripped up the parchment and threw the pieces to the floor. Grabbing one of her trinkets, she aimed it at the pile and with a scream let loose a small jet of flames that turned the parchment pieces to ash and left a small smudge on the floor. "STUPID SPELL!!" she screamed, and Mikaril covered his ears, looking as delighted as he dared.
The chapel doors burst open. "WHAT is going on in here??!" Matron Dilayne stood scowling at the pair, her red eyes narrowed. Apparently Haellara didn't want to explain to her mother that a spell she had stolen from her had gone awry, and she seemed to remember her first ready-made accusation. Pointing a shaky finger at Mikaril, she spat. "He stuck his tongue out at me!"
"I did not-!" Mikaril was about to say, but Haellara whirled around and laid him low with a punch. "How DARE you interrupt me and try to lie to the Matron Mother!" Mikaril groaned and immediately curled up into a ball as he felt his sister's kicks come raining down upon his face and his groin. He opened his eye and saw his mother looking on with traces of approval. He would love to tell her about the spell, but she wouldn't believe him anyway, and why press his luck? The spell hadn't worked, and he was still a drow.
Mikaril sat with his back against the wall of the training room, sobbing. A page prince no longer, he had all but forgotten that day, filed away in his mind with many other days of the same old mistreatment. But now......now it was undeniable. The spell may not have worked correctly, but it had lingered. He reached up and touched his ear, knowing that it wouldn't feel any different. Only if he looked in a mirror would he see that the top half of his ears were beginning to turn white. White, like a unicorn's.
His brother/teacher Treillyn came and sat down beside him, not saying anything, waiting for the outburst that would surely come from his normally quiet brother. He didn't have long to wait.
"Why?!" Mikaril cried to nobody, "I prayed to Lolth, I begged her, and she spared me, so I thought! But now it's not only happening, but slowly! Now I'll have to hide it for who knows how long and live my life dreading when someone will find out! What am I going to do when I go to the Academy and I'm surrounded by strangers!?" He raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Damn you!! I wish I had never prayed to you!!! I hate you!! You can rot up there forever!!" He buried his head in his arms and renewed his sobbing.
He felt Triellyn's hand on his shoulder, and was inwardly glad that he hadn't taken the time to remind him that Matron Dilayne had the ability to look in on this very conversation. He looked into the face of his brother, the closest thing to a friend he had ever had in his life. "Don't worry," he heard him say, "if it took this long for something like ear coloring to show up, chances are by the time anything much harder to hide shows up, if it does at all, you'll be a full-fledged thief and hiding in the shadows anyway." Mikaril felt a tiny glimmer of hope. "You think so?" Treillyn nodded. "Sure. Just find a way to hide your ears until then. You can always try ink."
Mikaril managed a watery smile as he stood up and clasped his brother's hand in his. "Thanks, Treillyn." His brother shrugged. "Hey, what're teachers for?" Mikaril felt his brother's grip tighten and he suddenly found himself on his back. "Besides humiliating you?" His brother winked and helped him up. "Come on; you won't learn this stuff on your back."
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sat Sep 13, 2008 12:06 am
Entry 1
I fear I have been neglecting my journal; since having received it I have let it sit in my small satchel, its pages unmarked, its binding unscuffed, its unremarkable clasp still firmly in place. Perhaps I feared that if I wrote in it, my horrible sister would be sure to find it and display it to every living being within the radius of the house, whether or not they could read. Or perhaps I feared to put down my thoughts in such a tangible way, lest I come back to it and discover something I wish I had kept within the relative safety of my own head. But I have recently found that writing like this can be relaxing as well as a means of emptying my head of spare or troubling thoughts.
It is one such thought that prompts me to write my first entry.
What do you do when you meet a drow who breaks every mold and every rule of society that you both grew up with and learned to adapt to? How do you talk to them? Dare you trust them, relying on their obvious difference to react in ways that a normal drow wouldn’t? Do you suspect them and keep them at a distance, fearing that the entire thing is nothing but an act to draw out any signs of disloyalty to Lolth or the ways of the drow? How do you know for certain? I suppose you can’t; it’s just another obvious risk in a society where risks either get you glorified or get you killed. Maybe friendships aren’t so perilous for humans or faeries or even deep gnomes (if such a thing even exists among them), but if any drow tells me that they want to be my friend, I would either wonder which weapon they are aiming to destroy me with, or ask them if they had recently eaten anything and make a mental note to never partake of it.
Easy enough to say, but when it became my test, I found myself lacking. A drow stood before me (a female no less!), who could not have possibly acted more different than a typical drow female. Having a matron mother and a sister gave me quite enough insight on how drow females should act (and how males should act around them), and yet here is one who does not command me to show more respect, does not think to chide me when I speak my mind to her, and it doesn’t even seem to cross her mind to proclaim that I as a male should have a demeanor of servitude. And to top it all off, she has entrusted me as a partner, not a servant, but a partner, in a venture that might significantly increase the wealth of House Torlyl, even after my withdrawing my little ‘obtaining fee’ (now I REALLY hope my sister doesn’t come across this). It doesn’t even seem to enter this drow’s mind the possibility of my letting her help me through any traps and snares, then murdering her in a place where she might never be found and making off with the spoils. I marvel at her being able to trust me so implicitly, and it makes me wonder if I could ever have turned out that way had I been raised different. My brother always said that I was far too trusting when I was small; telling me that just because the females were hostile doesn’t mean that the males were all one big happy brotherhood.
But onward I go regardless; I know who I am, and I vow that on this journey, I shall find out who she truly is.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Tue Sep 16, 2008 10:17 pm
Remembrance 2- The Lair of the White Spider
(NOTE: This one is way long; get a sandwich or something. XD)
Mikaril stood alone in the vast chamber, afraid to so much as absently scuff his foot for fear of starting a noise that would carry all the way up to the ceiling, not even visible in its height and shrouded in darkness. He looked about him at the piles upon piles of gold coins, gleaming in the faerie fire's glow like thousands of soulless eyes. Artifacts lay every which way, the jewels encrusting them catching the light and looking like so many spiders eyes. It seemed as though the entire room was full of eyes, and it might as well have been, for it was none other than the treasure room of House Torlyl.
For generations the nobles had amassed their findings here, adding to the pile and taking away, when it was convenient. His brothers and sister had yet to add so much as a coin, but not being thieves, they really weren't expected to. That 'glorious honor' fell to him. And finally, after pulling off a daring theft that had nearly cost him his life, he had returned with a spoil that he thought worthy to add: a chalice from the chapel of the second House of Undrek'Thoz. It would take a long time for his confidence to return to what it had once been, but the price had been worth it. As much trouble as the house name brought to him, he still felt as though he owed it something. After all, it wasn't the fault of the name OR the house that his sister and mother dwelt there, flatulating on the chairs and desecrating the beds.
Reminding himself that his sister with her budding powers could sniff out such degrading thoughts like a hound, he took a breath and pulled the chalice out of his cloak. He admired it for a moment, then walked over to a pile of coins and let it drop. The chalice fell with a c***k that sent a tiny avalanch of coins tumbling down the pile and spilling at Mikaril's feet. He turned to leave, when he noticed a rogue coin rolling away on its side. Amused, he followed the coin until it came to a stop, leaning against a jewel that had been fitted to the floor to form part of a pattern. Curious, Mikaril crouched down to peer at the pattern; he had been down into the treasure room several times, but he had never once noticed this strange floor pattern.
Old it seemed, for many jewels were missing from its once elaborate design. Probably stolen by some past House brat, Mikaril thought rather sadly, and reached out his inky black hand to caress the design and absentmindedly feel the holes where jewels had once been lodged. Suddenly, he noticed something odd. One spot had at least seven jewels missing, the small holes forming a straight line. He looked around for other holes, and when he had found them all, he stood up quickly, his eyes now alight with curiousity. For all of the holes that had once housed jewels, had formed a perfect arrow on the floor. Following its point, Mikaril looked over to a huge wall of the treasure room, adorned with raised carvings laced with gold and mythril, and statues that gleamed and glimmered with gemstones and decorative faerie fire. He walked forward until he came to a part of the wall with a mural of surface elves being devoured and torn limb from limb by gigantic spiders. He admired it for a time, but the smile gradually left his face. Was that all there was to the arrow? Did someone deliberately remove those stones just to point out his or her favorite wall of the treasure room? Again he made to turn around and leave, but he chanced to look down near the bottom of the wall, and noticed what to many others might be scratches where some careless drow had moved something heavy and scuffed the wall. But Mikaril, ever-observant, crouched down and took a closer look.
Words were there, thin and spidery, the way a spider would surely form letters if it knew how. Mikaril placed a hand over them for a minute, then withdrew it; the residual heat made the words stand out better:
You who were lead here by jewels that were not,
Heed my words and follow.
Stab the back of the Spider of Time,
And turn the key to stop it.
Mikaril chewed his lip as he stood up. So there WAS something more to that arrow! But what in the Nine Hells was the writer trying to say? Spider of Time? Turn the key? His eyes gleamed; here was a challenge, and chances were he was the first to come across it in a very long time.
He scratched his smooth chin. Lead by jewels that were not; that was obviously the arrow. Heed the words and follow; surely, as soon as he figured them out. Stab the spider....... His eyes rested on the raised mural. The spiders on there were many different kinds, not just the same spider depicted again and again. Perhaps this 'Spider of Time' was to be found there.
He ran his hands carefully along all of the spiders he could, levitating himself to reach the ones higher up, until he stopped at one and smiled wide. His hand had stopped on a black widow. With its hourglass shape visible on its abdomen, surely this was the Spider of Time. But how to stab it?
He felt the raised hourglass shape, easily the size of his hand, and he noticed a paper-thin line going vertically through it. Reaching down to his belt, Mikaril drew his knife and jammed it into the opening. He then realized that his knife had just become like a key, THE key. Grasping the handle with both hands, he began to turn it sideways. The stone ground on itself in protest, but soon in one smart snap, the knife turned sideways, looking for all the world as though he had prevented any more grains of sand in the hourglass from escaping; literally stopping time. Mikaril couldn't help another grin as he withdrew it. He heard a small grating sound, and turned his head. To his right, a statue of a rendition of Lolth as a nearly naked drow female was moving aside, and before him was a small opening, inky black in the already darkened room. A gust of stale air blew out and caused his hood to stir. Reaching up and pulling it forward, he looked about once to make sure no one was watching, then he stepped into the darkness, and the statue groaned as it slid back into place behind him.
Finding himself in even blacker surroundings, Mikaril blinked several times to help his eyes adjust. There was light, but it was so faint that he had trouble seeing very far ahead. He walked forward slowly, each step raising a tiny cloud of dust. The walls around him were unremarkable, roughly hewn stone, without any decoration. Unbothered, he pressed on; sometimes dull places hid the best treasures.
A minute later, he gaped in astonishment. He was in a chamber about the size of his own room, and from end to end there hung what had to have been hundreds of thick iron chains, dangling down like threads of webbing, each ending with a small iron spider. Unlike the spiders on the mural, however, these were all clearly the same spider; duplicated countless times from the same mold. The floor was covered in strange tiles, forming a continuous pattern that, had Mikaril been familiar with the drawings, would have resembled many suns with thick rays.
At a complete loss, Mikaril moved among the chains, careful to touch none. Perhaps it was his imagination, but it seemed as though each time he nearly brushed one, it seemed to give off a marrow-sapping chill, like some horrible kind of living ice. He reached the end of the room and began to look about him.
In one corner of the room, he spotted the scrawl. After warming the area around it, the words were once more readable:
Choose the chain, O Curious One
But take heed of two fates
One for choosing wrong
The other for letting the spiders bite.
Become as dust, grasp the head
And proceed in safety
Completely nonplussed, Mikaril exhaled in frustration. Another riddle. He should have known. There had better be some kind of wonderful treasure for him to find when all this was done! "Of course there is," he exclaimed aloud, then winced at the echo. Dropping his voice to the tiniest of whispers, he continued. "They wouldn't have gone through all this trouble for nothing. It's sure to be something incredible." Convinced, he began to ponder this next set of spider-scratch.
Choose the chain, but not the wrong one. Something bad was sure to happen if he did; maybe the spider would turn real and bite him and fill him with poison, or maybe the floor would fall away and deposit him down a chasm. The next line, about letting the spiders bite, supported the former, but why had it listed it as an entirely different punishment? Well, he would figure that out later. Right now, he had to locate the correct chain.
Become as dust......he though until he could feel his head start to hurt. How did one become dust without dying? All dust ever did was gather around on everything; the furniture, the floor....... He looked down at the trail of footprints he had left on the floor, and absurd as it sounded in his own head, he figured the only way he could become dust was to do as dust did.
He sat down carefully, then laid his head down until he was spread out onto the floor, looking up at the chains. Right away he noticed that the chains were not hanging there in equal measure from each other. Some were dangling quite close to each other, others were farther away, and a bunch of them were gathered so that together they resembled a long, long snake, coiling this way and that..... He gasped and sat up quickly, nearly bumping his head on a low chain. That had to be it; the head to be grasped was a snake head! Laying back down, he held up a finger and carefully traced the looping coils of the snake before his eyes. It was tricky; the snake seemed to have no end, and it reached all across the room, like a maze with no corners. Finally, he spotted it; a chain just like all the rest, only when he looked at it from below, it was in just the right spot to be the snake's head.
Keeping it in sight, he slowly got up, and was just about to reach for it, when he suddenly remembered the line: The other for letting the spiders bite. He looked at his bare hand and thought; would I reach out to a REAL spider like this? Not likely, he answered back. A cautious drow would wear gloves. He didn't have any gloves, but he wondered if his cloak would do. He gathered up a bit and wrapped his hand into it, reaching out tentatively to grasp the spider and gave the chain a hard tug.
He felt no pain, nor any sensation of plunging into an abyss. He did hear a strange grinding noise, and he opened his eyes in time to see one of the 'suns' on the floor sink down and become a dusty set of spiraling stairs. He let go of the chain and looked at his cloak, part of which glinted with black frost, which would have undoubtedly cost him a finger or two had he grasped it barehanded. He breathed a sigh of relief and carefully made his way down the steps.
No corridor this time, but surely a dead end. He found himself in a tiny room, with no way forward, and a pile of what looked like finely ground black onyx. Definitely not the kind of treasure he had been envisioning. Bitterness welled up inside of him, and he sat down hard on the dusty floor, staring moodily at the pile of onyx. Before too long he began to realize that the more he stared at it, the less it resembled a pile of worthless crushed stones. He crawled over to the edge of the pile, and peered at it closely. Why, it wasn't a pile at all; it was more like a puddle, gone right up against the wall as though it got deeper the closer it came to the wall. Mikaril scoffed; couldn't come much deeper than his knees at that incline. So it was a puddle instead of a pile; didn't make it any more valuable. Mikaril sighed, watching the puff of air disturb the inky glittery puddle, and moved to get up when he felt something on the floor with his left hand. He raised it and looked at the floor, and in much smaller print, the words burned bright:
It's not what it seems.
Mikaril's eyes widened in disbelief. And he thought the OTHER words had been unhelpful! He had expected something elaborate and mysterious like the others, but not something so vague and short that could mean a million things. He pounded the ground in frustration. He looked around for any other words or helpful signs, but he found nothing. Finally, in disgust, he moved off to one side of the small chamber and sat with his back against the wall, staring daggers at the black puddle.
As he gradually began to simmer down, his mind began to work on the problem. It drew up a scene from his past when his brother Treillyn had given him some life lessons. "One good way to keep your mind open to all possibilities," he had said, "is to take everything around you and imagine it being something else, even the opposite." He remembered trying it on various things: water became something that could hold cups (and it was even true!), incense became someone else's stinky smoke, until he had imagined his sister with a faerie's white skin, and she had noticed his staring and plucked the thought from his head to examine. He didn't remember anything at all from the rest of that day.
He applied the lesson to the puddle. If it wasn't a shallow puddle, it could be a deeper puddle, like a drop-off. If it wasn't useless onyx dust, it could be something infinitely more valuable. This very room could be a magnificent entrance instead of a dull and dreary dead end. Well, only one way to test those theories.
He walked over to the puddle once more, and this time he lifted one foot and gingerly stepped in it. The black swallowed his boot up, but he felt firm ground beneath. He brought his other foot in, and suddenly felt a stange sensation, as though something was being taken from him, though he felt as healthy as ever. He lifted one leg to inspect his foot, and was surprised to hear creaks and squeaks coming from his armor. He had paid to have it enchanted years ago to make no sound, and here it was grinding away like any normal suit of armor. He knew the black stuff had stolen the magic, but he was at a loss on what to do about it.
He took one step forward and noticed that when he touched solid ground again, it was a few inches deeper, like a stair. He stepped again, and found himself up to his waist. He figured this magic-nagating goop must be covering a stairway, and the only way forward was to walk in. He didn't question how he would breathe or if he ended up going deeper until he could never get out; he just closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and pressed on. He felt the stuff cover his face, then his head, getting into his hair like gritty mud. In just two steps, he felt himself going up again, until he broke the surface and walked out of the puddle. He opened his eyes and gasped aloud.
The room before him was every bit as unremarkable as the last one, but he knew that this was it. The room was about the same size as the chain room; roomy, but cozy. The walls were of stone, but unlike the rough corridors, these were tainted an earthy brown, so that it almost resembled hewn dirt; a nice change to eyes accustomed to too much gray. There was a table of plain wood, with a worn wooden chair who's frayed cushion and nicked arms spoke of much use. There was space to hang a hammock or place a cot, and little nooks and niches were carved helter-skelter all over the walls, perfect for hiding small treasures or displaying relics. There was even a small bookshelf, though all it contained was a cobweb and a few old leafs whose words were too worn to read.
Sitting on the table was a brown satchel, moderately-sized but small enough to conceal under a cloak. Mikaril walked over to it and picked it up, and a scrap of paper was revealed beneath it. Mikaril's eyes went wide as he saw the words on the paper lit up like they were written in flame; heat-retaining ink. He was no scribe, but he knew full well how much such ink cost. Setting the satchel aside, he brought the paper close and read.
O Curious One,
Glad I am that you have made it here. I hope that I guess right that your obvious ability to think outside of the proverbial box has made you less than popular in your house, what the surface dwellers call 'the black sheep' and what I like to fondly term 'the white spider'. A lad too, I wouldn't wonder, since few females are treated such.
In my time here, I too was the white spider, and in my torment I desperately sought a place where I could go to collect my thoughts. To place my things where no malicious hands would crush and break them. To flee to when I invoked the wrath of the females (or the powerful males). A private sanctuary, well protected from unfriendly eyes and where a white spider can obtain some measure of security and have no need to sleep with one ear cocked and one eye open. You, my white spider, have found my sanctuary.
I discovered it myself; a forgotten storage room off to the side of the main treasure room. I saw fit to shape it to my liking, planting many strong and magical wards along the way. You see, I did have one respectable friend; a powerful sorcerer, who placed all of the enchantments that no doubt still exist (including the magic-nagating black liquid that you have stepped through, and rest assured, it will never show on your person) on this place. He remained my trusted ally until the day of his death. Before he departed, he offered me one last gift; the satchel you see before you.
Doubtless you have wondered how you will safely bring any trinkets of yours here with the non-magical spells shielding this room? This satchel, my little spider, is the answer. Carry it with you, and when you wish to bring something to this safe haven, simply place it inside, and by some means that my dear friend tried and failed to explain to me, the item will travel to the room and stay, awaiting your arrival and your hands to place it wherever you please. Do not be fooled by its size, for it can stretch to accomodate more than mere trinkets, though should you wish to transport anything as large as a chair, I am afraid you are out of luck. I left it here knowing that only someone of worth would be able to reach it and use it. My mind is at ease.
Now, when you wish to leave, simply step into the blackness to return to the other side, and your stairs shall come down of their own accord, but seal themselves once more as you depart, lest someone spot you coming and going (I sincerely hope that you are smarter than that!), and to check before emerging, simply peer through the hole where you drove your spider-stabbing implement; you will find that it will be easier than looking in, since if your kin are anything like mine, they do have some measure of light in the treasure room. Do not fear magical detection, for my friend assured me that none but mages more powerful than he could detect even the slightest glimmer of magical stirrings beyond the treasure room, and my friend was no pushover in the magical arts, I assure you.
May my sanctuary serve you as it has served me, my curious little white spider. Guard it well, and may it serve as a shield on your life for many years to come.
The Original White Spider (OWS)
There was a scrawl that might have been a signature, but it was so scribbled that he couldn't even tell if the last name read 'Torlyl'. A thrill coursed through Mikaril's body; it could have been some other family in the house before his came along. And to think that the magic was still there and every bit as potent....the OWS's friend must have been SOME kind of wizard.
Mikaril smiled at the gleaming words. This OWS sounded a bit eccentric, but then again, that was more an asset than a liability in a world of chaos such as theirs. If someone like him could survive, then maybe....
Leaving the thought unfinished, Mikaril slung the satchel over his shoulder and adjusted it so that his cloak covered it nicely. Giving the room one last fond look, Mikaril stepped into the inky black grit and vanished, but make no mistake, he would soon return. A new white spider had found its lair.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Sep 17, 2008 7:25 pm
Entry 2
Have you ever made a declaration that you meant with all of your heart and soul, only to encounter something that makes you want to change your mind, though it would still not sit well with you? Maybe, maybe not, since my description isn't the best, but only because it is such an odd feeling. Perhaps it will be made clearer as I write further.
I have made it no secret that I hate the surface world; the hateful dwelling place of faeries and their skin-searing ball of fire that rains down stinging light for hours upon end. Where the ceiling is nothing but emptiness that makes you feel like a fly on a corpse. But I think the first is the biggest reason; the faeries keep their world full of alien plants and animals, and as far as I was concerned, them and their world could shrivel up in their fireball's heat and perish.
But now I am forced to wonder anew. I met a strange drow as I was lurking around one of the many docks of the Glimmersea. He noticed a pendant that I had just stolen and was interested in purchasing it for his own. When I asked what he had for payment, he showed me something I will never forget.
I had never seen a plant like it before. Many Underdark plants are rough and poisonous, as befitting the world around them, but this.......this was a thing of such beauty that I had the worst time believing its origins. It resembled a gentle maiden clad in the softest red silk, balancing daintily upon a slender stem festooned with thorns that were tipped with dark color, as though blood had been shed against them. And the smell this plant gave off was like nothing I had ever smelled; beside this delicate creature, incense was smoke, perfume was an irritating mist, and even scented oils seemed smelly in comparison. The scent was delicate, like the wrappings of red that felt like the softest velvet and would brown at the slightest bit of pressure. It's name was Rose, and it was called a flower.
I was completely mesmerized; such a wondrous plant, here in the Underdark! When I was told where it came from, it made me feel sick inside. To think that a wonder such as this came from the surface world, where faeries probably passed them by without a thought, or maybe, as befitting their foul nature, cut them up or pulled them out of the ground like common rothe fodder. Such a hatred I felt then, that they would be keeping such a thing of beauty to themselves, after driving us down into the Earth's belly where no such plants could possibly grow.
But the drow did something even more extraordinary; he revealed to me that there existed somewhere within the marketplaces of the Underdark a tradesman who dealt in such things and had the means not only to sell me an entire bush of these wondrous flowers, but the means to keep them alive in the lightless room that I was already making plans to hide them in. I let my eagerness show rather bluntly, but I was able to exhange the necklace for the information, and with the help of a few 'borrowed' treasures from House Torlyl's treasure room, I was able to find the merchant and secure the bush and the means to keep it alive. I had to buy a smaller bush than I liked, for a larger one would not have fit inside my satchel, but I knew that under my care it would grow, and produce more of those beautiful flowers, and fill my sanctuary with their gentle scent. After all, the dear things cannot help their origin.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Wed Sep 24, 2008 5:35 pm
Entry 3
From the desk of the Lair of the White Spider:
I feel so alive. I feel many different emotions trying to fight for dominance inside of me, none quite reaching the top. I can name a few of them: joy, pain, annoyance, hate. Those four seem to be the top contenders. But perhaps I had better start at the beginning.
Several days ago, I had found myself at a marketplace closer than I liked to the surface world. I was searching for some items that would help my roses to grow, or even some similar flowers. But as usual I was lured on a side quest by a dangling purse. I thought for certain that I had my quarry figured out, and I did. But I didn't count on the drow travelling with him.
I don't know why, but I seem constantly attracted to colorful things. Perhaps it is the way Matron Dilayne always insists on draping everything with gray, or the constant, featureless walls of the Underdark, but I have always loved color. And this drow was no exception. He was sprouting baubles, tattoos, and even feathers as though he was himself a trinket. My victim was one of a pair of guards escorting him around. It was easy enough to pull the purse, and even when they saw me and gave chase, it was easy to elude them. But as luck would have it, my getaway was thwarted by my crashing right into the one they had been protecting, who by the looks of him had only been following to see what the fuss was about.
That mistake turned out to be the greatest thing that has happened to me in a long time. It almost ended badly for me, but he intervened, and thanks to him I escaped a day inside a dungeon and found a day in a room that my sister would kill our mother to own, and I was able to converse with someone in a way I hadn't been able to in many years.
His name is Kyil, and he gave me an entirely new perspective on drow life. His is an entirely different life than what I've been taught is standard; despite being a male he has respect, he has luxuries, and he manages with apparent ease to please the female in charge, whom he calls Mistress. He didn't mention any downsides, but I know they're there. No one has a perfect life. We hear all the time about the troubles of the Gods; if Lolth cannot create a perfect world for herself, nobody can.
We spoke of many things, and shared a sweet drink that I might take pains to find before too long; the substance sweetening it, known as honey, is very tantalizing and sweet. He seemed rather eager to give me things, be they physical or material. Do not mistake my words; his intentions were not inclined in that particular direction; he was simply offering what he knew best to give, giving his profession. It made me uncomfortable at first, but I was able to accept the thought behind it.
He was good at listening, and I found myself confiding in him. He seemed genuinely concerned at my troubles, but mentioned none of his own, even when I asked. Still, it felt good to speak and not worry about your words being warped and carried to unfriendly ears.
It seemed as though our visit was over in minutes, and Kyil wanted to get me safely away before his mistress discovered my presence and became angry. It still makes me nervous thinking how much power this female has over my newfound friend, but I think his charisma is such that she will not harm him nor let any harm come to him. It is this thought that raises my hopes that I will have a chance to meet my new friend again.
It was with those thoughts that I returned home, the passing days doing nothing to diminish my euphoria at finding a friend at last. That was for when I returned home. I was immediately set upon by Matron Dilayne and Haellara, the former chastising me for being gone so long, and allowing the latter to test a new torturing spell on me as punishment. It allowed her to lash me with a cat-of-nine-tails dozens of times, leaving no mark, then with a muttered incantation, causing the wounds to open all at once. It was....one of her most painful she has discovered thus far.
She healed me of course; Dilayne would not let her do it otherwise, but she was deliberately sloppy, and as I slouched there, Dilayne rubbed proverbial salt in my wounds by informing me that a great celebration was to be announced in Lolth's honor. Every house in every city in the Underdark was to attend, and not to be outdone by anyone, I was required to appear with the rest of the family, with no room for arguement.
I made it here to write all of this. One small blessing is that since Haellara's magical torture still lingered a bit, it dissolved when I passed through the barrier. I shall act crippled for a few days more, just to be safe. But now I must stay close to home until this grand celebration is over. I hope I can survive being so close to the ones I hate and who hate me, but I hope that everyone will be too caught up in the event's coming to notice me. Who knows; perhaps I will see my friend there. We all must have something to hope for; for some it is all they have.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Mon Oct 06, 2008 9:32 pm
Entry, sorta.- A Thief's Day
I'm writing this one rather fragmented; I think it makes more sense this way. It sort of reflects the way my mind thinks most of the time.
I wake in darkness, the same as I fell asleep to. The air is stale with old incense and damp stone.
I rise and dress; it takes all I have not to sleep in my armor now that Haellara has discovered what fun sleeping drow can be.
I avoid the hall; I always prefer the kitchen when it comes to getting food, and the kitchen slaves know I am easier to please than most of my family. Bread and water or weak tea more than suffice; a thief cannot smell like spices or perfumed wine.
Normally I would be out of Undrek'Thoz and into the wilds, but I am restricted to the city, though I wonder just how long my sister can keep the potent tracking spell up. Perhaps I will test its limits later by seeing how close to the Glimmersea I can get. If I am gone even for a morning, it will be worth the pain and punishment.
I manage to sneak down to the treasure room without anyone seeing, although it always seems as though I have eyes on me wherever I go. Probably true, but I know the eyes are no match for the mystical wards around my sanctuary. I would love to take credit, but I wouldn't know an incantation from an inclination. Forgive my verbage; I have to practice that ever so often.
After going through the usual motions, I find myself in my saferoom. It has a good deal more things in it now; a few books, most of the stuff on the shelves is just plain paper; I like writing more than reading, though I really don't have anyone to write to anymore.
I've found enough glowing items to bathe the room in a comforting bluish-green glow. After experimenting with certain minerals, I've managed to develop a way to make my ordinary surface world roses glow when there is no light. Granted, they still need light to live, but at least now I do not have to constantly put up with that stingy light they must have' I can leave them in the dark, if just for a few hours.
I look after my roses and straighten up a little, then fish some coins out of my private stash and leave the room. I never get tired of watching the wards reset themselves in my wake.
If I leave the treasure room unnoticed, I leave the House with the confidence of the near-invisible. Once I am out of doors, I go to work.
I do have a method of choosing my victims. I will always try the lesser races first, such as goblins and bugbears; much easier by far, though the odds of coming across a rare treasure are slimmer. They are good for replenishing my supply of coins, but it is my own dark-skinned race thet holds the greater risks and the greater prizes.
Even then a method is applied. Believe it or not, guards can be the easiest. Many important drow like to set up decoys and carry their valuables where one would not immediately look for them. Guards are usually on the lookout for assassins, and my mildly flamboyant look discourages the idea right off that I might be one. Usually one nudge or bump is all it takes, and I walk off with a few more coins.
Of course, it isn't always that easy. More clever drow like to sabotage their purses and coins with anti-theft charms. Thus far I have come across ringing money, money that grows hot when it leaves its original purse, coins that turn to acid, even a purse that screams as though being murdered when it is taken off the owner's belt. Many of the stronger charms have a slightly detectable aura, but that is the only warning I get. If I am wrong, I throw the purse down and run; usually the resulting crowd scrambling for the dropped goods serves as a wonderful distraction that I use to escape.
Less often, I will try breaking into a House or an inn, the former taking a few day's preparation, depending on which House I choose. I tend to avoid the higher ranks and their formidalbe wards; lower Houses have more to lose and flimsier means of guarding it. Inns require almost no preparation at all; many of the drow who rent a room are either travelling or engaging in more.....need-driven activities. Either way, there are spoils to be had: the travelers have coins, the others trinkets to decorate their choice 'companions' with.
On a good day, I can accumulate a fair supply of trinkets and a good supply of coins. With travelers passing in and out every day, the warnings go unheeded and the pockets do not run dry.
When the crowds in the street begin to lessen, I know it is time to return home. Throughout the day I have fed my satchel with coins and trinkets, and even now were I to be stopped and searched, I would be found guiltless.
I try once more to avoid my siblings and the matron mother. At this hour it is harder to avoid them, as they are more likely to be about doing secretive things or looking for someone to torment. Being the proverbial runt, I am the easiest and most convenient if no servants are around. I don't mind so much if my brothers catch me; all they know is fighting, and their many weapons and bits of armor make enough of a racket to be heard clear across Brudag.
It's the females I have to watch out for. Quiet as a pair of driders, and easily more formidable. Matron Dilayne is actually the lesser worry for me; my only concern is that one day she will look at me, and it will occur to her that she hasn't seen my ears since before Triellyn was banished, and demand that I lower my hood.
Though my sister Haellara thinks I merely wear it out of sentiment, that isn't what makes her dangerous. She has a natural talent for sorcery and she is forever discovering new and potent spells of torture and manipulation. Matron Dilayne has told her that she is free to try them all out on us (me and my brothers) so long as no permanent harm comes to us. She is forever choosing me, and I think that she thinks that because I am a bit of a disappointment to my Matron and my House, she has the freedom to take more liberties with me than with my brothers.
Luckily I do not cross paths with her this day, and save for one jittery servant, I make it to the Treasure room with no one the wiser.
I enter my sanctuary once more, and there on the floor are the daily spoils, transported there by my satchel and waiting for my eyes to observe them and my hands to place them where they need to be.
I select a few of the more intricate pieces of jewelry and find a spot for each one. The coins I am not so selective with, and grab a handful to put away for a time when I might need them. The rest I shove into an ordinary bag and walk out of the room with it slung over my shoulder. Once I reenter the Treasure room, I empty the bag into a random coin pile and leave without a backward glance.
Thus is my day, full of risks and dangers, and yet infinitely boring. I long for the day when I can once more don my armor (Undrek'Thoz is not particularly kind to those who travel about with quantities of metal) and leave my city behind for a time. I will travel back to the Glimmersea, where my boat is waiting to carry me to new places, new fields with fresher pockets to pick and more things to buy fairly (just because I am a thief by profession doesn't mean I steal everything). And there's always information, and my hoping that some of that information will drift my way and supply the answers I seek so desperately.
And now to bed, in the same dark room, which might as well be a stranger's for as often as I have slept there. I let my mind quiet down, and long for the day when word will come of the celebration's cancellation, and I will be free once more, or as free as someone like me can be.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
