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 Posted: Thu Jan 08, 2009 9:51 pm
~~~~~Under Construction~~~~~
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Posted: Fri Jan 23, 2009 8:40 pm
~~~~~Navigation~~~~~ Introduction
Navigation
Stats
Personal History
Inventory & Playroom
Comrades and Future Toys
Familiars and Aides
Role Play Links
Likenesses
Journal Entries
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Posted: Fri Jan 23, 2009 8:43 pm
~~~~~Stats~~~~~ Name: Haellara Torlyl
Age: What did you have in mind? wink
Gender: Female
Height: 5'5
Weight: 150
Stage: Ilharess
House: House Torlyl
Personality: Cruel, heartless and sadistic. She loves to cause physical harm through torture and takes an especial delight in personalized mind games and making others so frightened that they become barely coherent. She thinks of males as being lower than worms and put in the Underdark solely for the purpose of serving the females in any way they can, be they servant, sex toy, or lab rat. She has a tendency to lose her temper easily, since she doesn't have much patience. She especially loves to wreak her havoc on her younger brother Mikaril, mainly because he puts up the least amount of fight and being the only male in the house with more brain than brawn, he is open to many more variations of pain and suffering. She has marvelous skill with magic and potion-making, and never hesitates to use either in any way she sees fit.
Likes: Power, blood, magic, causing pain, chemistry, sharp objects, asserting authority.
Dislikes: Insubordination, free-thinking males, blasphemy, covering up.
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Posted: Fri Jan 23, 2009 8:48 pm
~~~~~Personal History~~~~~
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Posted: Fri Jan 23, 2009 8:51 pm
~~~~~Inventory & Playroom~~~~~ Magic Pendants:
Ever the one for wearing several items of jewelry no matter how they look, Haellara always has these three particular pendants upon her person, each emanating a different spell.
Lower: The lowest and most powerful pendant upon her chest is in the shape of a winged heart with a knife running it through. The spell attached to this is her primary form of defense, but it also doubles as a particularly nasty offensive spell. Up to 5 times per day, should any assailant attempt to harm her with either weaponry or spells weaker than the charm has, not only will the attack be deterred, but it will turn about and be inflicted upon the attacker. Therefore, if an assassin tried to stab her in the back with a dagger, he would meet a solid resistance, and his back would immediately open in the spot he had ventured to stab her at. (Though it has no effect on purely physical attacks, such as pressure points)
Middle: The middle pendant is in a shape vaguely reminiscent of the surface sun, indicating heat and flame. She discovered early on that fire and heat were a wonderful means of torture, and it could be used so many different ways. She has commited several of her favorites to memory and uses the sun-shaped pendant to enhance their power and increase their accuracy.
Higher: The highest pendant around her neck, though the least-remarkable, has a very useful spell infused therein. It contains a spell that causes it to vibrate if anyone speaking directly to her is telling a lie. Half-truths enable it to merely change color; for those she must rely on either her ability to glance discreetly down at her chest to note the color, or the look of surprise on the liar's face when it happens.
Weapon:
Her weapon is a custom made version of a tool humans used at one point to snag the clothes of escaping thieves as they tried to flee. Hers is modified with a far more sinister (and painful) use in mind; the curved spikes are ideal for thrusting into an opponent's side and coming away with goodly amounts of flesh. The pole it rests on is retractable, so she can use it both for long distance and close combat.
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Posted: Fri Jan 23, 2009 8:55 pm
~~~~~Comrades and Future Toys~~~~~ Comrades
Nuumia- A young boy I happened upon by chance and have high hopes for. All I am sure of is that Lolth has some strange plan for him, and his desire to only serve me is the best reward the Goddess has ever given me. Who knows; as he grows, he might make an exceptional patron.
Future Toys
Mikaril Torlyl- The youngest brother of my house; a weak-minded yet rebellious male who seems to think that he is entitled to things like 'privacy' and 'freedom'. As soon as he returns from the wilds, I fully intend to set him straight.
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Posted: Fri Jan 23, 2009 8:59 pm
~~~~~Familiars and Aides~~~~~
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Posted: Fri Jan 23, 2009 9:06 pm
~~~~~RP Links~~~~~ Don't You Wanna Cuddle Me? (Haellara & Nuumia) ~Finished~Haellara's first venture out of the House since her rise to Matron Mother has her crossing paths with an unusual male. (1 of 5)
An Offer Taken (Haellara & Shrisin)
Haellara plays surprise host to another female from out of the city.
Into the Demons Den (Haellara, Nuumia, Kyil & Mikaril) ~Finished~
Haellara captures her brother and his best friend and indulges in a period of torture, mind games, and overall exercising her role as matron. (2 of 5)
A Bride, A Groom, and.......an Escape? oO (Same as the cast above)
As Haellara takes a new patron, all of her savage fun comes crashing down as her brother and his friend disrupt the reception and conduct a daring escape. (3 of 5)
I Will Make It Better (Same again)
Left helpless and mentally shredded by a love potion, this is Haellara's darkest hour. Will her new patron serve to protect her, or will she never have a chance to awaken from her bout with false love? (4 of 5)
Loves Twisted Path (Haellara, Nuumia and Adinas)
Nuumia helps Haellara find her way back to the real world, rediscovering who she was, and growing her ranks, though not in the way she expected. (5 of 5)
Mother and Son (Haellara and Adinas)
Haellara and her Lolth-given son have a little chat about protection and the duties she would like him to take on.
Its a What? Im sorry...... (Haellara, Nuumia and Xunrak)
Haellara finally gives birth to.......a male. XD
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Posted: Fri Jan 23, 2009 9:09 pm
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Posted: Tue Jan 27, 2009 10:02 pm
~~~~~Ascension~~~~~ It was as silent as death inside House Torlyl, the slumbering hour robbed the corridors of sound and activity, and the weight of silence blanketed every inch like a tangible shroud. The servants had retired to their sleeping quarters, the nobles to their own rooms lavished with the comforts they were entitled to, those unlucky enough to serve as sport for said nobles had found a moment of peace in their constricted worlds of pain and madness, and even the guards posted at their various stations nodded their heads on occasion.
But even if the guards had been fully alert, none of them would have paid much heed to the only figure gracing the halls at such an hour. Silent as a spider inching along the wall, Haellara Torlyl strolled gracefully through the gray corridors, her deep blue robe barely brushing the hard stone floor. Being a noble, and the only daughter of House Torlyl to boot, no one would dare question her unspoken reason for being up and about at such an hour, and no one would likely ask. Everyone knew of the female's favorite pasttime; they had heard the screams and smelled the pungeant odors drifting out from under the door to the torture chamber she fondly referred to as her 'playroom'. No one had any wish to be a part of the goings-on in there, unless they were an absolute fool.
And for once, Haellara had no desire to run into such a fool. She had something else on her mind besides play; something very important that required all of the concentration she had. Her right hand strayed down to her robe-covered thigh, feeling the reassuring bump that was nestled inside an inner pocket. Much as she knew the mysterious lump was going nowhere, it still gave her a measure of comfort knowing it was still there.
Her pace slowed as she spotted the pair of doors she had known she would come across eventually. They were decorated with a menacing pair of spitting spiders, one gigantic relief on each door, front legs poised and gigantic fangs slightly parted, ready to spray forth its venomous toxin. Filling up every nook that the spiders did not take up were various bits of webbing, stray cobwebs looking light enough to be mere scratches on the door, pulsating with the faintest of glows. They looked almost as though they had been added as an afterthought, but Haellara knew better. She knew that they were a part of the enchantment placed upon the door to deter intruders and those like her who had dire things planned for the occupant within. Foolish mother, Haellara thought, thinking this simple spell would suffice. Had you posted guards as well, I might have stood less of a chance.
It seemed to her that her mother, Matron Dilayne, had been making many such foolish choices as of late. Her latest, though it was by no means her worst, had been to allow her miserable failure of a youngest son to leave the city after 'accidentally' killing off a male from the second highest house in Undrek'Thoz. Haellara had been furious, not because of the killing itself, but because not only had her youngest brother and incidentally her favorite plaything done something she had wanted to do, with the aid of careful planning and the nurturing of her talent, with seeming sheer dumb luck, but now her stupid mother, without so much as a reprimanding flick of her snake whip as punishment for being so careless, had sent him out of the city and thus out of her reach, more than likely never to return. That made two males that had been sent away on her watch, and though they were only males, they were nobles that House Torlyl should not have had to lose. She still remembered the confrontation she and her mother had had later on that day, when it had been far too late to bring her wayward brother back.
"Why did you send him away? We could have hidden him somehow until suspicion was lifted!"
"Hidden him? Who do you think he trifled with; some lower house or the son of a hovel-dweller? Open your ears, child; he killed a noble son of the second house. There is a reason that for the time being, they are second and we are not. They can and will employ means of scrying and uncovering that we cannot hope to touch. At the very least with him out of the city, and with them undoubtedly focusing on the city itself first and foremost, he stands a better chance of not getting his sorry thieving hide caught and disgracing out House."
"It could have been managed; I've sensed pockets all around our House where my magic has trouble penetrating; perhaps we could find a spot there to-"
"That would take time we do not have, and are we to be sure that there are pockets at all and that your magic isn't just inadequate and misused?"
Fighting to control her shaking hands as she went through a complex weave of motions, Haellara gnashed her teeth at the memory, her dark lips involuntarily forming the next three words.
"You speak foolishness. You know more than anyone how my talent in magic has grown. I've become stronger and more powerful than those idiots at the academy could ever have hoped to teach me. How do you expect us to rise above our current rank if you refuse to let me use my talent to the fullest extent and thereby pushing its limits and making it even stronger? Why must you hide both our power and our flaws as though they were the same? How will anyone come to fear and respect the name of House Torlyl when its matron is content to hide in her throne room and take no risks?"
She remembered her mother rising from her seat, fury burning white-hot in her face like the inner part of a candle flame. "Were you not my only daughter, I would cut your serpent's tongue from your mouth for speaking to me like that. Such deeds are no good to a House if they are tied to that House and are therefore wiped out because of it. Even your brother knew that as I sent him away. I am surprised that out of all my children, you would have trouble understanding such a simple concept, and one that you both learned so early on."
Haellara's eyes had flashed with anger, the yellow in her eyes making her twin red orbs seem like a pair of Hell flames. "I am NOTHING like that simpleminded weakling! It was stupid luck that got him that kill, nothing else, and it'll probably be the best moment of his life. I have so much more in my future, and by Lolth, I intend to rise up and seize it, not cower here like some goblin's freshly-birthed whelp!!" With that, Haellara had whirled around and stormed out of the throne room, ignoring her mother's outraged demands that she return. As far as she was concerned, her mother's time was over, and her time was now. She knew with absolute certainty that given the chance, she would be twice the matron mother that Dilayne ever was.
After that fateful arguement, neither female had spoken about it, though Matron Dilayne had seemed more on her guard than before. She had begun to wear more objects that Haellara suspected had magical defensive enchantments, and even now, with this door to her sleeping chambers, where guards had once sufficed, she now had a strong spell interwoven into the door that should anyone touch it while she was asleep, the twin spiders would spring to life enough to spray two jets of deadly venom upon the offender, while the scratches of webbing ensured that the door continued to hold firm.
But one thing that Haellara had counted on was that while spiders could and did attack the unworthy among drow, those in the Spider Queen's favor could use her symbolic minions to aid them in their advancements and their bringing about of chaos. So it was when after weeks of diligent prayer and the offering of her very best sacrifices and artful tortures, Lolth had finally shown her that her time had come, and it was in the best interest of chaos that she succeed. She had exhausted herself in finding out this truth, and in her excitement she needed only a day to rest and prepare.
Now here she was, at the very door to her mother's quarters, facing the pair of spider carvings. Her finger-movements at their peak, she licked her dry lips, brought both of her index fingers up and touched them to her mouth, feeling the ebony skin moisten, and with a few whispered arcane words, she touched a finger to the very center of each spider's gigantic maw. The effect was instantaneous; the spiders reared up inside their wooden prison, but instead of attacking the intruder they saw before them, they turned their heads and spat upon the door itself, the acidic venom eating away at the slender web designs and leaving only smoothness in their place. The stuff hissed slightly as it spread through the door like ink, seeking evey corner and consuming every last strand.
When the last bit of webbing was gone, Haellara reached out and carefully turned the handle. The door slid open without a sound, and she quickly slipped inside and shut the door behind her. Inside, the lavishly furnished room was shrouded in the same darkness as the corridors outside, and focusing her infra-red eyes to the left corner, Haellara could just make out the form of a large bed, where a single source of warmth lay, moving ever so slightly in peaceful slumber. Feeling once more for the bulge in her pocket, Haellara glided up to her mother's bedside like a shadow, parting the gauze-like curtains draped over the side and staring down with glowing eyes at the figure of Matron Dilayne, covered in blankets, her slightly yellowing hair splayed all over the pillow. Staring down at her mother, Haellara couldn't help but remember her rather coddling ways, how she had been treated with such reverence, as an only daughter could, and given the best of everything, as an only daughter was entitled. Her mother had taught her all she needed to know, and anything she had asked for, she had received.....well, nearly everything. Should she then feel something for this decrepit old fool, who had treasured her so? Maybe, but in that moment her wonderful logic whispered sweetly in her ear. A drow seeks only to better themselves, House secondly. If she were given the same opportunity, she would sacrifice you to save herself. She should expect nothing less from you, her daughter.
Smiling at her own clever way of seeing things, Haellara fixed her eyes on the gentle rise of her mother's chest and began once more to wave her long fingers and murmer under her breath. Paralysis set in with a jolt, and Matron Dilayne's eyes flew open in surprise before they became unable to close, staring in horror at the figure beside her bed. Still smiling, Haellara reached into the folds of her robe and drew out the cause of the mysterious lump; a dry and withered mushroom. Matron Dilayne's eyes seemed to open a little wider, and she made tiny, panicked noises deep in her frozen throat.
One of Haellara's favorite and most nototrious tools of her hobby were the dreaded mushrooms she fondly called 'revivers'. When she had first heard of them, she had gone through her own personal Hell to get a hold of the spores, and had nurtured them well with magic until she had a sizeable garden. These mushrooms, when placed on an adversary's tongue, would be nourished by the saliva, and rapidly take root, sending its tendrils down the throat until it reached the heart, where it wrapped the organ in a tight embrace until it ceased to beat. The mushroom would then send forth its cap, either a pale red or a bright pink, signaling the adversary's death. She called them revivers because her main use for the plants was to bring back a victim from the brink of unconsciousness; she would place one into the mouth and wait until the very last minute before touching the budding cap and using a minor spell to incinerate the musroom, allowing the roots to carry the shock deep into the victim's body, thus reviving them for another round of 'play'. Quicker and infinitely more fun than smelling salts.
But this was not play, and she had no intention of stopping the probing of the plant as it did the one thing it had been grown to do. Haellara reached out with her hand and forced Matron Dilayne's mouth open, ignoring the obvious strains coming from the hapless drow's jaw, until her mouth was wide enough to accomodate the withered plant. It sprang to life almost at once as Haellara carefully placed it on the center of the tongue, snake-like roots vanishing down the throat with no more room for air. Matron Dilayne made more strained noises, and Haellara reached out to put a long-nailed hand upon her mother's forehead. "Shhh," she soothed, "It's alright. Your House is in good hands." She saw her mother's eyes beginning to cloud, though they still remained open. She smiled an almost loving smile, the last thing her mother was sure to see. "Do give my regards to the Goddess." It was suddenly quieter than before in the chamber, and out of Matron Dilayne's mouth a bright pink mushroom cap poked out. The Matron Mother was dead.
Haellara reached out her slender hand, index finger poised, and lightly touched the cap of the hideously pink mushroom. With a softly whispered incantation and fingering her sun-shaped pendant, the plant shuddered once and then turned to ash, the merest cloud of dust billowing forth from the dead matron's mouth. Leaning in close, Haellara gently blew the remnants of ash from her mother's open mouth, the last bit of evidence, claimed by the air. With a smile that stopped short at her cruel, yellow-tinged eyes, the new matron mother turned and withdrew soundlessly from the chamber, resealing the door behind her and leaving the rapidly cooling corpse alone, to be discovered the next morning. She of course would humbly assume the role of matron mother, no questions asked, and anyone with half an orc-brain would know that she had somehow brought such a thing about, but having that much of a brain, they would know the futility of finding out more, to say nothing of the punishment awaiting them should they try.
One's end is another's beginning.
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Posted: Tue Feb 24, 2009 10:41 pm
~~~~~Journal Entries~~~~~
I never intended to make it a habit of writing my innermost thoughts down in some book to be pried open eventually and read by Goddess knows whose eyes, but now that I have devised a way to make the pages blank to all save the writer, I feel more secure now, and perhaps I might find a measure of solace in its pages, or maybe just a place to brag, seeing as my most memorable endeavors are doubtless only seen by our fair Goddess.
I suppose I ought to now disclose something meaningful here, about my thoughts and feelings, little bits and pieces of revelation that come to mind. Right. As though I have the patience to let my mind collect such drivel and hold it like a bucket of stagnant water. I have to be constantly vigilant and focused, doubly so now that I am a matron mother. The very position invites neverending peril and as many enemies as there are drops in the Glimmersea. Running a house is much more tiring than I had previously thought; servants to keep in line, complaints to see to, punishments to mete out, contacts to be established, partnerships to be considered, and keeping my fellow nobles, my brothers, from conspiring together against me or from killing each other.
Such is the boring life of a matron, but I find that despite all of that, I still have plenty of time for my one true passion. Ever since I was little, I had found torture fascinating. I had seen my mother do it a few times, and once I was allowed to help, it was a whole new experience for me; the feel of having someone's very life so thoroughly within your grasp, seeing the terror in their eyes as they looked at you, the tormentor, trying to guess what you were going to do next. It was a kind of power I became instantly hooked on, and soon I was coming more and more often to the House's torture chamber, often with an unwilling playmate in tow. I learned easily that if the tormented didn't fit on the rack, it was easy enough to make them fit; arms dislocated so very easily, and popped knees only added to the agony. Tying them tightly down ensured their helplessness, and then it was all up to me.
When I first started out, I had only a little magic at my disposal, still being taught in the ways of sorcery. Though I love my Goddess, I found that I preferred the magic arts as opposed to the priesthood; I myself do not fully understand why. I suppose not all followers of our Goddess are destined to be priestesses; myself I excelled at the arcane, and I suppose that was why I accepted it more readily.
But as I said before, I had little magic, so my exploits with my prisoners were mainly chemical in nature; nightmare paint, for instance, which when smeared on the chest subjects the prisoner to about 5 minutes of pure, unrelenting, hallucinogenic terror. Acids were another I was fond of, though it was a bit hard to keep under control. I began to experiment with the various tools at my disposal, and soon I was finding flaws in the ancient blood and rust-covered things and began building my own tools.
As my skill with magic improved, I began to use it more often in my torturing; I discovered a way to put a specific spell of containment around a victim, flog him silly with a cat of nine tails, and remove the spell, causing all of the wounds to open at once. Such a display! Like a secret message blossoming to life on a parchment when the proper spell is spoken, although I knew that the oozing welts spoke a language of unbearable pain. Another I learned much later was a strong spell designed to raise the blood temperature of a victim. It may not sound like much, but thinking that, you must not have seen the reaction it can bring about. The beads of sweat coming forth and making little rivulets down a shiny ebony-skinned body, the veins and arteries as they stood out like cords, struggling to push the rapidly heating blood to the heart, which itself beats grotesquely hard against the chest in an effort to pass its liquid on. If I let it linger just a moment longer, you can almost see the miniscule bubbles as the blood begins to boil, and I can either let it go on until the victim perishes in an eye-searing cloud of intense heat, or withdraw my hand and allow the blood to cool once more.
But I do not always use spells. My torture chamber, my playroom, is now equipped with many various tools, most of them built by myself, and many shelves of potions, gases, acids, and elixirs. The tools vary greatly, from a set of needles that I stick beneath the nails of a victim's toes, all the way to the spider adorning the top, to a complex-looking clamp designed to hold a victim's hand and use five much smaller clamps to hold fast the cuticles and proceed to pull them backwards, inch by invigorating inch. I have razor-sharp spiked balls that I place in a victim's mouth and silently dare them to relax their jaws for an instant. I have spiders, centipedes, and even a strange sort of worm that when touched to skin feels like little tongues of fire (such decorative markings they leave!), and many other tools at my disposal that I gladly use. Not one thing is neglected; every item is my creation and I use them to the fullest of my ability.
Victims can vary depending on my current fetish. A goblin or other lesser creature will suffice if nothing else can be found, but I prefer leaner, softer creatures, like other drow, and especially surface elves. I aquire those for special occasions, and I ensure that theirs is the most unbearable of tortures, and therefore the sweetest to Lolth. Some prefer to sacrifice perfect beings; myself I happen to find a sweet irony in torturing and sacrificing deformed beings. They had probably been shunned all their lives, a waste of skin and space that would amount to nothing. By using them as offerings to please the Goddess, and by once more taking especial care to make it worthwhile, it would undoubtedly be the crowning achievement in their miserable lives; in a way, I do the wretched things a favor.
But my absolute favorite victim was a drow, like myself. Surface elves are expressive, and their pain is easy to become intoxicated on, but there is something about the way blood beads on ebony skin, the way terror shines bright in glowing red eyes. Lolth does enjoy drow sacrifices, though this one would not have given her much pleasure. He was more for the sake of me; someone I could enjoy tormenting and relish holding his life in my hands on a daily basis. Or as much as I could; because this weakling happened to be my brother, I was not allowed to kill him nor cause any lasting harm to him, hence the presence of elixirs. It felt disheartening sometimes, like painting a picture and always having to erase what you have done regardless of how much you like it.
But now my mother is dead, and with it that damnable rule. I have other brothers I could exercise my talents on, but they do not interest me with their burly muscles and their training to ignore pain. I miss the feel of softer skin shuddering at the touch of my nails, running my fingers through closely cropped, blood-matted hair, maiming slender hands, tying up almost dainty wrists....oh Goddess! I pray that I may find him soon. I promise you with every breath I take, every fiber of my being, that when I do catch him, he will become the very best offering I have ever given you, and if he isn't, may I be thrown into the ball of fire that scorches the surface, and may carrion-feeders feast upon me forever.
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Posted: Wed Apr 15, 2009 8:06 pm
I have had a most unusual day.
Bear in mind, it was not my intention, though I had planned on a sacrifice later that day. First, I needed to resupply my spell components, a tedious task that was only made interesting by the thought of possibly meeting some previous contacts that my mother had used to strengthen her....MY house. I was curious to see what strengths could be found in Brudag, the part of Undrek'Thoz infamous for its unusual calm. I had honestly set out expecting to find very little; how very like the Goddess to turn a boring hunt for dusts and rocks into a means to present me with a most marvelous gift for my service to her.
I found myself drawn to a caravan, not because of anything special; if memory serves it was one of the more worn out and pitiful wagons. What drew me to it was the young male dancing about like a drink-addled idiot atop the caravan's roof. He was a tiny little thing, but he stood out by way of his black eyes and even blacker hair. Such coloration was very rare in the Underdark, and I have always had a spot for the rare and the valuable. What also made him stand out was the carefree way he went about his way, as though he had somehow retained and even nurtured that small shred of innocence that every child is born with and is eventually beaten out of them at an early age. Add the odd clothes he wore and it made him downright charming.
I made an excuse to linger there by pretending to be interested in the caravan's sorry wares, but in reality hoping to discover a means to buy the little one. Before I could come up with something, the boy provided a perfect excuse by causing a scene that even though I have seen male buttocks many, many times, I will not soon forget. Feigning outrage at the shopkeeper's careless profanity (and he was lucky to get merely that from me) I demanded that he release the boy to me as compensation. Being a stupid male and I a matron mother, there was no objection. I could definitely get used to this level of power.
I had thought at first that the little one, who's name was Nuumia, had been acting the fool all this time to appear harmless and therefore remain unharmed, but as I made small conversation and heard his odd replies, it became clear to me that he had fallen victim to some sort of spell, one strong enough to repress most of his memories. Infinitely curious, I took the trouble to release those memories by means of a powerful potion; it caused him great pain, but I felt the reward made it entirely worth it. I discovered that he had been part of a house once, had survived what should have been a soul-releasing sacrifice in Lolth's name, and that he had ruthlessly killed a priestess. It seemed hard to believe; such an innocent young thing, but I had to remind myself that he was first and foremost a drow, and his actions ought not to have surprised me.
But to have survived as a sacrifice to the Spider Queen herself? That was completely unheard of! And then to have killed a priestess, cutting her open like a boned fish, as though she were a mere street urchin falling victim to a thief's blade! I sensed then that there was something unusual about this drow, male though he may be. I thought that perhaps Lolth had touched him in a special way, and why not? She was the Goddess of chaos after all, and what better way to cause mayhem than to bestow her gifts on a mere male, one no one would ever suspect? I felt as though a marvelous plaything had just fallen out of the Abyss to land at my feet. And to add to the absolute perfection, Nuumia believed my story of someone poisoning his drink and causing his sudden resurge of memories, and pledged himself to me, body and soul.
Granted, I will have to ensure that he never finds out just who it was that 'poisoned' his drink, but I feel confident enough that I can keep him in the dark about that trivial little detail. Now I have a male who I must admit is well on the way to becoming patron material, once he has had some good experience, and I have assigned him to his first task; to watch for my brother around Undrek'Thoz; according to my ability to scry his general area, he seems to be heading back toward the city. Foolish male; he shall see in Nuumia what he should have become instead of the sentimental idiot he will be all the way to the rack.
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Posted: Sun Jun 07, 2009 1:27 pm
I find myself slightly abased as I write here this evening. I mentioned before that I have now come upon a rare gift in the form of a Lolth-touched male, and that I was blessed indeed to have such a male pledge himself to me. But I find myself contantly forgetting to look beyond the delicate features, the wide, innocent-looking eyes, and the small, slender stature. One would think that my witnessing his ruthless slaughtering of a priestess would serve to remind me just what it is this boy is capable of, but too often I find the edge of a condescending smile upon my lips as I look at him, ready to admonish him like a child half his age. He cannot help his appearance, but I ought to be able to help my not getting past it time and again.
This driving home of the truth came to me as I had set him on his merry way one evening, when he was not keeping constant vigilance over the gates for Mika; I sensed he was a ways away yet, and there was another matter at hand that I thought could be addressed in the meantime. Nuumia had often expressed to me his desire to serve me as a loyal and willing patron, but expressed doubt in his ability to please in the bedroom, having had next to no proper experience. I am certain that aided me in assuming his more docile and innocent side was still predominant, and I coyly suggested that he make use of one of the many places in Undrek'Thoz where females catered to the 'needs' of males; such places were filled with ones who would, for a price, be more than happy to show him just how he could satisfy me in the dark hours when the rest of the house was silent.
Ever eager to please, he did go to one of those houses, though I made certain that before the opportunity arose for him to do so, I was able to implant a device upon him where I could follow his goings-on by means of scrying. One could not be too careful in such places; if any real harm came to my new toy, I was ready to ensure that the place had catered to its last over-zealous male. I had a moment of amusement at the boy's expense as I watched him dilly-dally in front of the building, taking stoically the remarks that drifted around him concerning his questionable strength. Males, I remember thinking in spite of my constantly wondering the same thing of Nuumia; present company excluded, it's a wonder any of them survive infancy.
I watched him finally enter, and wouldn't you know it; he managed to attract one of the most buxomly of the females in the establishment. I myself could almost smell the perfume the wench had marinated herself in, and what I'm sure was supposed to be a sensual smile looked as though it would be better suited on a cave angler. Still, if she was what it took for Nuumia to gain experience, well.....so it must be. But I was already glad of the foresight to give myself a means to scry on Nuumia; sometimes these establishements could prove as perilous as the wilds, maybe even a little more so. I allowed herself a laugh at the crude manner of the male at the counter, though it was short-lived when I saw just how much gold he had demanded for a time with his little pet. That whore was worth less than half of that, endowed or not! I remember thinking that if this encounter did not go as planned, I was to pick the next place for him to try.
But as I watched the evening unfold, I was reconsidering my previous judgement of the female. Crude as she was, she did seem to know each and every possible situation a patron might find himself in, and in spite of Nuumia's continued protests and exclamations, she continued with a firm hand. I had taken many males in my short life, but I did not often consider strapping them down; I usually prefer it if they are so fully enamored that they do not put up a fight. Still, it was just as well with this one; after all of this, Nuumia will discover my own method and will probably think me gentle. I knew those thick, over-perfumed rothe-kin were good for something. They ought to be, after making themselves so low in society, their stink certainly reaching the nose of even Lolth herself.
I continued to watch the spectacle of the two, the female so large in comparison to Nuumia that it looked for an instant as though he might actually disappear into her body like one ooze absorbed by another. It seemed as though Nuumia was thinking the same way, and as the female expressed her outrage, I heard him retort with a comparison to a rothe and her own a**. My eyes nearly left my sockets, and I felt a jolt of mixed emotions; shock at Nuumia's impudence surely, but more a measure of pride at being defended so by the little one. At least it was clear that even surrounded by females whom other males would kill to spend a night with, he had eyes only for me. I knew he would not insult me the way he just had his 'tutor', so it bothered me little, though I was a touch concerned about the female's reaction; doubtless she was not used to being compared to a rothe.
In this I was right. I watched with concern and amusement at the struggle that ensued; her trying to pummel him while he slipped about like an eel and feigned being winded just so he could strike back and catch her unawares. The fight seemed to last only a minute or two, and then Nuumia was subdued, tied to the bed, and the female was......getting dressed? This took me by surprise at first; was she going to leave him there? So unprofessional! But then I saw her with a tool, and I found myself biting my lip. So that was how it was going to be; she wasn't able to teach him the pleasure, and so she was opting to teach him the pain. Not exactly the lesson I had been hoping for Nuumia, but it would still do him some good, so long as she did not get carried away. As much as it galled me to come to the rescue of a male, Nuumia was still special and I readied myself to step in should it seem as though things were spiraling out of control.
But as blow after blow fell upon the young male's lean form, and he neither cried out nor shed any tears, I found myself growing more and more agitated. Stubborness was one thing I utterly despised in a male, and seeing Nuumia just laying there are taking it brought forth images of my own. For a few seconds, I was the female, using my tool upon another form before me, tied down and helpless. My victim was taller than Nuumia, though nearly just as wiry, and his close-cropped white hair fell into his face and partially covered his infuriatingly tear-free crimson eyes. "Why??!" I heard myself shout, "Why do you just sit there!!? Cry! Beg for mercy!! Scream my name!!!" So long it would be before any tears came, any whimpering reaching her ears. Stubborn males! Why did they have to hide their obvious weakness? What the Hell did any of them have to be proud of!?
I watched the rest of Nuumia's punishment with clenched fists and gritted teeth, still unsure whether to admire his stubborness or be angered by it. When the last lash had fallen, and the proprieter had walked in and informed them that their session was up, I watched the female leave and focused on Nuumia. He looked awfully tender; I told myself that I would have a healing potion ready for him when he returned; hopefully he would not think to try another house right after this. I didn't know what he had learned, or if he had learned anything; I would be ready to drill him as soon as he walked in; maybe use the potion as incentive to tell the truth, though I doubted that I would need to do so. Hopefully he had learned at least of one such price to pay for stubborness toward a female.
But instead of following the whore as she had left, I saw Nuumia cross over to the toy chest, and my eyes widened once more as I watched him carefully and methodically poison everything contained within. If any of that was used, it would be devastating to the female, if not to the whole establishment! And Nuumia was of yet still unclaimed by any house; there would be no tracing him if they suspected him. I actually felt a spasm of fear; I had seen such an expression on Nuumia before; when he had been hunched over the slain priestess, covered in blood. At that moment, I did not recognize the young male that I had taken in out of curiousity. I saw a cold, calculating male, crafty beyond his years and unhesitant to mete out revenge when he had been wronged. No trace of the innocent child who had followed me from the caravan, enquiring about chocolate and plans for the day.
I was still subdued when he finally did return; I was quick to offer more suggestions along with the healing potion. I would not usually put so much bother into a male, but Nuumia was different, and I am determined to make it work somehow. That overstuffed rothe of a female probably had no idea of just who she had had in her little bedroom that night, and if the poison that Nuumia had used was at all potent, she never would.
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Posted: Sun Jun 07, 2009 10:22 pm
Were you able to understand me at all, journal, I would probably apologize for not having adorned your pages with my script for such a long time. But you are not, and so I won't, though I will happily explain my absence.
I have been walking on air for these past several fortnights, and my days have become infinitely more fulfilling since. I had been keeping an eye out for so long, sensing the presence getting nearer, though still unsure as to when. When Nuumia had come to me one day with blood on his arm and glossed eyes, I had merely assumed he had run into trouble at his post. But when he had excitedly told me that the one I had been waiting for for so long had finally come, I was beside myself with delight. After all this time, watching, waiting, hoping that one day some blind instinct might lead him here, my brother had come home. And what a reception I had planned for him!
I must now take a short moment to tell you of my newest playroom installment. It was a gift actually, from the supplier of the instruments that my mother had purcahsed to serve her in the torture chamber. Doubtless they had noticed my house's lack of custom, since I prefer my own hamdmade tools to the bulky things they sell for outrageous sums, and sought to honor my recent ascension to matron by giving me this remarkable device. It is a slab of metal with barbed hooks scattered about on one side, a dozen at least. On the smooth side, there is a hole where a tube can be inserted, and once you 'secure' this device to whomever you choose, any pain inflicted on them will be magically transformed into a liquid state, able to be used in a number of ways, from a drug to a component, to even a drink to further advance the torture. I had decided to secure it to the rack, the place I was certain my brother would spend his final days on. I had tested the device on a goblin once I had installed it, and I even tried a drop of the pain that it had produced before dying. Ghastly stuff; it reminds me of the thick syrup Dilayne used to give me for ague, but with the burning sensation somewhere between alcohol and lava. But I hear wondrous things about its potency, and I was so thrilled to finally be able to have an indefinite source of it.
I was in for even more wonderful surprises when I sent my 'escort' out to bring Mika home, and they returned with not one, but two males. Apparently Mika had picked up a stray in his travels; a fetching, soft thing with pink eyes, dressed in female's clothes. His name was Kyil, and he apparently fancied himself Mika's trusted and devoted servant. It was so laughable, and so odd; servants should be willing to change loyalties at the drop of a hat when the odds were against their former masters and mistresses; why stay when it only promised pain and suffering? It seemed like a no-brainer to me, but I guess Kyil did not see it this way. No matter; he was a puzzle that had come along for the ride, and I was more than happy to put some effort into solving it.
I wasted no time in separating the two, and the systematic breaking began. For Mikaril it was more physical pain. Aside from the new addition to the rack that I intended for him to stay attached to indefinitely, I used so much on him day after day. Fire slugs, siphoning poles, needles, spike balls, and so much more. Arms were dislocated, ribs broken, eardrums blown, fingers snapped, and always it ended with his consuming a vial of the liquid pain that had come from his very own body, to be reinserted and at times even replacing itself, for swallowing such an amount was surely the equivalent of swallowing acid, with all of the burning but none of the actual eating away. The days were glorious, and filled with such fun; every day brought a new torture, a new game, and in my savage glee I could have drunk his blood like fine wine, tainted with anguish as it was, become aroused by his screams, intoxicated at the soft touch of his skin, broken or whole, and happily lost in his terror-filled eyes.
For Kyil, I had something else in mind. At first, when I had thought him little more than a toy, I let young Nuumia play with him for a while, but I soon came to discover that this weak pathetic male had more to his story than I had at first perceived. It turned out that contained within that frail, slender body was a powerhouse of magics; his mind, unable it seemed to grasp the simplest of standard drow concepts, a veritable well of magical knowledge. Through various subtle means, I discovered Kyil's origins at a pleasure house way off in the Westdark, and by using the resources so readily available in the city's slave market, I was able to purchase Kyil as my very own. I wasted no time in trying him out, and by Lolth, he knew his profession well. He has a magic all his own with his fingers; the feel of them massaging my scalp as he washed my hair was such a wondrous feeling. And the massages he could give, his hands so firm and yet so gentle; he is truly the slave I have always wanted; one who could wait on me hand and foot and who would actually do a good job of it.
And so the days have passed, full of joy and pleasure and wondrous new experiences. Kyil has taken to the kitchen when neither myself or Nuumia have need of him, and as a result, some fabulous new dishes have been making their way to the table. He teaches Nuumia how to please me in the bedroom, since he has such experience in the field, though I fear at times that Nuumia is an overzealous student and is a bit rough with him. He serves as a consort when I have him into my bed, and I tell him every chance I get that his true place is here, serving me, and not running amok in the wilds with my renegade brother. After what I have learned of Kyil and his quirks, such as his inability to use weapons, it truly is a wonder that the pair made it to me at all.
Mikaril, meanwhile, continues to bleed his life away on the rack in my playroom. Denied much rest or food, he has little to do but feel pain and listen as I tell him that his poor choices have at last caught up with him, and as such he is destined to die here, in the house who's name he has besmirched. With Nuumia's help I am still finding inventive ways to torture him. When I realized that another method of sustenance was needed for him if he was to continue being my pain supply, my clever Nuumia came up with the idea of cutting rib meat off of Kyil and cooking it like one would cuts of rothe, then feeding the cooked drow meat to Mikaril. How I had laughed on the inside when the ruse worked, watching Kyil's very essence disappear into the mouth of his friend; the irony was enough to make me all but cry out in delight! Too bad the lesson was lost on them both, for that is how the world of drow ought to be; eat or be eaten. Crude, but wise nonetheless.
And now, after weeks of this happiness, I am happy to put into writing that my Nuumia has announced that he is ready to become my patron. I am going to beseech the very best priestesses, have the kitchen staff put out the best we have to offer, and I shall ensure that everything is perfect. Kyil will help Nuumia get ready, whereas I shall have my staff ready me for the ceremony. Mikaril shall even be brought from the playroom to witness the event. It probably isn't necessary, but disgraced little worm that he is, he is nonetheless a member of the family. and he ought to be present for as momentous an occasion as this. At long last, after so many years, House Torlyl will once again have a patron.
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Posted: Sat May 29, 2010 11:30 pm
Long has it been since I've been able to write again, in this my own journal. Had circumstances been the way I had thought, I would have written here not long after my last entry, doubtless going on and on about how perfectly the ceremony went, how awed everyone was at my presence and the presence of two of the best priestesses that Brundag had to offer, and how the passionate sealing of the bond between myself and my new patron had kept half of the house awake.
But everything went wrong; everything! How had it even been possible? It shouldn't have been, but it was so; months and months of careful preparation came undone all in a span of hours. It had started out so wonderfully; my outfit was immaculate, Nuumia looked every inch the regal patron ready to be taken by me, and the two others in the room were happily compliant. Kyil, the tool that for months I have happily used for everything from cook to pleasure toy, and my own brother Mikaril, naked and drugged senseless, the product of months of torture. I had never felt so happy, so completely jubilant. I felt as though this was the true highlight of my time as the house matron; the only drow that could be counted as foes against my house were in my grasp, and after all the years that House Torlyl had stood patron-less, there would finally be one and the ranks of my house would swell and once again aspire to climb the ranks of the city.
But it all came crashing down so fast. I was attacked before I had even exited the chapel, and by none other than my idiot brother, whom I had thought to be too drugged to so much as scratch, let alone tackle me and wrestle Kyil's ownership papers from me. I had mistaken his advance into my robes as a violation; a last, desperate attempt to make me appear foolish. It wasn't until I had thrown him to the floor and burned him with the most vicious fireball I could conjur that I had realized just what it was I had done. I saw the last remnant of the paper that tied Kyil to me; the one that I had paid an entire bag of diamonds for and had basked in the luxury of having a real, well-trained servant at my disposal. I had relished the thought of having Kyil as my own personal slave, once Nuumia had finished with him of course, but Mikaril, despite being naked and surrounded by armed guards, had not only managed to take Kyil from me, but by doing so had humiliated me in front of my House, my patron, and most importantly, in front of two true servants of Lolth. I felt as though I could fly upon Mikaril and rip him apart, tearing off his crackling skin and gouging out his laughing eyes. Laughing he was, just sitting there on the floor laughing as though he had taken leave of his senses. Each and every laugh grated upon me like someone grinding sand into my forehead. It seemed as though I lost my mind right along with him and to restore order, I announced that Mikaril would be sacrificed to Lolth that very day. I should have done it long ago, and though even then I was sorry that I could not use him more, it had to be done. My House would have dissolved if I had shown the slightest hesitation, and I am sure that even now those two priestesses do not remember me fondly. Kyil too had broken loose, and had sought to disrupt things further, and the embarassment of having one such as him getting loose is one I will not forget easily.
In spite of Kyil's pleas, I towed Mikaril away with orders to have Kyil locked away in my own room. I made certain Mikaril could not escape before returning to my room. I had made up my mind then that I would deal one last devastating blow to Mikaril. I had in my possession a love potion that I had bought on a whim one day in the marketplace; I would give this potion to Kyil, and the last thing Mikaril would see before the light left his eyes would be his dear friend, the one he had risked so much to free, hanging on me with lovesick devotion. Oh, to see the anguish on his face then! But once again I was thwarted, in the most outrageous way possible. Somehow, the tables were turned, and in the ensuing struggle, Kyil gave ME the potion instead.
I barely remember how long I was under that revolting spell, but I know everything passed by in a pink haze. I burned with love for Kyil, and when he let himself out and vanished into the house with my nearly-dead brother in tow, I spent days crying and pining for him. It was the strangest feeling, this fake love. I remembered throwing tantrums when I was a child, wanting things that I could not have. I thought I knew about passion then, but this feeling was so much more potent. No pretty trinket had reduced me to a sobbing heap, with pain in my chest so profound I felt as though I could rip my own beating heart out in order to make the pain stop. I was unable to complete the simplest of thoughts unless it involved Kyil. My entire being was focused on Kyil: where had he gone? why had he left me here? what was he doing now? would he ever come back to see me? The thought that he did not feel this same pain for me only made it worse; I do not know why, but it did.
Nuumia did his best to hide my state from the rest of the house. He made sure I was fed and kept in a fairly clean state as I waited out the potion's affects. But before I was able to shake it off completely, I witnessed Kyil and Mikaril escaping my house, dashing across the courtyard. In my throbbing passion, I called out to Kyil, which of course brought the entire house guard. But despite their best efforts, the two escaped, disappearing into the streets of Brundag with some mystery rescuer who had managed to befuddle my entire guard, including my new patron. I was still acting like a fool, and now Nuumia had an escape to deal with. But the faithful male continued to watch over me until I finally regained my senses.
I didn't have them for terribly long. I learned from Nuumia that when the pair had escaped, they had completely destroyed my playroom; everything was a burned and melted mess; my instruments were puddles of metal, my fire slugs were dead, my potions oozed together and mixed with melted glass, and worst of all, my entire reviver crop was reduced to dust. Any lingering amorous thoughts from the potion were soon consumed by fury; decades of hard work, destroyed by the very drow that I had been drooling after for Lolth knows how long! I had listened with mounting fury as the story continued; they had hidden somewhere in the house, recuperated, and then made their escape with over a third of House Torlyl's treasure. I felt the familair cold rage consume me; HERE was an emotion that truly belonged in me. So aggressive did I feel, that upon seeing the unspoken need of my still-new patron, I took a measure of my frustration out upon him by doing what he had been looking forward to all that time: sealing the bond between us. The final thought I spared for Kyil was that he had taught my Nuumia well. I don't think I will need another in my bed for a while.
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