Deeds of a Dastardly Drow: Jhaamdath

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Dagonlives
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Deeds of a Dastardly Drow: Jhaamdath

Post by Dagonlives » Sun Sep 16, 2018 2:30 pm

Image

The drow warrior, clad in his bloodstained and rent plate panted in exhaustion as he looked over the crowd that had gathered around him. He could make out their moving lips and his scimitar continued to drip black blood unto the floor. A slow pattering of it, unto the broken and hacked corpses at his feet. Two women. Once his own, and now the convergence of steel and fate had rendered them as nothing more then meat and bone on black tile. Behind him, he could hear the cackling of the male mage who had seen fit to assist him in his murders.

There was a sense of quiet reverence, a silence, as if the world was holding it's breath. It was in that moment of silence that Jhaamdath knew that he committed to a path he could not return from. He looked back to Lesrak Mel'nozz, the arrogant self-assured nobleman who had put him up to the task. The drow mage was already strutting like a peacock, for what better could describe the gaudily dressed mage, with his whims and turbulent emotions. Child-like in his fancies, except that his tantrums resulted in charred corpses.

The slender mage grinned widely at him.
"Your scrolls, as we agreed. Didn't I tell you that'd feel good?"

He pressed them into the warriors' nerveless hands, and they were tucked away with a murmured thanks. He could hear a loud laugh behind him, rumbling as a gravelly voice called out.

"Well done Jhaamdath the Wenchslayer." It was an ogre. A very large one, covered in dwarven runic tattoos. He'd heard of this figure by reputation, but was unfamiliar with the beast, which seemed to appraise him coolly with an intelligence entirely unbecoming of his degenerate giant race.

Jhaamdath wiped his sword on the cloak of the dead matron at his feet, and then turned his back on the corpse, and looked to the ogre. There was a nod of respect from the great beast, and he moved to follow his new patron. After a moment of quiet contemplation, he began to recognize a foreign feeling within himself. It was a gooey, hot pleasant sensation in his chest. A feeling of exaltation, of lifting his spirit up, and his back began to straighten of it's own accord. The normally stoic warrior grinned freely. Lesrak was right. Killing those noblewomen had felt very satisfying indeed.

((Thank you to Lesrak Mel'nozz ,Grmyr, Illd'vas Aurvy'ath and those others who observed and crafted this scene.))
Last edited by Dagonlives on Mon Sep 17, 2018 7:50 am, edited 1 time in total.
My Rp kinda like droppin' a betta in an otherwise serene fish-tank.

Current Concepts:
Jhaamdath Wenchslayer, Drow weaponmaster and pirate captain

Eruantien Chil Ryilnn Aelorothi Aleansha, War-mage and Diviner of Evermeet. .

Dagonlives
Posts: 92
Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 12:26 am

Re: Deeds of a Dastardly Drow: Jhaamdath

Post by Dagonlives » Sun Sep 16, 2018 3:19 pm

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"I will not let this shame cripple me."

He said it in a ragged tone, his voice hoarse as he observed the citizenry busiling in the trade market. Jhaamdath's hands clenched and unclenched around an invisible throat, his heavy darksteel belt clinking as he completed the violent motion. His swordbelt however was empty, a reminder.

"A warrior wears the shames of his failure upon his brow, and dares others to confront it. He takes of his shame and uses it to make him stronger."

The armored swordsman paced as he talked, frame trembling with suppressed emotion. He paid little regard his surroundings, fixated upon the past.

"I am going to kill all her rothe."

Beside him was a female, and she stared at him with an appraising expression. Bright red eyes, her hair tied back in a simple queue, and a greatsword strapped to her back. She was no beauty, by the standards of his people, but excluded a natural confidence and vitality, the easy manner of an experienced soldier. Such was the nature of Saslae of House Xun'viir, a peasant farmer turned cage fighter, and raised to the blood. Little disturbed the Selfish Rock.

"I am going to salt her fields. I will take the blood of the rothe I slay, and I will use it to drown the fishes in the river, so that none spawn."

It was a traditional oath, and one might suppose the one uttering it was a traditional man. If the odd sensibilities of the exotic and cruel drow could be considered relatable to men. Jhaamdath supposed that Shera of Darrowdeep didn't own rothe, or have rivers. But it had the right sound to it, this oath.

"I will kill all her friends. I will capture her lover and make her watch as I defile their corpses."

His tone was harsh, and he spoke loudly, that anyone nearby could hear. Passerbys would stop and listen, to the angry drow swordsman as he continued, the hot anger rising in his breast as he continued to utter his blood oath.

"I will make desolation of all that she loves. I will destroy this woman."

At this statement, the female next to him smirked, and began to unhook his helmet, tracing her cool fingers on his armor. He didn't pay much attention, and anger became rage as he shouted.

"Then perhaps once I have seen she has nothing else left, I will kill her!"

There was the thick rising of bile in the back of his throat, and he turned to regard the female, who had begun stroking his face with those callused and cool fingers. With seemingly infinite patience, she stood up and pressed her lips against his, and he could feel his rage begin to flow away, and the bile in his throat receded as fury and lust began to mingle as one. He hadn't expected this kind of affection from Saslae, and blind rage had turned to abrupt silence as he stared into his mentor's eyes.
She spoke softly, still toying with his face, tracing his cheekbones gently and murmured,

"You have an anger to you, Jhaamdath. I find it appealing. It's the quality of a strong male".

The female cagefighter then firmly pushes him back, and her eyes held a hint of a warning to them, a caution that he seemed to lack. Her presence was soothing, and she softly repeated in his ear,

"We will kill them all. We will salt their fields. You will have your revenge. I will help you see to it."

Jhaamdath grunted, and he gently ran one of his hands through the female's hair. He smiled slowly, savoring her rugged beauty, and thinking on what implications this relationship might hold for his future station.

"I am going to need to forge a new sword."

((Gratitude to Saslae Xun'viir, Shera Redheart, Veigal Finnigan, and all those others who suffered as a result of this scene. ))
Last edited by Dagonlives on Mon Sep 17, 2018 7:55 am, edited 1 time in total.
My Rp kinda like droppin' a betta in an otherwise serene fish-tank.

Current Concepts:
Jhaamdath Wenchslayer, Drow weaponmaster and pirate captain

Eruantien Chil Ryilnn Aelorothi Aleansha, War-mage and Diviner of Evermeet. .

Dagonlives
Posts: 92
Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 12:26 am

Re: Deeds of a Dastardly Drow: Jhaamdath

Post by Dagonlives » Sun Sep 16, 2018 3:59 pm

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Posture. It was the key element to the swordforms. When one moved from Z'ress, the 'Force' into Zhin, 'The Dodge' one made use of the varying elements of posture. Jhaamdath was a creature of habit, and he practiced his posture daily. A simple word, yet it encapsulated so much of his training. Decades of training boiled down to a single simple noun: Posture.

Minuit Shina'vinn Myrahel was a drowess with posture. She exuded it as a flower might exclude a scent. Hers was the posture of refinement, of value condensed into beauty and purity. An exemplary display of the elven form. She was everything he was not.
The swordsman wanted to drink in her beauty, but he knew that in order to achieve his ambition, he had to ignore it, or he was lost.

The lovely creature sat before him, and he regarded her silently, as one might a still image, something possible to disturb with even the slightest motion. Much of his plans were dependent on this encounter, and so the swordsman began with his opening stroke, as the female regarding him with her perfect pink eyes, and innocent child-like face, sylphlike hands resting on the fine throne as he sat nearby in a retainer's chair.

"The sellsword trade is a base trade. And it is a trade that has served me well. But there is a stench to it priestess. A male who sells his sword is like a whore, and all will recall him as such. I would seek those who could teach me better, who might impart upon me the refinement necessary to become something more then a mere sellsword."

He spoke plainly, for he was a plain drow, without school beyond the barracks, without education beyond the basics. But he was a bold warrior, and had a growing reputation for valor. If he was to impress the priestess, that would be how he would do so.
A delicate finger touched upon her bow shaped lips, and she pressed against them with a single fingernail. The priestess was dressed in the finery expected of her station, with pearls and jewels in her hair, and bracelets that clinked as she moved. Yet it was her nails that drew the most attention. Forged of dark metal and razor sharp, they had been magically inset into the cuticles of her fingers. The recently healed scratches on Minuit's face also showed that such alteration was not without cost. Despite the figures youth, and relatively frail frame, her voice was one of confident command.

"I am listening male. You wish to become legitimate. How does that benefit my cause? How does that serve the temple?"

His response was plain again:

"I am a strong male. I will tell you what I told Saslae, and say that if you desired to find a weak male, you may stroll through the trade hub, and find twenty before the cycle's end. I desire command, and command requires station. I have many associates and legbreakers that can be of assistance to your wants, priestess"

It was at this moment of expectation, when the warrior had made his claim that disaster struck in the form of a small fat humanoid, who arrived at a brisk pace, carrying a message. The messenger, self important and no doubt paid well to risk death opened up his scroll and began to read in a slow and majestic tone, a contrast to the words that were presented:

"The priestess of the Moon Dancer wishes to remind you that with the loss of your sword, perhaps the path you have taken has proved ill. An omen of things to come. She would urge that you consider breaking from your cycle of violence, and seek peace upon the surface."

The warrior's fists immediately clenched, and his knuckles turned white as the bile rose to the top of his throat. His expression was one of white hot fury as he unconsciously grappled for his sheathed blade, a simple bronze one concealed and designed to hide the masterpiece he had lost. Then, harshly and painfully he began to master himself, ruthlessly crushing his anger, and bringing the howling pain of his shame inward, where it might whisper words of sweet comfort to his tattered soul. If he gave in now, he was lost.

The priestess sat and observed him, her pink eyes missing nothing, and seeming to take his measure. Jhaamdath smiled at her, and then continued as if nothing had happened. This loss of face could not be permitted to stop him.

The woman with a smirk rose from her seat, and began stepping slowly towards him, the click of stiletto heels as she walked up to his chair. Jhaamdath sucked in a breath, and kept calm. He had to. He couldn't help but admire her figure, despite himself. One perfectly formed leg was lifted, and she placed it between his legs, leaning forward, the sharp end very close to his groin. The male splayed his legs reflexively, and he looked into her pink eyes, thrilled by the sight of them, ignoring the breach of his personal space. Softly, she stated:

'And what do you think it is that I want?" Her lip curled upward in contempt at the base creature who would assume to know her motives. "Please don't say power, or gold, or station. That's just unbecoming and crude."

Jhaamdath grinned, and it was a warrior's smile. He reached up with his hands and gently placed them on her ankle, feeling the firmness of the cool steel boots. He would try a different tack, as rage and an almost irrepressible enchantment for the drowess threatened to take all he would claim from her.

"I don't know you very well Minuit. I can only guess at what you want. But I have killed priestesses and matrons. I have enjoyed doing so. Does that alarm you?"

The male held her ankle gently, but it was clear that in a moment, he could grasp her leg in his iron grip, and run the woman through with his sword. Not before she took his throat though, and the priestess arched one perfectly manicured eyebrow as she purred at the thought of their mutual destruction.

"No. It excites me. To see such fools slaughtered."

"Power. Wealth. Gold. Status. You want none of those things because they are simply tools, Minuit." He used her name, as he slowly worked his way up her ankle with his fingers, playing with the woman's leg. "What you want is control."

There was an intake of breath from the priestess, and inwardly, Jhaamdath felt a surge of satisfaction. He had read notes on her doctrine, and so now it was a simple matter to restate them to her.

"You want control so that you can bring the wretched elves and other lesser races to heel. So that you can fulfill our destiny, and spread the superiority of the Illithiyri across this wretched isle. So that our people may be used for their intended purpose, rather then fight over the scraps of this wretched hell we are confined to."

Another intake of breath from the beautiful drowess, and it was clear that he had struck true with his verbal riposte. He had managed to surprise her, and he slowly worked his hands up to her knee, as he marveled at how far he had come since arriving to the Isle of Arelith. Then, the priestess regained her composure, however brief the slip was, and the warrior removed his hands from her leg. He would not die today it seems. And judging by the females expression, she has seen him for what he truly was.

She was listening now. That was for certain.

((Thank you to the player of Minuit, as well as the other members of House Xun'viir, and House Mel'nozz, for some interesting drow roleplay. Edit: I remembered an additional part of the dialogue that actually changed the theme rather significantly))
Last edited by Dagonlives on Mon Sep 17, 2018 7:57 am, edited 4 times in total.
My Rp kinda like droppin' a betta in an otherwise serene fish-tank.

Current Concepts:
Jhaamdath Wenchslayer, Drow weaponmaster and pirate captain

Eruantien Chil Ryilnn Aelorothi Aleansha, War-mage and Diviner of Evermeet. .

Dagonlives
Posts: 92
Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 12:26 am

Re: Deeds of a Dastardly Drow: Jhaamdath

Post by Dagonlives » Sun Sep 16, 2018 5:07 pm

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The lithe drow duelist in the cage dodged and cut continually, his blades ringing like bells on the armored monstrosity that he fought before him. Valas of House Mel'nozz let out a screech of rage as he continued to slowly dismantle the great fleshwarped giant that fought him within the narrow confines of the cage. He was quick, this duelist of House Mel'nozz, so inhumanly quick that the eyes had trouble tracking him. But his blows upon the beast were shallow, and it was clear the warrior was beginning to tire and grow irritated, despite his confidence displayed to the crowd.

His lover, Vesta called from the safety of outside the bars of the cage. 'You are going too slow Valas. We are going to be here all cycle. Boring!'

Valas hissed back: "I am going to kill the nearest male I see if you keep taunting me Vesta!"

The crowd exchanged gold, and while Valas eventual victory was hardly in question, his conduct afterwards might be entertaining. The pair of lovers were infamous, the assassin and her paramour, and Vesta seemed to take particular pleasure in breaking down her mate at his most vulnerable moments.

Jhaamdath stood by the cages, and there was a look of amusement on his face, as he recalled his own bout that crowned him a champion of the Black City. He stood next to Baelara, the first daughter of House Mel'nozz. ("I hate it when you call me that", she would say aside to him, in public.)

He looked around again, and with a jolt, realized, that he was the only male drow that now remained in a crowd of humans, orog and others interested in the flesh for cash economy. That made him the target of a threat. Jhaamdath was never one to back down from a fight, his martial pride would not permit it.

"How do you suppose they remain faithful, Baelara?"
The female drowess, attractive, though with a slightly sickly appearance, and shrouded heavily in her robed armor spoke back:
"I hear they will kill each other if one strays."

Vesta barked out a laugh: "No. He would kill my other lovers. Makes it more fun that way!"
In addition to their amusement for their craft, The lovers were also adherents of the age old drow tradition of the 'three paces' rule. A commoner would be warned once, and then cut down if they entered within a swordlength of their presence. Something that had been explained to Jhaamdath, so he now kept his distance.

"Hurry up Valas! I am going to starve to death wating for youuu!" Vesta called out in a sing-song tone.
"Shut up! Shut up!" The male hissed as finally, he began to wear down the great warpcrafted abomination.
Jhaamdath began checking his kit and adjusting his sword belt,, and he considered Valas carefully as he fought.

"I suppose he has more finesses then me Baelara, but I can tell you that I was already finished by now. Is this an indication of the speed of his other talents, I wonder?"

The First daughter hissed into his ear: "He is going to kill you if you keep talking Jhaamdath."

The sellsword however, could see his paramour above, and he knew that the resulting loss of face would diminish him in her eyes even if she said otherwise. Such was the nature of a fickle female. He strode over to her.

"Saslae. I need you to tell me very quickly how to kill this drow." He shoved a purse into her hands, insurance in case of death or ransom.

The female regarded him: "You shouldn't fight him, but if you must, consider that he will likely defeat you. Such is his fighting techniques. They often use grenades to stun the mind or sonic traps for the ears as well. Valas will not obey any rules. Try not to die today, Jhaamdath. I require you for my plans"

Jhaamdath offered a grunt, and strode back to the cage. He figured Valas, as furious as he was would not kill him outright after leaving the cage. A foregone conclusion, seeing as the drow duelist would be enspelled, and he would not be. Yet there was courage in such display of open vulnerability without fear.
It was at this time that a triumphant shout was raised, as Valas finally, after a labour of more then an hour slew the great abomination.

"I think I'll fight him when he's done. The Beast is hardly a challenge for him, hm?"
Vesta began cackling, and the crowd turned to look. It seemed that most of them thought him a fool. Very well. If Jhaamdath would die a fool, at least he would die a prideful one, his martial status intact.

Vesta said "He'll want your purse from all these winnings. And perhaps your life. Say on hundred thousand pieces on the winner?"
It was at this moment that the snaking pit of fear entered Jhaamdath's stomach. He was about to commit. He knew he might fail, but if he turned back he was lost. He steadied his heart, affecting a look of quiet outward contemplation before answering.

"Not twenty thousand?" There was a hint of fear in his tone, though the warrior soon realized his error as he observed Vesta's face. Agree, or do not agree. There is no negotiation with the Mel'nozz. He replied, more firmly:

"Very well. One hundred thousand, the Devil's table arena. I will meet him there."

"No rules!" Valas barked out, as he began striding immediately towards the devil's table.

A mere half cycle later, the two warriors stood across from each other in the arena. Jhaamdath, in his heavy plate, shield raised, and wickedly sharp blade resting in a low guard, as he adjusted his articulated armor. Valas, in his light leathers, Rapier and poniard held high. The two warriors readied themselves, and it was Valas who began with the opening move.

It is one might suppose, commonplace for the veterans of the Arelithian Isle to make heavy use of magic, and Jhaamdath was no exception. He produced a scroll from a small holster near his wrist, and read the command word, the rune crumbling as it struck the other warrior's wards, breaking many of them. Valas had begun moving inhumanly fast, and the two quickly clashed, as drow forged steel scraped against devil-wrought armor. Jhaamdath was not familiar with many duelists, but he knew that his particular style, the Z'ress was superior in open confrontation. He took the blows from the blades on his shield and armor, making no effort to dodge them, offering heavy counterstrokes in return.

The rogue seemed surprised by the sudden and ferocious onslaught, and Jhaamdath screamed his rage, as he steadily hacked through the lithe warrior's protections, giving him no opportunity to replace lost wards, and heedless of any pain he received in response. A flick of a wrist and a grenade exploded by his feet, though the warror was undaunted, and with a few more bloody blows, and a well time scroll he managed to hack Valas nearly in half, the drow's body only preserved by the magical wards of the arena.

A grin, as the warrior raised his arms in victory. Jhaamdath breathed in deep, and as he prepared his victory shout, he felt a sickening pain in the left side of his chest, as a blade sprouted from his back, through his left shoulder. Without thinking, he reverse gripped his scimitar, and plunged it behind him, impaling the Female who had stabbed him in the back.

"No rules' she cackled as blood dripped from her mouth, and Jhaamdath felt his feet leave the earth, the woman following him to the cold sand...

A draw then after all.

((Thank you House Mel'nozz for a very fun pvp event. I enjoyed how confrontational and unique many of the characters from that House are.)
My Rp kinda like droppin' a betta in an otherwise serene fish-tank.

Current Concepts:
Jhaamdath Wenchslayer, Drow weaponmaster and pirate captain

Eruantien Chil Ryilnn Aelorothi Aleansha, War-mage and Diviner of Evermeet. .

Dagonlives
Posts: 92
Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 12:26 am

Re: Deeds of a Dastardly Drow: Jhaamdath

Post by Dagonlives » Mon Sep 17, 2018 2:55 am

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Aqarev was a figure of contradictions. Hairy, heavily accented and short to the point of being almost comical with bare feet, the dark skinned man would often be seen striding through the trade hub, his steps purposeful in almost a strange parody of traditional military march. Yet, the man was handsome of features, and he harbored an infernal pact, as well as relics of incredible profane power and his squat, short frame held a tenseness, if not finesse or raw training that Jhaamdath's own teachers has imparted upon his own forms.
Jhaamdath often wondered about the man, for anyone who would sell their soul for power was questionable. He could understand the need. Damnation was largely inevitable, but it was the loss of personal sovereignty that he disliked. Of knowing who held one's eternal leash.

Jhaamdath knew that the man's height, lower then even his own was often considered a reason for ridicule or low status in human society, particularly with the barbaric practices that the Rashemi tribesmen had been rumored to take part in. Was this what had lead the little man down his will to seize dark power? It had certainly quieted his detractors, who were more likely then not to receive a blade in the gut without ceremony, followed by being slowly consumed by the demon that would occasionally lurk at the Blackguard's side.

He had been forging steel for the Blackguard for almost a year now, and was paid consistently for his trouble. They would hold discussions over the forge, or in the trade hub while he would hammer steadily on the metal. Both were bladesmiths, and so they shared that common fascination with their craft, and their philosophical musings on warfare and strategy.
Todark's particular topic was on the nature of the duel. A matter of obsessions to the drow warrior after his recent failure and shaming. And how he would prepare for the future.

"You are familiar with the trade wars Aqarev? When armies would lead their invasions across the dark lake, to take cities by storm? It was a matter of import in my home nation."

The blackguard grunted. He was largely unimpressed with Jhaamdath, and made no concealment of the matter. Often using petty displays of power or shifting of context to appear his better. Jhaamdath did not mind, he was content to let the blackguard see what he wished to see.

"Ghet to the point." The squat man stared at him through hairy eyebrows, and thick sideburns.
"It's relevant. You see, the generals of these invasions often had a similar practice. They would burn the vessels at anchor once they had stormed the shore. This committed them to the outcome, you see. So, when i fight my foes, I want to fight them with their ships burnt."

A huff, and the blackguard continued to observe his work.
"Ships burnt? Why not just say you desire a duel? Why not go to the arena, or place a bounty on yourself? Hm. Maybe not the bounty. That'd just attract gutter-knives. Why this elaborate need?"

"Because, it is in my nature. it is the purest act I commit, Aqarev. The intersection of fate and desire, met with force. Two individuals who wish to exert will over the other, and none can accept the consequences of possible loss. So I will target their spirit. I will take everything from them. I will learn who and what they are. And then they will fight me. And they will fight me truly."

The blackguard's expression was thoughtful, as he listened. The usual display of contempt replaced with consideration.
"I do not want a volunteer, Aqarev. When I fight, I want a sacrifice."

The blackguard, whom he had known for almost a year, gently reached up and patted him on the shoulder. His expression was grave, but there was a hint of amusement in those damned eyes of his.

"I think yhou are more clever then I thought, Jhaamdath. Perhaps we have some future together."
My Rp kinda like droppin' a betta in an otherwise serene fish-tank.

Current Concepts:
Jhaamdath Wenchslayer, Drow weaponmaster and pirate captain

Eruantien Chil Ryilnn Aelorothi Aleansha, War-mage and Diviner of Evermeet. .

Dagonlives
Posts: 92
Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 12:26 am

Re: Deeds of a Dastardly Drow: Jhaamdath

Post by Dagonlives » Tue Sep 18, 2018 10:55 pm

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Nalfein began inserting the small faerzess crystal into the apparatus, delicate fingers adjusting the adjacent crystals already within it minutely. The outer layer of this particular module was electrum, an alloy of gold and silver that had been forged earlier that tenday. Painstakingly the mage continued his magical calibrations and the two talked as they worked. They had an easy manner together and their relationship went back over three decades. They were a pair, the slender hedge-wizard with his slight frame, cultured manner and the burly (By drow standards) unrefined Sell-sword.

"I've been thinking of using Baatorian steel alloy for the frame. For the conductive capacity. I think that would be ideal for your work, and portable as well." The sellsword ran his hands on the side of the frame, careful not to disturb the mage's work.

"Perhaps." The wizard was well spoken, an erudite diction that was the result likely, of almost half a century of study and careful observation of custom. "I hadn't considered greensteel, and the adamantine is very expensive."

Jhaamdath spoke directly and plainly with Nalfein. While the two would never dare classify what they had as friendship, they had somehow retained a bond of loyalty to each other, likely as a result of carefully remaining out of each others direct business and affairs, aside their little talks. A pact between the two, several years ago as both started to amass political power.

"I have been cultivating several men for the your plans Nalfein. Yet it is difficult. There are few creatures here with true ambition or desire. Most simply lust blindly after relics or gold, and wouldn't know what to do with it if they acquired either."

The wizard tsked, evidently used to Jhaamdath's occasional grumblings or moments of cynicism. He was the optimist of the two.

"That is because you are a sellsword. It's a rough profession, and one that attracts those sorts. And I know that you have much pride in your professionalism, but eventually if you wish to capitalize on your desires of command, it will have to be discarded for something else. "

Jhaamdath knuckled at his forehead with one hand, the other continuing to hold the frame aloft as the wizard worked.

"I have a place in House Xun'viir, through my relationship with Saslae. Yet I am wary of her. This could be nothing but a dalliance, or a simple means to entrap me to her infernal ends. She has already tried to snare me once. I was fortunate I did my research."

The wizard again, adjusted another crystal as he stated in the slow trained tone of an orator.

"Then why do you need her permission. Why do you need Saslae at all? Why do you need her status to assist in your own rise to power? Females are fond of strong males. Not weak ones that rely on them. Do not ask for permission. Inform her of your desires and carry on regardless"

"I have considered started an office," He stated, to mollify the wizard.

The wizard waved a hand, cutting him off.

"You and this sellsword identity of yours is becoming a liability. You don't need sellswords, this city does not require sellswords. But if you were to reframe that premise to something suitably symbolic? A call to shared cause? Say for example, you were Jhaamdath, 'The Sword of Andunor"? That would hold promise."

The wizard stopped working, and he turned his red eyes on the sellsword, a hard gaze, cruel in it's dissection of what it observed.

"Andunor is like a woman, Jhaamdath. She may not claim to desire boldness, but she respects it above all else."

And with that platitude offered, the wizard waved a hand at the crystal chanting softly. Nalfein never showed irritation, or any sign of what he was thinking openly. He was cool, calculating and controlled, and only once in the last year had Jhaamdath ever seen him display any sign of anger. Even in the face of continual and frustrating failure. The wizard turned back to him, his test evidently done.

'I will need another three frames forged for the next prototype. See it done."
Last edited by Dagonlives on Wed Sep 19, 2018 3:33 am, edited 2 times in total.
My Rp kinda like droppin' a betta in an otherwise serene fish-tank.

Current Concepts:
Jhaamdath Wenchslayer, Drow weaponmaster and pirate captain

Eruantien Chil Ryilnn Aelorothi Aleansha, War-mage and Diviner of Evermeet. .

Dagonlives
Posts: 92
Joined: Mon Aug 06, 2018 12:26 am

Re: Deeds of a Dastardly Drow: Jhaamdath

Post by Dagonlives » Wed Sep 19, 2018 1:07 am

Image

It had been almost half a year in service to House Xun'viir as part of his sell-sword contract that he was invited into the sitting room of the Matron, Ilphaeryl Xun'viir. The Xun'viir manor was grand in it's size and design, and passing into the matron's personal quarters required walking through both the grand hall, and the art gallery, something that no doubt served to better humble the one invited.

The formal head of the Xun'viir household, Ilphaeryl effectively ruled as a pair with her twin sister Xull'thrae. Disdaining the expected drow practices of assassination and culling the ranks they prefered to see guile, political acumen and martial capability rise to the forefront of their favor, often cultivating it personally. It was a pragmatic approach, considering the relative scarcity of skilled dark elves in Andunor.

Almost always in her company was a heavily built human by the name of Sieg, a northerner almost two meters tall, with a greatblade strapped to his back. The bodyguard spoke little, and despite nearly a decade of service underground, had never learned the trade tongue, nor the language of the drow. He also remained almost laughably ignorant of drow cultural mores. His presence was an obvious sign of the House's divergence from traditional Lolthite practice, but then most traditionalists who found themselves in the Black City were soon cast out, or slain by the many heretics, outcasts, and eccentric but powerful figures that called the city their home.

For the bodyguard's benefit, she would often deign to speak in the common tongue, her smooth liting voice nearly accentless. Her posture perfect, a result no doubt of a finishing school suitable to noble station.

Illphaeryl had the ageless beauty and refinement of most Matrons, but Jhaamdath had no particular attraction towards it. It was like admiring a statue, or a finely drawn painting. She was of perfect form, but simply too out of reach of his reality for any real consideration in that manner.

Jhaamdath sat across from her as she spoke, both of them sitting on fine silk cushions, the human bodyguard sprawled nearby looking like nothing so much as a giant hairy bear spraweled across a chair. They had spoken of basic pleasantries, but the purpose of their meeting soon became clear.

Her lilting voice continued:

"You have been spoken to by Saslae in part, and I know you expressed a desire to learn more of the nature of this House, and to temper your qualities. She was much like you once, from what I observed. A hot warrior. Burning with hatred, that you might use it to cut your foes."

The matron elegantly adjusted a lock of her hair from her face, as she continued, reaching for a heavy book at her side.
"To that end, I have a book I often keep in my possession. I permit my retainers and nobles to read it, that they might learn the same lessons that I did so painstakingly in my youth."

The sellsword gently took the offered book, and opened it, scanning a page briefly, before looking back at the matron.
She continued, in that orator's voice, her words soft and considerate as she spoke:

"Hatred. I have mused much upon it in my time. We have been trapped here, in this hell beneath the surfacer lands. Denied the sweet bounty of the lands and left to stew in the vileness of the dark. And some would be satisifed with this end, but not I. Our purpose lies above, our revenge against those who locked us away here."

The matrons expresson was even. Her tone was mild. She could have been discussing the weather, or the latest adjustments to the manor's architecture.

"My hatred burns cold, warrior. And it is everlasting and eternal. It keeps me focused, and reminds me of my goal. For you must always remember: To hate is to poison oneself. Take too much poison, and you will die. Yet it is this poison in our veins that will drive us to end these degenerate imperialists and their faded empire, once and for all. A fair warning to those who would disregard this lesson "
My Rp kinda like droppin' a betta in an otherwise serene fish-tank.

Current Concepts:
Jhaamdath Wenchslayer, Drow weaponmaster and pirate captain

Eruantien Chil Ryilnn Aelorothi Aleansha, War-mage and Diviner of Evermeet. .

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