A Land Far Away

A Bard's Confessions: Mik'laysee Ze'Marri

The spider carved room was far more pleasing to the eye than the old bard expected. Silky black tapestries, rugs and sheets with vibrant red highlights seemed to be the pervading theme throughout. Lustful paintings of naked drow performing unspeakable acts of hedonism and torture were neatly arranged throughout the four looming walls. In perfect sadistic fashion, manacled chains, steel vices and iron racks remained interpsersed between the paintings as if representing some parody of furniture. A light haze hung about the vast room as the perfumed incense slowly burned down leaving lazy trails of wispy smoke. He could not begin to guess how many male drow had been dragged into these quarters and been summarily sacrificed to the Spider Queen during acts of ecstasy, torture and violence. After all, that is what happened commonly in this "activity" room of Yathtallar Ghenni'sala Faen Tlabbar of Menzoberranzan...

Strangely, he did not feel fear or apprehension, but one of morbid curiousity--such was the edge that Mik'laysee Ze'Marri always dared to tread...

How did this little Lolth perversion know I had returned to Ched Nasad? In her missive, she simply stated that she wished to collect on the debt of life that I owed her. What sort of chaos am I in for that would be worth a debt of life except my own life? Because I no longer control Tuain't Luthol, I have no leverage against her--I am completely at her mercy...which in its own right has an appeal, but I digress. Dear gods, I certainly have become a touch paranoid in my old age...

After nearly an hour of standing patiently and musing the circumstances of his being summoned here within the walls of Qu'ellar Faen Tlabbar, the adamantium bolts slide back from their casing and the bound door creaked open. The familiar rhythmic clicking of stiletto heels began as she strode in the room with grace and confidence. Her perfectly curved body was covered by a sheer crimson gown of spider silk that left no room to the imagine as to what lied beneath. High Priestess Ghenni'sala Faen Tlabbar had always been associated with all things "arousing". Mik'laysee was quite sure that in all his years interacting other drow that she was one of the most sexual creatures he had ever encountered--even compared to the rest of the decadent Qu'ellar Faen Tlabbar. But equally so was her penchant for pain and blood...

Her full pouty lips curled into a wicked smile as she laid her bright red orbs on the old bard. She pointed to one of the two highback chairs in the middle of the room and demanded in a sultry voice, "Sit Ventash'ma. Though I know you no longer carry such a title, I will call you that anyway".

Without hesitation, the male did as he was asked as smoothly and quickly as he could manage. His eyes remained straightforward as she meandered around the room behind him. He dared not attempt to look back at her. Listening intently, Mik'laysee's keen ears picked up the clinging of crystal and the pouring of some liquid. Her heels clicked back to him at a leisurely pace and suddenly he saw a glass of dark hued wine held by her smooth hands under his downcast eyes.

"Take it".

Again, he did not delay in carrying out the Priestess' commands and reached out to take the wine in both hands. She sauntered over to the plush chair across from him and gracefully lowered herself into it. Though his eyes were focused on her supple chest, he could feel her scrutinizing gaze looking him over. After a few seconds, she asked teasingly, "Do you have any inclination as to why I called you here, Ventash'ma"?

Because some huge spider is going to eat my tainted soul?

"Not at all, dear Mistress. Although from your missive, I would guess you have come to collect on the debt that I owe you..."

Silence.

Her response was raspy and low, "Drink your wine, Ventash'ma. Yes, yes, very good. I have come to call in that little favor. Forcing you will not get the result I desire. No, I want you to do this of your own volition. Thus, the debt of life owed to me is now being collected..."

Oh dear, what has this naughty creature got on her sick, troubled mind?

Mik'laysee took a sip of the potent vintage, half-closing his eyes as he savored the unique taste. Ghenni'sala studied him carefully as he did so and then declared, "Please me Ventash'ma. See if you can tell me what kind of wine that is and where it was aged..."

His eyes flashed up at the beautiful priestess momentarily and then back down to his glass taking in the aroma of the vintage.

The first of many tests I shall encounter this eve, but at least in these kinds of tests I rarely fail. Ghenni'sala always has loved to 'play with her food before she eats it'...

He took another long draw of the liquid, fully closing his eyes this time. After a few moments, he opened his eyes and rested them back on her chest. In a silky voice, he replied, "Dear Yathtallar, Revzixla Mushroom Wine. It is not made here, but in a grove outside of Szithlin down their northwest tunnel. This particular wine was bottled over a century ago due to the potent initial sensation and the slightly bitter aftertaste. Consequently, it is one of the most sought after wines in all of our society and one of my preferred elixirs..."

"I am impressed, Ventash'ma. Believe me, that is not an easy thing for a male to do. I am glad you are pleased with my selection of wine, which brings me to my next point--your debt to me. Lately, I have grown tired of the mindless male drones that surround me here in Menzoberranzan. I wished one with some backbone and spirit, yet knows his place. This made me think of Ched Nasad's infamous Chronicler. You are here, Ventash'ma, because I want to hear your life story. You intrigue me. But I warn you...do not bore me or lie. If you manage to do either, I will spill your blood here in this very room. Are we absolutely clear?"

My life story? By Vhaeraun, I am going to die this night, of that I am certain. However, if she does not use her divination magics, it is possible I could live through this. I could have imagined torture, I could have imagined humiliation and I could have even imagined death, but I never would have imagined this. This is a strange sensation I am feeling...is it fear? Yes, yes it is--I am genuinely scared...

"Absolutely, Mistress. I will do as I am asked."

"Excellent! I have another condition, Ventash'ma. You will tell this story as you tell any other tale of yours. I wish to be entertained this eve, not put to sleep. Displeasing me when I expect to be entertained would be a dire error on your part..."

That is clearly an understatement...

Perfectly understanding his dilemma, Mik'laysee Ze'Marri did the only thing he could: do what was asked of him. Pressing his wine glass to his lips, he tipped it to let all of the contents slide down his throat, completely finishing the glass.

Well, here goes nothing...

"Wait!"

With a snap from her long fingers, a waif of a drow boy wearing nothing but a red loincloth slipped in from behind a tapestry leading to an apparent backroom, "Rilyn, tend to our wine."

Looking back to Mik'laysee, she batted her long eyelashes and purred, "Continue..."

The child promptly padded off to retrieve more wine for the two.

In his customary silky, sing-song voice, Miklaysee began his story, "Every being on Toril has an origin. To a few, their origin defines them well before they have any say in the matter. Going against the wind of fate is not only hard, but usually fatal to any attempt at denying their lot in life. To some, their origin has no stigma, no weight to bear and thus grow up on a path of their own choosing, only influenced by what they allow themselves to be influenced by. Most of us, however, are a combination of both: a heritage we bear and the life we live because we carved it out with our naked hands. I believe that I fall into this last category. Now, do not mistake my musing on the great web of life to be some grand insight on how the world works? On the contrary, it is simply my branding of a scenario that we have no real grasp of at all. Weavers of words and tales practice such "wisdom" for their entire lives. Why do I preface my tale with these meaningless words of insight? Because I have just given you a glimpse into my mind. There is an explanation for everything, even if there does not exist one. Everything I do and say is based on something that may only partially exist, if it exists at all. Sometimes the best way to take advantage of chaos is to become it."

Ghenni'sala merely peered at him curiously as she took another sip of her wine. Not wishing to have any "stale" time hanging in the air, he continued on...

"My childhood was rather blaise, so I will hurry this portion along. As you may or may not know, I was born right here in Menzoberranzan over two centuries ago. My birth mother was a simple merchant of parchment, quills and ink that spent most of her time in the Bazaar. As a young drow, I literally lived out of a chitin cart with my mother and the rest of her clan. Spending so much time around personal interaction had a profound effect on my understanding of humanoids, from their base needs to their hidden desires. It was not many years before I was helping my mother and her clan ply their trade. In order to earn my keep, my mother and others from the clan taught me to read and write. With "literacy" being their business, she felt it was important for me to understand its uses: pictures, words and magics being the primaries--"

The Yathtallar considered him for a moment and then interrupted, "--and your birth Father? Who was the male in this 'union'?"

There was only a moment's hesitation before he answered, "For a mere commoner, my mother was quite beautiful. It seems that other commoners were not the only ones to think so. The House Wizard of Qu'ellar Agrach Dyrr took fancy to my mother and made her into one of his 'side items'. When my mother became pregnant with me, such visits from him ended, and that was that."

"What of the Ze'Marri name, Ventash'ma?"

"It is a dandy of a name, isn't it? There are no others by the Ze'Marri name these nights that I am aware of. The Ze'Marri Clan was indeed the clan that my mother belonged to. Here grandfather began the clan many, many centuries ago. As fate would have it, the future of the Ze'Marri clan was not to last. A rival clan of ours allied with Qu'ellar Baenre and this union was to create a monopoly on the fine parchment trade. That, of course, meant that the Ze'Marri clan would have to be utterly wiped out. The attacks were brutally fast and every one I knew was killed within one night. As fate would have it, this was the same night that I snuck away from our abode to visit a venerable old harpist. Intrigued by the sound of music in all forms, this old drow agreed to teach me his arts in return for my discrete services as a messenger boy..."

The sultry Ghenni'sala studied him for a moment and then inquired, "So this male, this 'musician' was more than he appeared having a child passing 'discrete' messages?"

Mik'laysee nodded as he took another long draw from his wine and responded, "Oh, indeed. Master Frizlas was apparently quite the conspirator in Menzoberranzan. His trade was supplying goods of war to noble houses when no one else would. This whole business put him at risk from the Ruling Council on a daily basis, especially since many of these Houses had fallen out of favor with the Queen of Spiders..."

Oh, she is going to like that tidbit...

"What?! So you were serving a heretic?! Explain right now!"

Mik'laysee chose his words carefully as the Yathtallar stared at him venomously, "At the time, I was unaware of what his true nature was. I simply understood that I was being taught the music trade that not many drow possess and in return I deliver messages. To my small mind at the time, it was just that simple. It wasn't until I witnessed his execution by a Qu'ellar Devir Priestess that I understood the truth behind my actions, but I digress.
It is simply not important for a noble house to make sure that every member of a Merchant house is destroyed simply because the rules regarding survivors simply don't exist. Thus killing every Ze'Marri is a nice touch of perfection, but it was by no means necessary. The goal was accomplished: the Ze'Marri Merchant Clan would bother them no more."

The Faen Tlabbar High Priestess smiled wickedly and probed, "How did that make you feel, Mik'laysee Ze'Marri?"

I knew that was coming...

"Angry, confused and frustrated at the rip age of 50 years old. However, if there is one adage I learned and lived from the streets of Menzoberranzan that stuck, it was this:
Lil waela lueth waela ragar brorna-lueth wund nind, kyorlin alghinn.
(The foolish and unwary find surprises--and among them, waiting death.)

So there was not even a twinge of desire to exact revenge--I knew it would be fruitless. Knowing I had no where to go, I went and stayed with Master Frizlas. While this arrangement was dandy for a few days, he made it clear that I would have to find somewhere else to dwell. After that time elapsed, I found myself living on the streets without a home for nearly two years until Master Frizlas was killed. The upside of this was that right before he was killed, he confessed that he had taught me all that he knew of the musical arts. The impact of his demise was certainly lessoned by this fact."

"Was this when you left Menzoberranzan?"

"Correct, Yathtallar. Indeed it is. I took the next caravan out to The City of Shimmering Webs, Ched Nasad..."


TO BE CONTINUED...

Very nicely done Ebonith. Very creative way to tell your story. Makes me wish I was still playing Ghenni'salla in the old forum RP threads with you.

Very intriguing. IMHO, few can adequately portray the intricate undercurrents of the drow mindset, but I think you've done an excellent job. Look forward to your next installment.

You Underdark-folk sure make your server alluring.

Very nice Ebonith. All the drow stories tempts me to write Pharaun's pov.

Echoin' sentiments expressed. Quite nice.

So when is episode two coming out?

Magonushi wrote:So when is episode two coming out?

Dude. Episode 2 came out like 3 years ago.



Oh nice story and such.

It was apparent to Mik'laysee that Yathtallar Ghenni'sala Faen Tlabbar had rapidly become bored of sitting. Rising gracefully to her feet, she sauntered over to the old bard as he continued his tale.

"The complexity of a city such as Ched Nasad can be quite daunting to visitors because of its multiple layers, dizzying heights and an altogether strange city foundation based on the unholy webs spun by the Spider Queen herself. This does not even cover the intricacies of our society and how it is to be played, requiring even more knowledge to be successful at it. Fortunately for a young bard at the time, it was not altogether different than Menzoberranzan: the players were different, the dynamics skewed, but altogether 'understandable'..."

Strong, practiced hands began probing his chest from behind with the aroma of flowery perfume reaching his nose. The Yathtallar's fingers slipped across his abdomen like writhing, greedy snakes seeking food. Mik'laysee let slip an involuntary intake of breath as she seemed to find what she was looking for. In a raspy voice, she whispered in his ear, "I did not say to stop, Ventashma..."

Being no stranger to the sensual touch of powerful priestesses, the bard focused on the task before him and continued his story, "Now to come into a new drow city and try to carve one's way can be a bit tricky. To start with, especially a commoner, one must find a niche and not expand beyond that niche until he or she is established. What I mean by established is plenty of gold, plenty of contacts, a few safehouses, an ally or two to boot and of course noble qu'ellar ties.
My niche was scribing. I knew the intricacies of quill and ink along with how to produce my own parchment. Additionally, a firm understanding of..."

"Did you say a firm understanding...?", came the sultry question in his ear.

Coughing lightly, Miklaysee replied, "Xas, Yathtallar. It helps to have a firm understanding before attempting to mount any endeavor..."

With a cackle, Ghenni'sala whispered, "Continue Ventashma..."

Closing his eyes, the old bard focused his thoughts once again and picked up where he left off, "A firm understanding is not the correct phrase...'an appreciation' is better, for the aesthetics of Ched Nasad. In my spare time I would paint the towering webbed layers, faerie fire laden qu'ellars and any other sights pleasing to my eye. What does this have to do with my progression in Ched Nasad? Everything. Apparently my three years of writing, painting and writing music got the attention of a rather surprising source: Qu'ellar Nasadra."

The Yathtallaer laughed mockingly, "You? You received the personal attentions of Qu'ellar Nasadra? Now you truly are 'spinning' tales, Ventashma..."

Smirking, Mik'laysee responded, "Personal attentions? Oh, my ego is large, but certainly not blindly gargantuan. Qu'ellar Nasadra commissioned 113 ilythiiri writers and artists to Chronicle the history of the City of Shimmering Webs. As fate deemed fit, I was chosen as one among them. All of those commissioned were given portions of history to cover on Ched Nasad from the Exodus to present day..."

"So that is how you came to be called The Chronicler...?"

Shaking his head, he responded, "Nau Yathtallar. I was called The Chronicler some years following this contract because of what I did outside of the Qu'ellar Nasadra commission. Many people came to me seeking information on Qu'ellar Nasadra and what they were doing. Desparately needing coin, I began to charge for such information. When these characters found out that my information was good, they began to come to me seeking other bits of information to be found in Ched Nasad. It was then that I truly became an information broker within Ched Nasad. I found that I enjoyed the danger and exhiliration that I felt while undertaking this new role I had found myself in..."

The Faen Tlabbar priestess interrupted, "So you never planned to be involved in this line of work? It was never an aspiration of yours? I find that hard to believe, Ventashma..."

"Believe me Yathtallar, I only wished to live comfortably when I set out for Ched Nasad. But once I got a taste for the life of a broker and the gold that came with it, there was no turning back. As the decades passed, my little enterprise became a bit overwhelming, so I hired on a handful of commoner males to shoulder some of the workload. I performed in this role for decades expanding my little enterprise to invest into taverns, import items from the Lands Above and even to provide information updates personally to some of the minor Matrons..."

"Oh Ventashma, I bet you did enjoy 'updating' minor Matrons, now didn't you? Is that how you became the little whore we know you as now?"

She is enjoying this far too much...

Mik'laysee smiled and acquiesed, "Xas. That is how it began. Slowly but surely, my presence was being requested by daughters and Matrons throughout Ched Nasad--and it was no longer for the information I could provide them. Having a handsome face was almost a blessing as much as it was a curse. Apparently they were interested in my other services..."

Ghenni'sala purred as she settled back in the chair across from him, "Did you like being an abused whore, Ventashma?"

Mik'laysee looked up and met her gaze evenly and replied, "Ghenni'sala, there was no activity more dangerous, exciting and thrilling than riding the edge of my existence on the whim of a beautiful jabbress. Nothing tested my limits more--nothing even came close. During those years, I left it to Lolth whether my life would be worth sparing for just one more day as I pleased her chosen yathrins. It got to the point where I wagered to myself how many days I could last doing what I did. In time, I simply did not fear death anymore. Being in the line of work I was in was never meant to be a lasting affair, I expected it to abruptly end at any time...but it never did. I was battered, broke, abused, spat on, pissed on, shat on and even strapped down to a Spider Queen altar once, but I still remain alive today. In fact, I am simply enjoying my barrowed time..."

Their eyes regarded each other for a long moment.

She wants to end my streak right here, but I play this game with the best of them...

Just when he could see Ghenni'sala was tensing, Mik'laysee dropped eye contact and whispered, "Forgive me, Yathtallar. I simply had never noticed the tiny violet specks in your eyes before..."

She rose to her feet and covered the distance between them in a blink of an eye. A powerful backhand slammed against his face, slinging blood from his now busted lip. She stood in front of him and glared down. With fury in her voice, she replied hotly, "Are you saying my eyes look like darthirii eyes? Because that is exactly what I am hearing!"

Flexing his jaw a bit, Miklaysee responded, "Nau, Yath--"

The backhand was more powerful than the first sending a spray of blood against the near wall. Mik'laysee involuntarily moaned in pain, but raised his face where she could slap him again if she desired. She squatted down in front of the old bard and cupped his bloody chin with her delicate fingers. Her blazing red eyes regarded him as she demanded, "Look at me, male!"

Wearily, Mik'laysee looked up and met her gaze. Her maddened facade softened and she rasped, "You are the first creature to ever notice that about my eyes, Ventashma. Do you find it attractive?"

Turning to the side, he spit out more blood so he could clear his throat to speak, but turned right back to her and replied softly, "Immensely."

Without warning, the Yathtallar thrust her mouth over his and kissed him deeply. As quickly as it began, it was over. She spun on her heels and took her seat across from him again. Crossing her lean legs, she commanded, "Continue Ventashma..."

To Be Continued...

Very nice Eb - Mik'laysee is an interesting person...and you have done a nice portrayal of Ghenni'alla..I think you do her/me justice.

Very nice. He plays with fire and webs..

Yay! This post is still here! I reckon I can continue it now! Wheeeee!

Not without me you can't.