Jaedhar Daerwin
Soldier of the Damned
"The stars once lived and died at our command, and still you dare to oppose us"
Posts: 12
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Post by Jaedhar Daerwin on Nov 11, 2005 8:36:58 GMT 8
<OOC> I thought I would just start a new thread in the hopes of inspiring some rp out of you Shy, since you seem to have been absent recently. Shall we rp with the pre decided setting?
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Jaedhar Daerwin
Soldier of the Damned
"The stars once lived and died at our command, and still you dare to oppose us"
Posts: 12
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Post by Jaedhar Daerwin on Nov 21, 2005 17:58:41 GMT 8
*Jaedhar was ancient, incredibly so. He counted his years in the tens of thousands, and had lived long enough to see even the vast long lived empires of a hundred elven realms rise and fall beneath the passage of time. In all his countless years, he had learnt one lesson that he kept very close to his dark heart, and paid heed of at all times. The lesson was simple, and was one of the reasons he had weathered so many storms before. Always come prepared. It was a maxim he was practicing even now. His flesh was washed over with stoneskin spells. A half dozen wands rested at his belt, ready to hurl death dealing magics, and across his back was strapped Limbrothriel, the wicked curved length of the longsword alight with life stealing dweomers. Rings across his fingers offered him three methods of escape, by teleportation, by dimensional door, and a last that would snatch him away to a safer haven should his body be close to death. A half a hundred spells jammed his ancient mind, the most powerful practiced so that a mere arcane word or gesture would summon their impressive might to him in an instant. Last but far from the least, two score silver orbs fluttered about his solitary form, each faintly glowing sphere the size of a clenched fist and wrought through with powerful dispel charms. All this would have seemed quite a large over reaction for a standard business meeting. When dealing with the creatures he had recently formed an alliance with, Jaedhar thought it the least he could do to ensure the safety of his personage.
In the continuing expansion of the hidden order into the under dark, the Naggarythe had been forced to contend with and make alliances among the most powerful races of the underground kingdoms. The Drow he already had, through his employment for the temple of the spider queen in Menzoberranzan, and his new found relationship with the Jaezred Chaulssin and their hidden might. Close to Menzoberranzan, he had made alliance with the Cambion lord Kaanyr Vhok, and it was from the sceptered ones legions that he furnished Shy’naynes mistresses with the Tanarukk warriors. He was not want to yet trade with the mind flayers, having little interest in the foul creatures or their wants, and the Duergar were less of a challenge, but the last race, they offered him more opportunities. Even now his eyes turned to regard his new trading partner, his charming smile perpetually lighting his handsome face, in spite of his dangerous company.
The creature he dealt with hung in the air two score feet from where Jaedhar stood. Xarlraun the beholder fixed all ten of its glimmering eyes down upon the elf. Old and vast and terrible, its orb shaped body was as high as three men stood upon one an others shoulders. Its great black form was armored, with lichen and fungus clinging to its nether plates, and the deadly eyestalks, each promising a unique death, wove slowly about its bulk as they glared down at the shining figure. Behind their lords bulk another dozen of the great eye tyrants hovered, and further back still amongst the deep darkness of the chamber stood a good hundred ogre warriors, their tall forms wreathed in shadow, though the occasional glint of a weapons glimmering edge shone through the dark.
The mouth of the beholder opened into a wide smile, giving a horrifying view of the rows of glimmering fangs that infested that all devouring maw. Slowly, it spoke, its voice a horrible gargle that echoed through out the vast chamber about them “The information you have brought to us has proved very useful paleskin. The fool Deep Gnomes wandered unawares into the trap. I have not tasted such fresh and wholesome flesh form many a year…” The great mouth slavered at the memory; thick stringy saliva leaking down across the eye tyrant’s armored flesh. Jaedhar simply watched impassively, offering no reply to the creature’s statements. After a moment the ancient beholder steadied himself, crunching its sickle like teeth together as it rose a little higher in the air.
“I have another task for you, paleskin, one that suits your assassin house more closely. One of the masters of Melee Magthere in Tier Breche holds in his possession an item I have want of. Xel’Kallas Mithrim is his name. One hundred shards of Dragonsmere amber when you deliver his body to me…” Xarlraun watched him closely, waiting for his reply. Jaedhar thought about it for a few moments before inclining his head in a slight nod. “It seems a reasonable offer my bloated friend, too reasonable in fact. That is no small sum, you must want this artifact quite dearly…” The eye tyrant snarled in response, its body heaving forward a few paces in obvious menace. “I know what you are thinking elf, and bother not. The thing would do you no good. For a beholder it was made, and only to a beholder will it truly answer!”
“Truly…” came the elf’s cool reply, eyes glimmering with a chilly calm as he watched the dangerous beast before nodding. “So it shall be done my many eyed employer, you may consider him already dead. I must take my leave I fear, I have other business to attend to, and while I intend no offence here old boy, she is rather more comely in appearance then you Xarlraun.” Jaedhar smiled engagingly, a courtesy not mirrored by his enormous employer, as he slipped back into the shadows, dancing fingers deftly twisting the ring of teleportation and whisking him clear of the dangerous eye tyrant. While Jaedhar could well kill the master by himself, or have one of the Naggarythe complete the task, this would put them in some fair amount of danger, and pale skinned elves were a sight easily remembered, should anyone be unfortunate enough to stumble over the assassin. As luck would have it, he had just ingratiated himself of a legion of Drow assassins that would be more then suitable for the task. To Shy’nayne first, and all her diverting charms, and then perhaps he would have time to treat with Mauzzkyl. In a breath he stood in a darkened chamber of stone, the black rock of the spherical chamber breaking for only a single entrance. Behind him a pool of water bubbled and steamed, the hot spring providing an enticing meeting place for he and his Drow employer. In patient silence, he awaited her arrival.*
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Post by Shy`nayne Nathrae Auvryath on Dec 16, 2005 12:53:03 GMT 8
“Please mistress, have mercy. Have I not pleased you? Have I not performed my duties to you to the best of my abilities?” The raspy voice of a desperate male reverberated around the circular chamber as he stood naked in the middle. A crack of whip landed across the male’s torso, tearing a muffled scream from his lips. The Matron of the Spider Queen’s temple sneered, though not breaking the chain of spell. Forming a circle from either side of the Matron; six high priestesses chants in frenzy. Their words were no longer decipherable to the common ears.
She inhaled quietly, letting her eyes dart from one priestess to another. The look of ecstasy, sheer pleasure evident in their chanting threatens bile to rise in her throat. Like many power crazed clergy in most of the houses of Menzoberranzan, the priestesses derive pleasure from the suffering of others, specifically a male slave who are done with their services. Sometimes it takes only a small err to invoke such punishment from the domineering females of the house.
Shy`nayne’s gaze rest finally on the unfortunate male, the latest but soon to be departed patron of the reigning Matron of the Spider Queen’s temple. It was a simple case of not performing to the latter’s expectation. A snort escaped her perfectly formed nostrils; she did nothing to hide her annoyance for being called to witness the punishment. She would rather spend the day training her new Blackguards than to play bodyguard to the Matron; her maternal sire. “Get on with it already”. She would whisper, causing the Matron’s head to snap back, casting a venomous glare her way. Shy`nayne merely shrugged, fixing her eyes on the male once again. She felt no pity for the male; he probably deserved this fate by simply being too willing to please.
The chanting soon heightens, much to the horror of the male. He began to writhe, trying futilely to free himself from the chains holding him fast to the ground. The fire from chalices lining the inner circle rose, almost consuming the mortal form. He screamed yet again, amid the lewd chanting. The smell of hair and skin burning filled the already thick air; attacking her nostrils, causing a cough to ensure. “To hell with all this”. She muttered as she pushed away from the chamber’s wall, walking nonchalantly towards the exit. She could feel a few sets of eyes upon her but she was beyond care. The Matron seethes; watching the half-drow, half-draconic assassin exits the torture chamber.
The seasoned Drowess could only wish of a befitting punishment for the House assassin. Too often she had almost proceeded with plans to dispose of her insolent daughter. The young draconic-drow had in so many ways over the years displeasured the Matron but never once was she punished. The matron has plans for her young offspring. She had not risked her life spawning a half-breed draconic for nothing. The magic that the half-breed could harness would be terrible. More terrible than even the Archmage of House Baenre could ever muster. A mixture of two of the most powerful blood known to the world runs through her veins; the tainted blood of the Drow and the poisonous blood of a Draconian. And this magic will lend power to the ruling Matron. This is the dream that had kept her rage at bay; the dream of being the most powerful Matron in the City. The summoning spell was then renewed and the crying grew louder. They will have to suffer the assassin’s impertinence for now. She will not be punished. Not yet anyway.
Shy`nayne left the chamber, shutting the door to drown the wail of death crackling within the male’s throat. The matron must have eyed a new Patron thus taking the careless reason to dispose of the current one. Perhaps it was due to the graduation of the fighters from Melee Magthere; young, agile brood of fighters. Many will seek allegiance with the top houses. Some will succeed to secure ranks within the houses’ army. And a selected few will find higher but fragile positions. Such as Sword master or even Patron. The city are swarming with these new blood and Shy`nayne knew how much her mother delight reveling in them.
And in all honesty, there were several that had caught her eyes; though her intentions were purely professional. She had never once thought about taking a lover, let alone a Patron, amongst the drow male population, not even amongst the highest ranking sword masters. Not since her encounter with the surface elf.
A sharp inhalation of breath ensue; a string of silent curses spilling from luscious lips. She had nothing but abhorrence for the surface trash; or so she convinced herself. Although in her dreams she would return to those moments they have shared; moments of pleasure unknown to her before meeting him.
“Burning fire of the underworld!” She groaned out loud, ignoring the curious looks from passers by. She had almost forgotten about their meeting. This was the second day after their last meeting in the deep caverns. Long strands of ebon hue brushes against her curvaceous form as she shook her head in dismay. “What a fine day to meet with the surface trash”. She whispered to none. Before her, the entrance to the assassin’s guild looms near.
A slender hand rose, fingers began to twist and turn in rapid succession. A blackguard appears from his obscured position above the circular entrance.
“I shall be in the lower plane, East of Narbondel. Seek me after the second hour is over”.
“But mistress..”
The slender hand rose once again as emerald eyes bore into the male’s crimson tinged orbs, silencing the Blackguard’s protest. “After the second hour.”
Grabbing her cloak from the Blackguard’s grip, she spun on her heels and began to walk to towards the enchanted clock tower of Narbondel before heading east towards the path heading into caverns leading down to the lower planes.
Just as she began her descend down a marked corridor, she was met with a couple of male Drow; no insignia was apparent on their dark cloak. They were well built and as tall as she was. There were no weapons apparent on their form but she knew better. A quick nod ensue from one, the other roamed her person with his eyes. A sharp hiss escaped her. If they were of common houses, she would have slain them there and then for their audacity and no one would blame her. But it was folly to strike at them. From their carefree demeanor, it was obvious that they were members of Bregan D’ Aerthe; the underground renegades headed by the obnoxious yet brilliant king of thieves, Jarlaxle.
Swearing to find ways to exterminate the two on a later date, she continue on her way, pretending not to hear their lewd discussion; cursing the mercenary wholeheartedly. And here she was heading towards the most inappropriate venue for a meeting; a hot humid place, to meet a surface kin who reminded her of Jarlaxle in more ways than one.
However, where their notorious dealings with unscrupulous quarters might be similar, their appearance was totally opposites. Jaedhar, was taller than most surface elves. His handsome, gentle face belies a dark malicious inner self. A dangerous past surrounds him. She had seen it once. She had felt it in him. And in his touch. His touch invokes unrestraint shudders upon her being. The warmth she felt from the touch of his lips against hers was intoxicating; the touch of his fingers upon her skin and the feel of his naked form touching her petite form was sheer madness. Damn him! Damn him to the ninth hell and beyond!
Yes, truly she hates him.
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Jaedhar Daerwin
Soldier of the Damned
"The stars once lived and died at our command, and still you dare to oppose us"
Posts: 12
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Post by Jaedhar Daerwin on Jan 26, 2006 17:41:19 GMT 8
*One sinuous leg slid along the other in a near caress before stilling itself, crossed atop the knee of its second, the pose oddly feminine despite the clear masculinity of its actor. With the patience of the immortal Jaedhar had waited for her arrival, thoroughly upset that the pair had not descended to a more sophisticated level of power play then merely keeping the other waiting. He had expected such games to be a little more pleasurable by this point in their employer client relationship. The fingers of one willowy hand rose before him, amethyst eyes gazing over their lissom lengths for any sign of damage or mark. After all, one must make a good impression, and to greet his employer with misused hands would be a grave insult indeed. His free hand ran through the silvery lengths of his hair, drawing the mix of braids and free flowing locks across his shoulder to lay upon his now bared chest, curtaining the thick muscle that rippled beneath his ivory toned skin.
He looked much different then when he had first arrived, all arrayed for battle and mischief. Now he appeared prepared for misbehaviour of a different kind, his body clad in nought but a diaphanous robe of purple silk that hung precariously about his waist, exposing enough muscled curves and bared skin to make a Sembian courtesan blush. He was perched a few metres above the enticingly warm pool, the wafts of steam writhing about his languid form like a nest of serpents, For all his seeming ease he was not unprotected, the potent protections of before still cloaking his body in their strength, yet his offensive abilities were somewhat lessened, at least in the martial category. His scandalous outfit was his means of balancing such short comings, with the passion of their last coupling still fresh in his Spider kissing mistresses mind. Flicking a stray piece of dirt from beneath a perfectly manicured nail he turned his eyes to the entrance of the chamber and set his features into a mockingly inviting smile, his guests footfalls ringing down the corridor towards him.*
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Post by Shy`nayne Nathrae Auvryath on Feb 3, 2006 16:50:52 GMT 8
By all appearances, she was too small a creature to be walking unescorted through the smoky alleys of the Underdark. A beautiful creature, her features were delicate, her shining mauve skin giving her the appearance of an obsidian sculpture came to life.
There were monstrous things around her, monitoring her every move, watching her carefully, cautiously. While this female seemed delicate, even frail by the standards of the gruesome monsters of the Underdark, she could easily destroy any one. She is after all, a Drow, an instrument of chaos and destruction.
Shy`nayne heaved a silent sigh, stealthy footsteps faltering as she reached the archway leading into the cavern of underground pools. Steam rose from bubbling potholes, clouding her normal spectrum of sight. A quiet hiss escapes her as emerald eyes rolled in their socket. She feels the alien yet familiar emanations; she could almost smell him. Entering the humid enclosure, she relinquishes the piwafwi; letting the dark material fall upon moist laden floor. A hand rose to wave, and in a breath a pouch would materialized upon open palm. "Come and get it.." A mocking whisper ensued.
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