The drow male cowered as the young priestess grabbed a large clump of his long, white mane. He was much older than she was, though visibly it would have been near impossible to tell. She canted her head curiously as her eyes caught his. “I was going to kill you,” she said matter-of-factly. “But, what revel would I gain from this?” She smoothly slid a long, curved and ornamentally jagged dagger from a garter-sheath on her leg. The handle was carved obsidian and the blade itself seemed to reflect only shadows as it slipped out of its sheathe with the faintest whisper. Suddenly, and violently she wrenched his head back. Swiftly the dagger cut horizontally through the air. The magically altered blade sliced cleanly through the male’s hair between his head and the priestess’ hand. Part of the scalp tore away as she lifted the shorn clump, raising her hand in triumph.
Her facial expression changed from that of twisted joy into a chiseled malice, such as that of a child’s that had grown frustrated with a toy and decided to destroy it. “I told you I would not kill you, yes?” The man, grimacing in pain but refusing to bring his hands to his head in what would have been a vain attempt to staunch it, replied, “Yes, Yathrin, you said as much.” She knelt close to him, placing her lips right next to his ear, making sure he could feel her heated, moist breath. A wicked litte grin that revealed the slightest hint of teeth played across the face of the priestess. “I lied,” she confessed coldly. With that she plunged the dagger first into his kidney from behind, thrusting rapidly and viciously several times, finally bringing it around, she slammed it into his chest so that it penetrated the ribcage, impaling the heart.
A barely audible sob from, behind her, caused the faithful of Lolth to slowly turn her head to acquire the source of the noise. A small, drow boy, of no more than 13 years, lay against a stone pillar, watching. “Come here, boy!” the Yathrin snapped. She stood up, letting the dead drow's body slump to her feet. The boy was impossibly thin and his pale, yellowish hair was twisted up into a topknot that leaned slightly to one side of his head. He slowly came to his feet, being careful not to make eye contact with the female. Slowly, tears racing down his cheeks causing them to glisten with the various colors of faerie fire that illuminated the common area, he trudged towards her. She studied him thoroughly, then looked from him to the dead male and back to him. “Was this some kin to you?” The question seemed one born more of clarification than actually caring to know. “My father,” he answered. He caught himself just as he began to look up and he quickly cast his eyes towards the ground.
R'enor Disan (Black Dawn): Sleeper Cell
R'enor Disan (Black Dawn): Sleeper Cell
Last edited by Inaubryn on Wed Aug 16, 2006 5:09 am, edited 11 times in total.
"You people have not given Private Pyle the proper motivation! So, from now on, when Private Pyle fucks up... I will not punish him. I will punish all of you! And the way I see it, ladies... you owe me for one jelly donut! Now, get on your faces!"
“Kneel before me, child,” she demanded, pointing to a spot before her on the ground with the dagger. The boy silently complied “Do you recognize Lolth as your queen, boy?” she asked, testing him. He nodded and answered, “Yes, yathrin.” Even though she knew that his answer was wrought from fear more than any true belief, it pleased her because she understood that it pleased her capricious goddess as well. “Excellent,” she remarked, her voice becoming a low, melodious tone that could have been construed as seductive if not for the situation at hand. She brought the dagger down towards his neck slowly. “The Spider Queen demands her sacrifices,” she snorted out gleefully. She placed the dagger to his neck, its edge inches away from the artery that pumped life giving blood between his heart and his brain, his father’s own blood still fresh on its blade. “But, you will live to be sacrificed another time, whelp.” She wiped the dagger across his shoulder, smearing the blood over his tunic. She then sheathed it and spoke again. “That does not mean that she does not wish her subjects to be taught her will. There are many lessons that the Spider Queen has to teach us.” Unbuttoning the small strap of leather that hung at her side and bound her leather whip, she drew the cruel instrument, flicking her wrist and causing it to snap the air over the boy’s head, loudly.
The whip flared out from its handled into nine separate straps, each having several bits of jagged metal woven into their leather braids. “Take off your tunic, boy,” she ordered, but in an almost calm motherly tone. Again, the boy complied taking his tunic off and dropping it on the ground beside him. The priestess canted her head and looked at him the same way she had looked at his father moments before, then she grabbed him by the hair and shoved his head down into the rock of the cavern floor, breaking his nose, which immediately began to bleed. The sharp pain caused him to cry out, the sound slightly muffled by the proximity of his face to the ground. The whip came down hard, the leather and metal lacerating the flesh of his back. The child cried out, a high pitched anguish-filled noise that the cavern floor could not muffle and even gave the yathrin momentary pause. But, she composed herself and struck him again. The whip bit deeper. “Who is your queen?” she demanded. “Lolth!” he screamed. And again she hit him asking the same question. “Lolth!” he cried again. But, the answer was a plea for mercy and none was forthcoming.
As she beat him the whip tore his back to pieces. It ripped into already cut flesh, causing previous smaller cuts to become indistinguishable from each other making it appear as one bloody mess. The child’s agonizing and terrified screams of, "Lolth" came again and again at times answering the question before the priestess had the chance to ask it and even when she had become too engrossed in the flailing to ask it at all. He screamed louder and louder, which only seemed to drive her into a sick euphoria. She continued to beat him and when her arm became tired, she merely switched her whip to her other hand and whipped him again and again and again and....
The whip flared out from its handled into nine separate straps, each having several bits of jagged metal woven into their leather braids. “Take off your tunic, boy,” she ordered, but in an almost calm motherly tone. Again, the boy complied taking his tunic off and dropping it on the ground beside him. The priestess canted her head and looked at him the same way she had looked at his father moments before, then she grabbed him by the hair and shoved his head down into the rock of the cavern floor, breaking his nose, which immediately began to bleed. The sharp pain caused him to cry out, the sound slightly muffled by the proximity of his face to the ground. The whip came down hard, the leather and metal lacerating the flesh of his back. The child cried out, a high pitched anguish-filled noise that the cavern floor could not muffle and even gave the yathrin momentary pause. But, she composed herself and struck him again. The whip bit deeper. “Who is your queen?” she demanded. “Lolth!” he screamed. And again she hit him asking the same question. “Lolth!” he cried again. But, the answer was a plea for mercy and none was forthcoming.
As she beat him the whip tore his back to pieces. It ripped into already cut flesh, causing previous smaller cuts to become indistinguishable from each other making it appear as one bloody mess. The child’s agonizing and terrified screams of, "Lolth" came again and again at times answering the question before the priestess had the chance to ask it and even when she had become too engrossed in the flailing to ask it at all. He screamed louder and louder, which only seemed to drive her into a sick euphoria. She continued to beat him and when her arm became tired, she merely switched her whip to her other hand and whipped him again and again and again and....
Last edited by Inaubryn on Tue Aug 08, 2006 10:08 pm, edited 12 times in total.
"You people have not given Private Pyle the proper motivation! So, from now on, when Private Pyle fucks up... I will not punish him. I will punish all of you! And the way I see it, ladies... you owe me for one jelly donut! Now, get on your faces!"
* * * *
Auz’axxas opened his eyes and let out a long sigh. He had been dreaming. He relaxed the scowl that had etched itself on his face during his reverie and leaned back against the wall. He winced reflexively, arching his bare back slightly when it touched the stone as if it pained him to do so. He moved his hand up to touch his back, but stopped. It seemed that even though his wounds were over a century old, he still bore them as if they were fresh. He allowed himself to sit back against the cool stone. And even though he felt no actual pain, this seemed to sooth him nevertheless.
After a moment he turned from side to side, stretching his back. He then uncrossed his legs as he had been sitting like that for the entirety of his reverie, placed them together straight out in front of him, leaned forward and grabbed his toes holding them for a ten count. He looked up to the door way of the meditation chamber. Another drow male, slightly larger than he was, stood there, apparently waiting for him to notice him or more accurately, acknowledge him. Auz’axxas rose from his position on the chamber floor, without a word and no apparent intention of giving one. He rolled up the mat that he had been sitting on and placed it next to the wall. He then grabbed his tunic that was neatly folded next to where he had just set the mat. It was a large piece of cloth, dyed a dark crimson, which could have been easily confused with black if one were not close enough. He wrapped it about his torso, tucking the tail into his pants. The other drow continued to wait patiently as Auz’axxas slipped into a pair of comfortable looking, cloth quarter boots that were more like shoes. Finally, he acknowledged the male, meeting his eyes. “The master wishes to see you, Brother. It is your time,” the larger drow presented.
Auz’axxas gave a single nod and watched as the male turned and left. He paused in thought for a brief moment, before leaving the chamber. It was his time.
Auz’axxas opened his eyes and let out a long sigh. He had been dreaming. He relaxed the scowl that had etched itself on his face during his reverie and leaned back against the wall. He winced reflexively, arching his bare back slightly when it touched the stone as if it pained him to do so. He moved his hand up to touch his back, but stopped. It seemed that even though his wounds were over a century old, he still bore them as if they were fresh. He allowed himself to sit back against the cool stone. And even though he felt no actual pain, this seemed to sooth him nevertheless.
After a moment he turned from side to side, stretching his back. He then uncrossed his legs as he had been sitting like that for the entirety of his reverie, placed them together straight out in front of him, leaned forward and grabbed his toes holding them for a ten count. He looked up to the door way of the meditation chamber. Another drow male, slightly larger than he was, stood there, apparently waiting for him to notice him or more accurately, acknowledge him. Auz’axxas rose from his position on the chamber floor, without a word and no apparent intention of giving one. He rolled up the mat that he had been sitting on and placed it next to the wall. He then grabbed his tunic that was neatly folded next to where he had just set the mat. It was a large piece of cloth, dyed a dark crimson, which could have been easily confused with black if one were not close enough. He wrapped it about his torso, tucking the tail into his pants. The other drow continued to wait patiently as Auz’axxas slipped into a pair of comfortable looking, cloth quarter boots that were more like shoes. Finally, he acknowledged the male, meeting his eyes. “The master wishes to see you, Brother. It is your time,” the larger drow presented.
Auz’axxas gave a single nod and watched as the male turned and left. He paused in thought for a brief moment, before leaving the chamber. It was his time.
Last edited by Inaubryn on Wed Aug 16, 2006 5:10 am, edited 1 time in total.
"You people have not given Private Pyle the proper motivation! So, from now on, when Private Pyle fucks up... I will not punish him. I will punish all of you! And the way I see it, ladies... you owe me for one jelly donut! Now, get on your faces!"
* * * * *
The tavern was illuminated with a multi-hued sprinkling of faerie fire which dotted various alcoves within. Its common room rang with the sounds of laughter, arguments and witty banter. Several patrons, mostly drow, hovered about the bar or sat at tables, reveling, brooding, plotting and otherwise thoroughly engaging in the many other activities that drow engage in which are too numerous to name. They all noticed the cloaked male leave the establishment, just as they had noticed any other patron coming or going. Drow were wary this way and took notice of anything and everyone in their surroundings, even during times in which they were apparently relaxing. But, this lone drow was just that, a lone drow, nothing special, nothing extraordinary, thus only warranted a cursory glance from some and no more than a mental notation from others.
The barkeep, an ashen male with gaunt features, brought a few goblets and a bottle of azure wine for four priestesses of Lolth who had come to be seated at the largest table in the room. The four females were from two different houses and had chosen this establishment as neutral grounds for talks of an alliance between their houses. They were not the matrons, but Yathtallars, two first daughters, a second and a third, to the matrons of their respective houses. All were accompanied by two heavily armed and armored body guards each, who stood nearby. Almost simultaneously they all cast detect poison spells on the contents of the goblets. It was easy to tell that this was well practiced and second nature to them the way they immediately and casually cast the spells. The High Priestesses raised their goblets and nodded to one another, a twisted smile shared amongst them. They eyed each other over the rims of their goblets, then placed them to their lips and...
* * * * *
From outside the tavern a lone drow watched as the common room lit up in a flash of reddish-orange light. There was a dull roar which followed that, which was in turn followed by screams and yells which were then followed by a sudden quiet.
The tavern was illuminated with a multi-hued sprinkling of faerie fire which dotted various alcoves within. Its common room rang with the sounds of laughter, arguments and witty banter. Several patrons, mostly drow, hovered about the bar or sat at tables, reveling, brooding, plotting and otherwise thoroughly engaging in the many other activities that drow engage in which are too numerous to name. They all noticed the cloaked male leave the establishment, just as they had noticed any other patron coming or going. Drow were wary this way and took notice of anything and everyone in their surroundings, even during times in which they were apparently relaxing. But, this lone drow was just that, a lone drow, nothing special, nothing extraordinary, thus only warranted a cursory glance from some and no more than a mental notation from others.
The barkeep, an ashen male with gaunt features, brought a few goblets and a bottle of azure wine for four priestesses of Lolth who had come to be seated at the largest table in the room. The four females were from two different houses and had chosen this establishment as neutral grounds for talks of an alliance between their houses. They were not the matrons, but Yathtallars, two first daughters, a second and a third, to the matrons of their respective houses. All were accompanied by two heavily armed and armored body guards each, who stood nearby. Almost simultaneously they all cast detect poison spells on the contents of the goblets. It was easy to tell that this was well practiced and second nature to them the way they immediately and casually cast the spells. The High Priestesses raised their goblets and nodded to one another, a twisted smile shared amongst them. They eyed each other over the rims of their goblets, then placed them to their lips and...
* * * * *
From outside the tavern a lone drow watched as the common room lit up in a flash of reddish-orange light. There was a dull roar which followed that, which was in turn followed by screams and yells which were then followed by a sudden quiet.
"You people have not given Private Pyle the proper motivation! So, from now on, when Private Pyle fucks up... I will not punish him. I will punish all of you! And the way I see it, ladies... you owe me for one jelly donut! Now, get on your faces!"
* * * * *
There had been very little time to react. Those nearest the center of the blast had had their flesh seared off almost instantly, their blackened husk falling to the ground, frozen in the same positions they had held only moments before. There were some who attempted to dive for cover or use other's bodies to shield them from the intensity of the flames, but to no avail. The heat caused their flesh to peel back revealing reddened, burned muscle, accompanied by the popping and hissing of boling blood. The muscle, darkened as it cooked and slid away exposing the bone to the fiery incantation, all which took place in the span of a few seconds. The blast had been centered so that there was no easy avenue of escape for anyone who remained inside the tavern. Whoever had done this, had planned well. The smell of burnt flesh and hair wafted out of the charred tavern door, which dangled loosely on its hinges. The remains of drow, so badly burned that attempting to identify them would be an impossibility without the liberal use of speak with dead spells, lay strewn about the petrified mushroom floor.
The drow victim's faces were blackened even more than their usual obsidian-esque color. The eyes had melted in their skulls and the lips of most had been mostly or partially burned away revealing rows of surprisingly white teeth and causing them to look like ebon skeletons. The fire had taken the naturally smooth luster of their skin and turned it into a crusted and scorched mockery of what it once was. Much of their hair had been singed off, though some retained small clumps that were matted to their melted scalps. Their bodies lay unmoving, twisted at agonizing angles in various places throughout the tavern. Those that did manage to get out of the tavern or who had just stepped in were badly burned and lay wailing out in the street pawing at their blistering flesh causing it to peel away in soft handfuls of skin.
The lone drow watched a moment longer then walked toward the front door of the building and threw something to the ground. He paused a moment, his face stoic, turned, and walked down the street which was now abuzz with activity. What he had thrown to the ground was a small, wooden wand, which wrapped around it, was a bit of parchment. The parchment had become unrolled and lay beneath the wand. It read: R'enor Disan, which translated from drow is, Black Dawn.
There had been very little time to react. Those nearest the center of the blast had had their flesh seared off almost instantly, their blackened husk falling to the ground, frozen in the same positions they had held only moments before. There were some who attempted to dive for cover or use other's bodies to shield them from the intensity of the flames, but to no avail. The heat caused their flesh to peel back revealing reddened, burned muscle, accompanied by the popping and hissing of boling blood. The muscle, darkened as it cooked and slid away exposing the bone to the fiery incantation, all which took place in the span of a few seconds. The blast had been centered so that there was no easy avenue of escape for anyone who remained inside the tavern. Whoever had done this, had planned well. The smell of burnt flesh and hair wafted out of the charred tavern door, which dangled loosely on its hinges. The remains of drow, so badly burned that attempting to identify them would be an impossibility without the liberal use of speak with dead spells, lay strewn about the petrified mushroom floor.
The drow victim's faces were blackened even more than their usual obsidian-esque color. The eyes had melted in their skulls and the lips of most had been mostly or partially burned away revealing rows of surprisingly white teeth and causing them to look like ebon skeletons. The fire had taken the naturally smooth luster of their skin and turned it into a crusted and scorched mockery of what it once was. Much of their hair had been singed off, though some retained small clumps that were matted to their melted scalps. Their bodies lay unmoving, twisted at agonizing angles in various places throughout the tavern. Those that did manage to get out of the tavern or who had just stepped in were badly burned and lay wailing out in the street pawing at their blistering flesh causing it to peel away in soft handfuls of skin.
The lone drow watched a moment longer then walked toward the front door of the building and threw something to the ground. He paused a moment, his face stoic, turned, and walked down the street which was now abuzz with activity. What he had thrown to the ground was a small, wooden wand, which wrapped around it, was a bit of parchment. The parchment had become unrolled and lay beneath the wand. It read: R'enor Disan, which translated from drow is, Black Dawn.
"You people have not given Private Pyle the proper motivation! So, from now on, when Private Pyle fucks up... I will not punish him. I will punish all of you! And the way I see it, ladies... you owe me for one jelly donut! Now, get on your faces!"
Kryzr'Soth could feel a strange sensation within his stomach, something that he felt so infrequently it seemed new to him each time the sensation presented itself. He remembered a story told to him by a surfacer, when he was much younger. The man told him about the butterflies, as he called them, he had gotten in his stomach when he first came to Eryndlyn to confront the evil, horrible drow. He recalled having laughed out loud at that notion. Evil? Horrible? He was too young then to even grasp the truth of what the man had said, and though that much had changed over the last century and a half, he still did not know what butterflies were. It had taken him many decades to understand that the cruelty, divisiveness, malice, and utter hate espoused by the Spider Queen and her many servants was what kept the drow from being more than they were, it is what kept the drow from uniting as a race. This is what others spoke of when they spoke of the evils and terrors of his people.
But, he fully understood the truth of it all. He had been led away from the lie that is Lolth and awakened to the truth and would soon begin to awaken others to the truth of what the ilythiiri should truly be and Black Dawn had given him that opportunity. There he stood on the stone steps leading up to that door of opportunity, he had only to enter. The door was made of intricately worked obsidian. In its center was the back of an ornately carved hand, fingers spread. Set into the stone above the door was a shingle that read: The Ebon Hand Merchant Company
But, he fully understood the truth of it all. He had been led away from the lie that is Lolth and awakened to the truth and would soon begin to awaken others to the truth of what the ilythiiri should truly be and Black Dawn had given him that opportunity. There he stood on the stone steps leading up to that door of opportunity, he had only to enter. The door was made of intricately worked obsidian. In its center was the back of an ornately carved hand, fingers spread. Set into the stone above the door was a shingle that read: The Ebon Hand Merchant Company
Last edited by Inaubryn on Wed Aug 16, 2006 6:25 am, edited 1 time in total.
"You people have not given Private Pyle the proper motivation! So, from now on, when Private Pyle fucks up... I will not punish him. I will punish all of you! And the way I see it, ladies... you owe me for one jelly donut! Now, get on your faces!"
He steeled himself, took a deep breath and approached the door. He pushed on it, and it swung open with surprising ease, and he stepped inside. Shutting the door behind him, he turned to take measure of the place. The foyer was well appointed. Plush red, velvet carpet smothered the floor from wall to wall. There were several pieces of exotic, deep, cherrywood furniture, crafted from surface trees, that were strategically placed throughout the foyer. Desks, small tables, display cabinets, chairs and sofas. The chairs and sofas had cushions that were made from a type of leather that Kryzr'Soth had never seen before. He was almost certain it was not rothe', but he could not know for sure.
As he stood, admiring the sort of luxury that surely should only have been in a noble villa, he failed to notice the well-dressed drow standing beside him. "May I be of some assistance?" inquired the well-dressed drow. Kryzr'Soth was startled, but fortunately did not let that show. "Your inattentiveness will be your demise, Kryzr." The words of his sister echoed in his mind each time he was caught off guard. She had been responsible for his training and was constantly chastising him for not paying attention. Anytime she caught him daydreaming, she would strike him hard with the flat of her blade across the back or the backs of his legs. When he had gotten older, she would actually nick him with her dagger in various places to bring him out of whatever waking reverie he insisted on staying in. He still wore the scars of those lessons to this day. It was something he had never really gotten a grasp on. He was always thinking of bigger and better things and some plan or scheme to achieve his goals. It had only gotten worse when he was contacted by R'enor Disan and told that his cell had been awakened. He often imagined finally overthrowing Lolth's hold on the drow and toppling the tyranny of her priestesses for good and now that time had come.
Nevertheless, he was immediately angry with himself for letting his attention wander so.The other drow noted his change in demeanor and offered a comforting smile. Kryzr'Soth quickly composed himself and replied, "Yes, I am called Kryzr'Soth and I am to begin work here and was told I would be working under Brother Darkwyld."
"Of course," the man said in recognition. "He has been expecting you. Right this way." The butterflies in his stomach got worse. He followed the other drow absent-mindedly as he wondered what the other members of his cell would be like. But, ultimately, his mind was trying to wrap itself around the fact that he now stood on the verge of something that was bigger than he was. He was about to become part of something that could change the course of ilythiiri history forever. He had not noticed that they had entered into a large audience chamber until the voice of his escort brought him to. "Master, the one called Kryzr'Soth has arrived"
As he stood, admiring the sort of luxury that surely should only have been in a noble villa, he failed to notice the well-dressed drow standing beside him. "May I be of some assistance?" inquired the well-dressed drow. Kryzr'Soth was startled, but fortunately did not let that show. "Your inattentiveness will be your demise, Kryzr." The words of his sister echoed in his mind each time he was caught off guard. She had been responsible for his training and was constantly chastising him for not paying attention. Anytime she caught him daydreaming, she would strike him hard with the flat of her blade across the back or the backs of his legs. When he had gotten older, she would actually nick him with her dagger in various places to bring him out of whatever waking reverie he insisted on staying in. He still wore the scars of those lessons to this day. It was something he had never really gotten a grasp on. He was always thinking of bigger and better things and some plan or scheme to achieve his goals. It had only gotten worse when he was contacted by R'enor Disan and told that his cell had been awakened. He often imagined finally overthrowing Lolth's hold on the drow and toppling the tyranny of her priestesses for good and now that time had come.
Nevertheless, he was immediately angry with himself for letting his attention wander so.The other drow noted his change in demeanor and offered a comforting smile. Kryzr'Soth quickly composed himself and replied, "Yes, I am called Kryzr'Soth and I am to begin work here and was told I would be working under Brother Darkwyld."
"Of course," the man said in recognition. "He has been expecting you. Right this way." The butterflies in his stomach got worse. He followed the other drow absent-mindedly as he wondered what the other members of his cell would be like. But, ultimately, his mind was trying to wrap itself around the fact that he now stood on the verge of something that was bigger than he was. He was about to become part of something that could change the course of ilythiiri history forever. He had not noticed that they had entered into a large audience chamber until the voice of his escort brought him to. "Master, the one called Kryzr'Soth has arrived"
Last edited by Inaubryn on Mon Jun 02, 2008 5:56 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"You people have not given Private Pyle the proper motivation! So, from now on, when Private Pyle fucks up... I will not punish him. I will punish all of you! And the way I see it, ladies... you owe me for one jelly donut! Now, get on your faces!"
Again, the illithid lashed out at her, its tentacles glistening with a thin layer of slime. She tried to move, but the voices came in her head again. “Be still,” the voices commanded her. Again, she found herself being forced to do something contrary to her own will. She tried to fight with everything her petite form would muster, but she was frozen, held somehow. “Be silent," they implored. Then she found herself doing exactly the opposite of what she wished to do. She wanted to scream, to cry out until her lungs burst from the sheer force of sound, but when she opened her mouth to do so, only a rasping noise that was barely audible and hardly recognizable as a her voice, escaped.
The chamber she was in was dark, except a light whose source she couldn’t determine. But, that light was only intermittent as it was mostly being blocked by the silhouettes of the mindflayers. A sharp pain raced from her arm into her head. She screamed the silent scream again. It felt as if her brain was being burned by fire from the inside out. She could hear it pounding against her skull as if it were a person trying to free themselves from a burning house. Though she could not move, her entire body was wracked with pain. It felt as if she was being pricked with a thousand pins over and over again in various places. Every orifice of her body had been probed and was now alive with a stinging pain or burning sensation. As much as she could feel, she oddly enough couldn’t tell if she was bleeding or not. She couldn’t even really be sure she was awake. She desperately fought for some kind of control, her mind reeling, but nowhere near numb from the pain. If only she could recall how she got here, maybe that would help her somehow. She just needed something to grasp onto in this dark place. Suddenly, a horrible realization had struck her… she did not even know who she was let alone how she came to be here with the illithids. ”What are you doing to me?!” she screamed inside her own mind. She knew that they could hear her. The tentacled monster lashed out again and hissed something, something she swore was not in her mind, but outloud. “Sleep,” it said. Her vision narrowed and a nauseous feeling overcame her and then she blacked out.
The chamber she was in was dark, except a light whose source she couldn’t determine. But, that light was only intermittent as it was mostly being blocked by the silhouettes of the mindflayers. A sharp pain raced from her arm into her head. She screamed the silent scream again. It felt as if her brain was being burned by fire from the inside out. She could hear it pounding against her skull as if it were a person trying to free themselves from a burning house. Though she could not move, her entire body was wracked with pain. It felt as if she was being pricked with a thousand pins over and over again in various places. Every orifice of her body had been probed and was now alive with a stinging pain or burning sensation. As much as she could feel, she oddly enough couldn’t tell if she was bleeding or not. She couldn’t even really be sure she was awake. She desperately fought for some kind of control, her mind reeling, but nowhere near numb from the pain. If only she could recall how she got here, maybe that would help her somehow. She just needed something to grasp onto in this dark place. Suddenly, a horrible realization had struck her… she did not even know who she was let alone how she came to be here with the illithids. ”What are you doing to me?!” she screamed inside her own mind. She knew that they could hear her. The tentacled monster lashed out again and hissed something, something she swore was not in her mind, but outloud. “Sleep,” it said. Her vision narrowed and a nauseous feeling overcame her and then she blacked out.
Last edited by Inaubryn on Wed Aug 16, 2006 6:56 pm, edited 2 times in total.
"You people have not given Private Pyle the proper motivation! So, from now on, when Private Pyle fucks up... I will not punish him. I will punish all of you! And the way I see it, ladies... you owe me for one jelly donut! Now, get on your faces!"
* * * * *
The drow girl stood in place, unnmoving. The previous cycle's reverie had been rough, but no rougher than any that had come before. Ssk’ethi was young, in drow terms, barely ninety years of age. She bore a very girlish look to her with a wide-eyed, almost child-like expression on her face. At first glance one would have thought her demure and indeed upon speaking to her she seemed very much so. Yet there was something more, something not readily apparent, that told a different story. And above all else, she was still drow. Her hair hung down to the middle of her back, a wild unkempt mass of silvery white strands streaked with black. The ungroomed tangle of hair dangled over her face, obscuring what would be considered delicate and pretty features, could they be seen. She often twirled a stray lock of her hair over one of her fingers when she was bored or lost in thought.
She dragged one of those small fingers over the text written on the parchment she held. Her nails were dirty and uneven from being constantly bitten, a nervous habit she had developed some time ago, though she could not say when. She stared up from the note to the obsidian door of the Ebon Hand Merchant Company. Nodding, she crumpled the paper, and closed her eyes a moment. The parchment began to smoke in her hand and she dropped it to the ground. She canted her head curiously and for a moment she watched the note blacken and crinkle as if she had never seen paper burn before. With that she strode up the steps with her deliberate and graceful stride, pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The drow girl stood in place, unnmoving. The previous cycle's reverie had been rough, but no rougher than any that had come before. Ssk’ethi was young, in drow terms, barely ninety years of age. She bore a very girlish look to her with a wide-eyed, almost child-like expression on her face. At first glance one would have thought her demure and indeed upon speaking to her she seemed very much so. Yet there was something more, something not readily apparent, that told a different story. And above all else, she was still drow. Her hair hung down to the middle of her back, a wild unkempt mass of silvery white strands streaked with black. The ungroomed tangle of hair dangled over her face, obscuring what would be considered delicate and pretty features, could they be seen. She often twirled a stray lock of her hair over one of her fingers when she was bored or lost in thought.
She dragged one of those small fingers over the text written on the parchment she held. Her nails were dirty and uneven from being constantly bitten, a nervous habit she had developed some time ago, though she could not say when. She stared up from the note to the obsidian door of the Ebon Hand Merchant Company. Nodding, she crumpled the paper, and closed her eyes a moment. The parchment began to smoke in her hand and she dropped it to the ground. She canted her head curiously and for a moment she watched the note blacken and crinkle as if she had never seen paper burn before. With that she strode up the steps with her deliberate and graceful stride, pushed the door open and stepped inside.
"You people have not given Private Pyle the proper motivation! So, from now on, when Private Pyle fucks up... I will not punish him. I will punish all of you! And the way I see it, ladies... you owe me for one jelly donut! Now, get on your faces!"