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Post by Shy`nayne Nathrae Auvryath on Jul 8, 2006 10:08:04 GMT 8
Jaedhar : Xel’Kallas Mithrim was in a decidedly foul humour. Lips curved in a sneer that had graced his ebon features for the last hour or so as he stalked through the empty compound of the fighter’s school. Damnable mages and their whispering and conniving, they had deprived him of one of his finest students, convincing the noble house of Del’Armgo that they would be better off with another wizard amongst their swollen ranks. Such subterfuge was to be expected, this was the city of the Spider Queen after all, but what frustrated Xel’Kallas most was that he could see no way of reversing their decision and regaining his hard won apprentice. He gave one last snarl of frustration before shaking his head, clearing away the worries that clouded his mind and freeing his thoughts from problems he had no hope of rectifying. As a master of Melee Magthere, he had no time for regrets, for they were a weakness that his tenuous position would not afford him.
His piwafi clad form glided quickly and soundlessly along the smooth marbled walkways now, heading with speed towards his residence, and the promise of a few hours of mind channelling meditation. It was only a few seconds after this most relaxing thought that his senses came alive, nerve endings buzzing as the silent alarm of one of the amulets dangling about his neck alerted him to a hidden presence nearby. Someone was watching him, and whoever it was certainly did not qualify as friendly, even by the standards of the Drow. Probably some fool assassin hired by the Sorcere masters to make sure he presented no further encumbrance to their plans. A grin split his mean face as he halted, hand whipping back to tear the great long sword he bore from its sheath and baldric. His words echoed through the apparently empty ally, arrogant and mocking “Come out, come out, wherever you are. I have places to be and no time to waste of fools li…”
His words broke off in a string of curses as he leapt forward, twisting his head aside to narrowly avoid the whipping arc of a blade. What in the hell? He spun on his heel, his blade springing up into a defensive guard as he danced back a few paces. What he saw was not at all what he had expected, and his arrogance of only seconds before was wiped away, heart pumping wildly. Surface elves? Three stood before him, weaving towards his retreating form, their blank stares unnerving even for the seasoned veteran. Hissing through clenched teeth he sped at them, lips parting to emit an ululating war cry that echoed from the dark stoned walls. Blades clashed, life stealing dweomers hammering against each other faster then the eye could follow. He waded in amongst the three, two swords and a great Mace hammering at him from every which way.
As good as he was, Xel’Kallas was under no illusions as to how long he would last against this trio of obviously skilled warriors. He ducked low under the swing of one cerulean haired peathingy, blade jabbing forth to strike at his face only to be whipped aside by the sword of shorn headed moon elf. His feet danced away, sword weaving before him to ward away a devastating series of follow throughs. He sprang high in the air, feet clearing the swing of that wicked looking mace by mere inches. Even as his toes settled upon the cobblestones he was moving again, rolling aside as a trio of daggers went whipping past him, the last opening a deep gash upon his upper arm. He rushed them again, gritting his teeth and ignoring the pain that lanced through him. Blades whipped about him, the air humming with the crack of steal on steal. Another wound opened on his leg, the cut so effortlessly quick that it was completely painless.
Blood gushed down his thigh, sliced muscle and tendon giving way as he slithered out of reach of a searching sword tip. The end was violently brutal and shockingly sudden, though Xel’Kallas could thank the Lady Lloth he did not see it coming, the heavy mace hammering against the base of his skull from behind, his head exploding and body flinging a dozen feet across the alley floor as arcane energy burst to life. He would never hear the faint applause that accompanied his demise, nor the sound of soft soled feet as the minions of Arach Tinilith rushed to his aid. Emerging from a doorway nearby, Jaedhar’s hands came together in quiet acclamation of his minions work, his honeyed whisper utterly calm, despite the growing crescendo of obvious hostile running feet.
“Well done. Zael’Karas, may I suggest Gloomstrike may not be the best choice of weapons for your next assassination attempt. While being frightfully effective, it is a little messy, wouldn’t you agree…” A delicate fingered hand motioned to the bloodied mace grasped in his lieutenant’s gauntleted hand. ”Deliver the body to Xarlraun, with my compliments, and be sure to count the amber and check it for illusory spells. I did not come here for the price of a bag of pebbles…” Jaedhar’s second in command nodded; the dour faced and black clad half elf stalking towards the limp body and collecting it matter of factly, hefting the shattered form with surprising ease, considering his lean stature.
A second later the trio dissipated into thin air, faint inky smoke that rapidly disappeared and the crimson stains that marked the cobblestones the only sign they had ever been there. Jaedhar gave one last nod of satisfaction before twisting a ring that sat upon his pale skinned finger, his own elegantly clad midnight form twisting in pitch dark shadows before disappearing as well, the last faint tendrils of darkness fading even as the first wave of sword bearing guardsmen came pounding around the corner. After millennia of magical travel, his body was thankfully used to its after effects, and so as he stepped out into the dimly lit chapel, he appeared none the worse for wear. His usual arrogant smile nestled upon those perfect lips, his lean body garbed in concealing black leathers that hugged his tight muscled form, and gave him a very business like appearance. Considering his usual ostentation, it was rather obvious that he had been out diving a dagger into some unfortunate’s throat. He halted wordlessly, leaning casually against a pillar carved in the shapely design of a female drow, eyes searching over her.
Shynayne: Soundless footsteps took her along the cold corridor. There was only silence accompanying her this day, not even her blackguards were around. Not that she was in any immediate danger. Not that she could not take on any would be assassin or anyone foolish enough to present a threat to her life. No. There was no need for security. This is her abode; the closest to home she had ever felt in so many years. House Auvryath is no longer home for the half draconic drow. After the defeat of House Vrammyr, Auvryath has climbed up another step. A glorious step and is now the 8th Ruling house of Menzoberranzan. Allowing her sister, Aurilith, now the House Matron after the successful assassination of their matriarch, to enter the Grand Council of Menzoberranzan.
A heave of sharp breath ensued, perhaps too loud for comfort, but she could not help it. The gurgle of death from her dying Matron’s throat still echoes in her ears; the deathly embrace still warm against her cold skin, the smell of tainted blood upon her person still fresh on her mind. Midnight strands swayed as she shook her head in silent remorse. Shynayne did not agree to the assassination and had not played any part of it if not for the insistent threat of banishment into the wasteland by her sister. Her half sister to be exact, for Shynayne was spawned by the adulterous union of Matron Aurilith with the Draconian warlord. Fingers curled into fists as she marched silently along the corridor, cursing the Drow and their twisted way of life. What was his name? Another shaking of her head ensued as footsteps receded before the shimmering portal. Aye, Aurilith has grown powerful.
Since becoming and serving Menzoberranites as the High Mistress of Sorcere, the school of Magic, the noble Drowess has grown in power. Shynayne would not be able to ward off the arcane attack with her unexplored innate powers, should she had refused to participate. Besides, it is her duty to support the Matron of the House and seeing that her Mother has overstepped her own authority by trying to protect the Vrammyr due to unknown reason, she was due for elimination. Still, Matron Char’Iltrae was her birth mother.
A tingle ran along her spine as she steps through the magical door, even after all these times, she hasn’t been able to adapt to the side effects. An irate snort escapes as she steps further into the circular chamber, eyes creeping up to the small yet grand chandelier, hanging from the high ceiling of the private chapel. Lips parted before moving rapidly, a hand rising to wave at the crystals. A purple glow erupted from every hanging piece of the gnome made elaborate lamp. A sigh escapes, eyes blinking rapidly to change the darkness vision to her normal spectrum of sight.
There were still too many areas of her powers that are still grey to her. And with the demanding job as the Mistress of the Assassin guild, she barely finds the time to concentrate on harnessing her powers. Coming to a stand before the opposite wall, she allows her mind to shove the dark memories back into the dark corner of her mind, emerald orbs, a strange and rare hue for a Drow, glistened as they caress the intricate and precise design of a White Wrym upon the life like mural mounted upon the chapel’s wall. From the delicate contours of its gigantic form to the silvery tip of its majestic wings and the midnight scales upon its back. A sigh escapes, almost as in regret, as a hand reaches out to touch the replica of the beautiful Black Dragon. But before the padded tips could touch the cold surface of adamantine make, a rush energy was felt, like a hail storm caused by the clash of thousand auras.
The chamber was protected against magical intrusions of any kind. Well, obviously not well enough, her mind would chide. A ripple was then felt; it was as if space and time were suffering a physical tear. There are no other creature in the entire Underdark complex, except for her blackguards, knew of the existence of her private chapel. Did Aurilith put the Mistresses up to this? Did they manage to scry into her mind? A sharp inhalation of breath ensued as she spins on her heels to face the intruder. She opens her mouth to let a string of unintelligent curses as eyes narrows dangerously. But instead of finding a dark kin smirking with a weapon drawn, they fell upon the pale visage against the silhouette of the statue. She tried to find the words to throw at his handsome face, fighting the urge to pound her dagger into his lithe form, but none came to her lips. She glares at him, a hand coming to rest on the hilt. “Give me a reason not to end your life, elf.”
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Post by Shy`nayne Nathrae Auvryath on Jul 8, 2006 10:10:14 GMT 8
Jaedhar: The pathways of the Laughing God were many, and the Great Trickster’s cleric granted magics had a nasty habit of finding a way past even the most well constructed arcane defences. He was not the god of mischief for nothing, after all. He apparently found her less then warm greeting most amusing, a crooked smile curving across his unearthly features as he casually coils one tiny braided lock about his hand, his attitude more suited to a Waterdhavian festhall than a hidden Llothite temple. “Well, I make a much prettier specimen alive then as a corpse…” His gaze locked with hers in unspoken challenge for her to deny his claims as he stalked across the room, giving her a wide berth as he headed towards the darkly majestic altar, glancing at her over his shoulder
“Aside from that; my Tanaruuks would run amok amongst your city, for which you would surely be held responsible, the Naggarythe would almost surely slay you in revenge, you would lose a valuable surface contact… and you would miss my tongue between your thighs…” He blew her a lewd air kiss, lips pouting mockingly as he languidly stalked to the altar, finger grazing over the raised divan. “Really my dear, you need to clean in here more often. Isn’t dust an affront to dear old Lloth?” He was being bold, he knew, but he could not help but grate against her religious sentiments, finding them oddly hypocritical considering she was bedding a surface elf, and enjoying it more then she would care to admit.
“Anyhow my lovely mistress, I was just in town on business and thought I would drop by to see how my favourite and most comely employer was doing, and present her with a fine gift. ”I hear there is some strife amongst the Auvryath? Perhaps this will cheer you…” His hand disappeared into a tiny pouch concealed beneath his leathers, emerging a moment later to drag a sword from the folds of his garb that could not possibly have physically fit there. Magical hidey holes, it seemed. He tossed the sheathed blade through the air, its slender length landing with a clang at her feet. It was frighteningly familiar, ‘Venom’s Kiss’, the infamous blade of one Xel’Karras Mithrim, Master of Melee Magthere and acquaintance.
Shynayne: She kept her anger in check; watching warily as he progresses forth though avoiding her path by making a wide berth around the arch of the room to the far end. Emerald orbs glistened as a heave of breath was taken; a snarl ensuing as his slender, fingers touching idly every surface within his reach. Why was he here? How did he come to arrive at her private chapel? By what means? Why couldn’t she feel the intrusion of his mana? The chapel was surrounded with sentient beings; the jade arachnids. They should have felt his presence, if not before then surely prior to his arrival. They should have given a warning tingle. Blasted magic user! She was sure that it wasn’t even innate. Whatever powers was lent to him.
Suddenly it dawned on her that he could be a very dangerous associate, even more as an enemy. A formidable foe indeed! Not that space travel was alien to her. She knew of his ability to travel.. no, traverse through space. She had seen him at work. Too many a time. She had wanted to learn that particular trick. But the thought of spending an entire year with a bunch of bitter, conniving mages, was enough to discourage. No matter, she knew she would eventually be able to perform that simple feat. Just a matter of finding the right tool. A huff resonated. But still, he is here, deep within the belly of the Underdark. Most importantly, he was here, in her private chapel. Her home! In short, he was violating her space. Just like he violated her, destroying the vows she took so many ages ago. Making her quiver under those fingertips, coaxing her to indulge in such blasphemous act.
Stop it! She would scream, blotting out the images of the not too distant incident in his own chambers; not so different from hers and the recent endeavor in a cavern of the lower planes. Shynayne glared at him, only half hearing his voice until her family name was uttered. “Do not be so bold, elf if you know what is good for you. Your lips taints the 8th House of Menzoberranzan’s ruling houses.” She spats, willing her feet to move but was unable to, for a peculiar reason. “What business brings you so carelessly into our midst? Your death wish is getting nearer to be fulfilled..” She would have continued but for the sudden flicker of lights hitting the adamantine surface of a Drow blade. Eyes grew larger; recognizing the snake head pommel.
“You.. you killed a Sword master? A master of Melee Magthere? By whose commission?!” She yelled, shaking visibly from sheer rage. “And coming here? Into my abode. With that weapon of his? Have you lost your mind?!!!” She knew, as he should, that the emanation of his departure will be caught by the ever presence Illithids; the psionic masters of Anarch Tinilith. Eyes would roll in their sockets; eyelids dropping for a moment before rolling up to glare up at his towering height. Emerald orbs now tinged with the brightest of blue. “I will not be incriminated in this.. I will soon rid the world of a surface filth as you before getting framed for his death. Take that sword back and go back to the surface world from whence you came..”
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Post by Shy`nayne Nathrae Auvryath on Jul 12, 2006 10:26:55 GMT 8
Jaedhar snorted in abject contempt as she spoke of his flight, suggesting such carelessness. He had not grown to be so very ancient by mere parlour tricks and good luck. He shook his head slightly, waving away her protests with one delicate fingered hand “I do not give away the names of my employers my darling drow, I do have some professional ethics you understand… though if the price were high enough…” He settled his hand on his chin, seeming to contemplate the thought for a breath of two before his head swivelled, fixing amethyst eyes upon her fuming form. He stalked forward, eyes boring down atop her with the weight of a mountain, their haunting depths inscrutable; words a savage snarl.
“You think me child enough to lure the forces of justice to your door. I am an assassin, my little spider kisser, as you would do well to remember. I have stolen more lives in my life then hearts beat in this wretched city of yours, and I yet live to stand here and mock you with such knowledge. You think your petty mage sprung spells and the weak psionics of the Ithillid abominations is enough to capture me? Lloth herself could not trail my dancing footsteps should I wish to elude her. Your tentacled pets and power hungry sorcerers will find naught but mocking laughter and shifting shadows…” He hovered mere feet from her new, the incriminating sword lying forlornly between his towering form and her menacing presence “How do you think I came to step into your private chapel, eluding all your charms and wards? Think on that next time you give thought to disposing of me my darling mistress…”
He swung low, offering a bow that mocked more then it did pay homage, straightening again with an elegant sweep, the fury of seconds before once again masked behind that beguiling smile. “So, you do not accept my gift?”
Shynayne: Her mind raced; every word that fell from his lips echoing deep in her mind. Of course he’s not an ordinary surface trash. If he was, he would have been detected long ago. Not only that, he commanded a ‘ghost’ army. A shudder ran along her back as she recall the many successful raids upon unsuspecting enemy camps, both underground and on the surface, with the help of the silent and effective of assassins. And not forgetting the band of killers, the Tanarukks. She was never fond of the giants, filthy even to compare to the lowest of the lower ranking fonder in any of the Houses’ army. Death becomes them; the stench of decaying souls hung to their presence. None would see another rising of Narbondel light upon coming across on of the Elf’s arsenals.
Of course he’s not a novice at this killing game. He’s an expert. A dark, unforgiving, professional assassin. If not for the deathly pale skin and the tall frame, he would not have a problem posing as her kin. Yet, she would never accept that he was more than she wants to believe. After all, despite having such a deadly army at his disposal and the unrivalled powers within his grasp; he is just a surface filth. So she kept her stance; eyes widening further as they glare up into the bright orbs of his before hissing quietly under her breath. “I do not want anything that would remind me of your presence. Unless..”
She pauses, right hand flicking out, palm out before curling fingers one by one; a summoning gesture. The pommel shifts, shuddering as it was drawn into the energy stream from her fingers. She is not a novice, herself. She was trained as a battle mage before assigned to the Assassin’s guild as mistress. “Narzakh..” She whispers the word in her mind, the it echoed beyond her head and onto the atmosphere; reverberating like a thousand whispers all around them. Like a flash, it flew into her hand and just as swift fingers closes in around the bone pommel, shaped in the form of a striking snake. “It reminds me of your demise…” The shiny surface of the blade glistened under the soft, dancing light of the chandelier, hanging securely above their heads.
Jaedhar: “Still throwing threats my darling spider kisser? I expected so very much more from you…” He studiously ignored her magical summoning, telekinetic parlour tricks that ever the lowliest of Sorcere’s initiates could duplicate with ease. He smiled wickedly as he stalked a step closer to her, eyes regarding the glimmering blade with little interest. An impressive piece of work, yes, but the adamantine weapons of the Drow were of little use to him on the surface. In truth, it was a gift that cost him nothing to give. “But I am content, I suppose. You may keep me in your mind as some weakling surface scum, and in your heart as the creature upon this world you most despise, for we both know that you keep me between your thighs as something not quite as abominable as you would wish…”
He threw her a nasty little wink before stepping deftly aside from her, his dark clad form stealing out of her field of vision as he stalked silently about her. His gaze swept over her curvaceous form, its steady progress almost physically palpable as those amethyst orbs grazed her every tempting inch. Yes, of all his current underdark contacts, she certainly was the most amusing, her contempt for him only adding to his lust for her ebony flesh, and the satisfaction he felt when such wants were sated. He slid back into her line of sight, stalking towards the altar once more and gesturing broadly to its spider etched surface “Since you are so ungrateful for my gift, perhaps I should stay a while and vex you with my presence, watch you confess your naughty little sins to mother Lloth. Do you think that she enjoys hearing your fantasies, of an elf lord in chains at your feet… or you at his?”
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Post by Shy`nayne Nathrae Auvryath on Jul 12, 2006 10:27:46 GMT 8
Would it be such an awful thing to have the Tanaruks within the cavernous City? Paving a path of destruction due to the demise of their ‘beloved’ master. It wouldn’t be hard to conceal the truth. For her brethrens are not of trusting lot. Lies and deceit, when administered in the right circles, would get people everywhere. A smirk slips unto her lips as wrist moved slowly, twirling the light, sharp edged adamantine blade in her hand. What a feeling it would be to thrust the slim blade into his chest and having a foot shoving non too kindly at the gaping wound as he bleed to death. A pleasure it will be to watch as life runs out of his shining eyes. Of course she will miss his elegant yet pompous presence. Even though she will never admit it, not even to herself, she rather enjoys hating him. Perhaps even, long for him.
A new leaf in the character sheet of this half draconian drow assassin. To feel, that is. She never had. Not even for the Drowess whom brought her to life though her wretched womb. Not for her half siblings who love to hate her for her blood, her lineage. No, she had never found any reason to feel for anyone. Thus, having lived in a world of constant deceit for the two hundred years of her life, she found no one to hate. For hate is a feeling. And she will not waste feelings on anyone. But then again, this surface filth is not just anyone. A silent snarl ensued, wrist flicking back swiftly, sending the blade flying towards the eastern wall to fall clanging unto the marble floor. If only she can stop hating him. If only. And just rid herself of his presence once and for all. But who else can she turn to now that her whole household is eyeing her in malicious contempt. From whom would she acquire instant assistance should she find herself requiring an army during these uncertain times?
A shake of her head ensued as she watches him moved towards the dais once again; issuing a heave of steadying breath. Praying to Lloth? Paying homage to the conceited deity? He must be joking. Oh, what a scandalous thought! Hah, but just another notch to be added to her dented shield of honor. But must she tell him her dark secrets? Of course not. She will play along. “I do not pray to Lloth… in others’ presence. It is a private affair.” She pauses, the smirk would return. “And who do you think you are? To be mentioned in such a sacred ritual? As delightful a toy you are, you’re nothing to me.” She huffs quietly, fold arms upon ample, scantily clad breasts. “Now do yourself a favor and disappears before I become bored of you.”
Jaedhar: “Nothing to you? It seems in your current role as the ill favoured sister, I am everything to you. Who else shall you turn to for support, when you writhe in chains at your sister’s feet, and she tosses you to the driders for their perverse pleasure?” His eyes shone bright in the near total gloom, their sparkling depths dancing somewhere between abject amusement and wanton desire as he slid from the dais, steps hunting her once more. A liquid as mist and shadow he moved, his raven’s feather hued form drifting closer and closer with deceptive innocence. “The question is, what are you to me, without your house treasury at your disposal, without your power base in the city? When it comes time, and the pieces are set against you, will I come to your aid, little spider?”
A delicate tongue swept out across perfectly formed tiers as he regarded her with an overtly predatory gaze, his body suddenly flitting forth to dance over those last few feet, the chill of his breath on her neck in a heartbeat as his lean body pressed against her scantily clothed form. His words were a delicate whisper, barely enough to stir the air as they caressed her ear “Perhaps I shall come just for spite, to steal you away so I may keep you as my pet, a dark elf slave to sit at my feet in chains and cater to my every depraved desire? Would you welcome that, more then death, my darling mistress?”
Fingertips were upon her then, delicate tips grazing along the long outer curve of her thigh with the slightest of feather soft touches. His mouth twisted in an amused grin even as he prepared for her attack, wondering whether the thought of herself as his slave would be enough to finally push her over the edge and raise her daggers against him, though whether through rage at him, or rage at herself for wanting his fantasies to become reality, he would not know. Either scenario amused him enough to make it worth his while to tempt her with his mocking words.
Shynayne held her breath as she felt his auras surrounding her, trying hard to keep her eyes trained on his moving form though many a time finding nothing but shadows in his wake. A heave of breath was taken as his whisper was felt. What would she do, indeed, if the situation plummets? Should her sister disown her and have the scores of assassins under her command turn against her? Even with a few of the loyal blackguards as her allies, they would not survive an uprising of hundreds of elite assassin of the revered guild. Not forgetting the resources by which the surface filth had been receiving his payment from. Surely the High priestesses of the Temple of the Spider queen will wash their hands of her once Aurilith convinced them of Shynayne’s worth. Or lack of, once the new Matron is finished weaving her lies.
Arms would leave their comfortable rest on her curvaceous form to fall back to their respective place. A slender brow would arch as his words continued to assault her ears; the violet of her skin turning a shade darker. What would it do to her if ever she finds herself nothing more than a toy at his feet, to cater to his every wiles and desires? Slender fingers begin to curl to form fists at her sides for he had suddenly touched a sensitive nerve. “Then I would rather die in the hands of the drider than bind myself to a surface filth such as you. If ever the need to be associated with you ends..” She pauses, hissing sharply as she felt his fingers along her skin. “I will make sure to take a souvenir from you.. and not in the most pleasant way you’d like to imagine. You will cease to find any reason to seek me out afterwards.”
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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 Jul 28, 2006 15:04:22 GMT 8
* “I would have thought you may have had your fill of my souvenirs already, my dear…” His free hand was suddenly at her furiously blushing face, digits teasing over her cheek in a gentle caress as his thumb mockingly slid across the soft pout of her lips, tracing the newly healed wounds that had marred her mouth after their last passionate encounter. His gaze caught hers, the expression on his eldritch visage dancing between coyly amused and wantonly aroused. His free hand slid without resistance into the tent of her robe, perfectly manicured nails raking softly across the nude flesh of her thigh and hip.
“But you have already bound yourself to me my dear. Without your beloved house, and your fickle goddess, I am all that you have. Would you really choose the chill embrace of death eternal above my delicate touch? I am slighted, my delicate little spider…” Mocking laughter filled her ears as he pulled his body aside from hers, his gaze sliding to the great adamantine frieze that her eyes had been lingering on when he had first intruded upon her reverie. Almost as an afterthought as he slid away his slender digits pressed between her ebon hued thighs, grazing across her leather clad sex. His touch was shockingly sudden, but just as soon departed, no doubt sending her already blushing face a few shades of violet darker.
Still chuckling to himself he swept past her enticingly garbed body, motioning languidly towards the striking image of the black dragon that wove across the wall, his voice a low and mocking purr “Perhaps I am wrong though… is this not an image of your father? You could always run to him I suppose. I am appalled that you have not introduced us; I make a habit of asking dragon’s permission before bedding their daughters. Or…” He settled against the wall, a rakish smile on his face as his hand once more flickered in the direction of the ebony wyrm “… perhaps you do not know your father at all?”*
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Post by Shy`nayne Nathrae Auvryath on Aug 13, 2006 12:09:35 GMT 8
Seething, -no, not quiet. Boiling is a better word to describe what she felt; her innermost rage bubbling to a bursting point at his mocking words-, emerald eyes glistening in the painfully dim chapel, keeping her eyes on his as his tall, slender form as he weaved in and out of her line of sight. And those lissome digits, trailing paths of lustful caress along her dark, supple skin. How they invoke impure thoughts in her thick walled mind. She heaved a steadying breath, cursing her senses for reacting so predictably to his touch; goose bumps erupting along her slightly arched back.
Fighting the urge to reciprocate the teasing touch, she hisses, pulling away, though not as much distance as she would wish. It has always been this way between them, the insistent war between love and hate. Though Shynayne had refused to think of the paralyzing emotion as love; preferring to shove it away into the darkest recess of her mind, and heart, as pure lust. Yet heart is a strange organ indeed, for it continues to long for him inspite it all.
His laughter resonated then, though is seemed to float only in her mind, echoing mockingly. She grips her fingers tight, fist balling. “Do not think for a moment that I need you, Elf. You are nothing but a convenience”. She dared to issue a slight laughter, fighting the urge to hurl her fists into his towering form as he pulls away, unclenching her fingers before curling them again tight; fingernails digging deep into her palm. “I do not need your association to survive this strife. You will be the last person I’d go to for help..” She continues, eyes never leaving his form as he draws near to the image of her Sire. “There are other people, or persons, that are vying for my attention. Should I find myself in a tight spot, I only need to approach them.”
The smile died on her lips as he raises a hand to touch the adamantine mural. “Get your filthy hand off..” She pauses, taking a step forth, hands forming into fists. “I should have your tongue for daring to speak of my.. the Black Wyrm.” She glares hotly at him, crimson ring appearing around emerald pupils. “It is none of your business, surface filth. You know nothing of me.. or my origin. Stay away from there this instance!” She almost screamed.
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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 Aug 13, 2006 12:56:59 GMT 8
*He waved his hand at her as though batting aside her arguments, a tired expression flitting over his unearthly visage; words a bored drawl “Yes, yes, of course you don’t need me, I am terribly convenient and just another one of your many many toys. Perhaps your arguments would ring truer were you to actually believe them yourself…” He raised his finger to his lips, tapping its padded tip quizzically on those perfectly sculpted tiers as his eyes searched across her, once more burning with barely repressed mischief.
“I must admit dear mistress I am surprised… should you find yourself in a tight spot, you would approach these others seeking sanctuary? Whoring yourself out for protection smacks of weakness my dearest Drow, though the thought of you bound in such submission is more then a little appealing. What happens when they tire of your delicious flesh, and seek the arms of another, as you fickle creatures are so want to do? Shall you turn your charms on lover after lover, to escape your fate?” He was pushing his luck, and he knew it, but half the fun of visiting with this particular employer was the barbs he could sting her with. As for the other half of the fun, it was decidedly more scandalous, and in the eyes of Lloth, possibly blasphemous.
He could tell, however, that it was his caress of her father’s image that most frustrated her. He licked his lips in appreciation of the sight of her as she tumbled hurriedly forward, her tensed muscles, bared teeth and wild eyes giving her an alluringly primal aura. Delicate fingers traced the design for a moment longer as she growled and roared her protests at him before they lifted from the metallic surface, gliding back to smooth through moon spun locks. “My hand is not filthy my dear, it is immaculate, and I resent any suggestion to the contrary. As for knowing you… perhaps I do know nothing of you, and yet I have proven remarkably adept at tugging upon your strings. Frightening, no, to think you could be so easily manipulated? Look even now. You are half torn between your desire to tear out my throat or tear off my clothes…”
He smiled wickedly as he acceded to her request, slinking away from the image of her father and stalking back to where she stood, fuming and seething at his mockery. His body slid against hers, predatory fingers treading their way once more beneath the voluminous folds of her loose fitting robe, grazing over supple flesh. “So, what will it be my dear? Will it be lust or anger that wins out? Or both, perhaps?”*
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Post by Shy`nayne Nathrae Auvryath on Aug 28, 2006 16:46:20 GMT 8
She remained on the spot, barely a yard away from his tall, slender form. Her injured pride demanded for a swift retribution for his insolence, having so carelessly suggested that she would be whoring her way out of her current predicaments. Truly, she was all alone, without the support of any ‘real’ associates. For associates are what those unscrupulous quarters are to her. She dares not call anyone a friend. She had none; she didn’t think she would ever need one. Besides, the conceited culture in which she was born into did not allow such intimate relationship. There were only associates and often enough, enemies.
Her mind drifted swiftly to the many weapon masters that she had come across and at many a time came to be in contact with. And the numbers had diminished in recent decades; some had fallen to the will and wiles of their own house and many to their close ‘associates’. Shynayne heaves a ragged breath, watching as his lips moved on the beautifully sculptured figure of her sire. Surely, he must be a sorcerer for knowing so much about her past. A sigh left her deep crimson tiers as eyes caresses the magnificent mural. She had longed to meet with the Black wrym of whom she had been denied the knowledge until recently.
She tore her eyes away, fighting the urge to cry out from sheer frustration. Her gaze found his visage; unconsciously drinking in the beauty that she had loathed her whole life. Funny, it would seem that a Drow, half draconian at that, as her self would find this surface creature as anything but horrendous. In fact, she finds him most alluring, most captivating in more ways than one.
She shook her head, growling almost audibly, shaking the mental image of his naked form her mind, glaring past the veil of hallucination to strain crimson tinged emerald orbs at his smirking face. “You will forever be filthy of the surface, elf. No matter how clean you present yourself, I will never see you but the filth that you are”. She snarls then, taking a step back as his tall, lithe form started to move closer to where she stood under the luminous faerie light of the chandelier. Emerald eyes glimmering dangerously.
“You are think too highly of your despicable self.” She huffs; hands finding perch on her curvaceous hips. “I have had other partners who are much more.. fascinating and fulfilling.” She allows for a mocking laugh to erupt from full lips. “I will soon tire of you, elf and even now I only wish to taste your blood on my lips. Since you’re here..” Fingers curl upon the hilt of her hidden dagger, retrieving the weapon swiftly before letting it fly towards his heart.
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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 Sept 30, 2006 18:02:59 GMT 8
* “Filth, filthy, filth, filthy… your insults are getting awfully repetitive dear mistress. You should spend some time with the more unsavoury slave races that you have under your command. I am sure the orcs in particular could teach you a broader range of colourful and wounding slurs”. A mocking smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he watched her bluster her bile at him, his hands ignoring her threats to trail along her supple flesh. Long before the blow came he could feel her tense beneath those padded fingertips, a sure sign of the violence that erupted from her curvaceous form a heartbeat later. With graceful ease his body twisted sideways, the dagger whipping past him, though the economical dodge made it seem as though he had barely escaped her viper quick strike.
One ring clad hand flickered out, faster then even her Drow eyes could follow, the lissom digits clamping around her wrist with deceptive force, their grip crushing down atop the dagger wielding arm. Lips peeled back, baring his teeth in mock ferocity as a mixed purr and growl echoed from deep within his chest; amethyst eyes locking onto her emerald orbs warningly “Tsk tsk my darling mistress, there are many more recreational ways to explore if you wish to find my blood on your lips. The one you seem to be in favour of is awfully messy, and I would hate to profane the temple of Lloth further by spilling my filthy surface trash blood all over its polished marble floors. Besides, I am rather sure I would stain…” Considering that fact that she had just made an attempt on his life, the ancient eldar seemed remarkably cool, his free palm not even searching for any one of the dozen concealed weapons she was almost sure he routinely carried. Instead, it gave her a conciliatory little pat on the cheek before settling against the swell of her upper chest, shoving her away from him as he at once released her wrist and stepped languidly back.
“So, are you going to stop this nonsense, or am I going to have to school you in the finer arts of etiquette between employer and employee?” He left the question hanging, the air between their stilled forms fairly humming with violence as his hand moved incongruously to the front of his shirt, idly polishing the bands of silver, electrum and white gold that encircled to his deft digits as he fixed her with his most devastatingly dense look. “Hmmm?” *
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Post by Shy`nayne Nathrae Auvryath on Nov 14, 2006 19:30:54 GMT 8
She was of course enraged by his audacity; emerald orbs ablaze with unmasked hate for the pale, elven form standing nonchalantly before her. Not that she expected any less from the likes of him. They have known each other for more years than she would care to count. She knows him well, and oddly enough, though much to her displeasure at times, he knew her even better than she would ever admit. But that does not give him the right to command her. She is a superior being! To suggest that she would suffer through his insolence and abuse is an outright blasphemy! And yet, she has allowed him the luxury of molesting her nigh perfect form while she seethes in silence. Perhaps, she had wanted him to. It has been a long while since they have had the pleasure of enjoying each others’ punishments. She shook her head, clearing the scandalous thoughts from her mind. Emerald eyes narrows dangerously as they trained on his features.
“Must I remind you not to use the Goddess’ name so freely, elf? Or do you wish to have your tongue cut off of your mouth?” She shrugs the flimsy cloak from her shoulders before stepping away from the crumpled garment. Standing in barely concealing undergarments, she snarls at him, baring rows of sharp canines to remind him of her place and superiority. “This temple, the altar, the relics, this very guild is mine and mine alone. I do not share it with anyone, not even a deity. Nor do I wish to invite one except if it was the Black Wyrm himself. So refrain your tongue from speaking of others in his presence”. She spats before glancing towards the polished adamantine mural, as if offering an apology to the image of her sire before returning her emerald glare to his similarly hued orbs.
“And that is what you are, surface trash. You are a filth. You may not look much like one but you are filthy in every sense”. She injected her venomous reply. Oddly, it was accompanied with a smile, albeit a sly one. A slender hand came to rest on her curvaceous hips, fingers drumming idly as her eyes bore upon him, undressing his lean form, raking his flawless skin with a lustful stare. “I must admit though, elf, I like the taste of your filth riddled blood on my tongue.” She raises her free hand; the palm and slender digits were alight with a purplish luminous light, very much like the faerie lights but thicker and sizzling with life. “Perhaps I should chain you down on the altar and carve your smooth skin to feast on your warm blood this day?”
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