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| House Blackrose Crypt Keeper Quote | Reply | | A tale of House Blackrose posted on: 5/18/2003 8:38:20 PM "Hymn to Intellectual Beauty" While yet a boy I sought for ghosts, and sped Through many a listening chamber, cave and ruin, And starlight wood, with fearful steps pursuing Hopes of high talk with the departed dead. I called on poisonous names with which our youth is fed. I was not heard, I saw them not; When, musing deeply on the lot Of life, at that sweet time when winds are wooing All vital things that wake to bring News of birds and blossoming, Sudden thy shadow fell on me; I shrieked and clasped my hands in ecstasy! I vowed that I would dedicate my powers To thee and thine: have I not kept the vow? -Percy Bysshe Shelly Part One: Blackroses Deep, in the dark recesses of the world, roses grow… roses that have never seen the light of the sun. There are many types of roses in the world above, roses of many bright colors that are pleasant to behold, but none such as these. No, these are Blackroses, with petals as dark as the Underdark itself and like the Underdark their beauty hides deadly secrets. The stems are as deep green as emeralds, and the thorns, and there are many of these, seem to glisten gold when held up to light. Like any other rose these must be treated with care else they would wither and die, but methinks that is where the similarity ends. These roses are things of the Underdark, and must be fed with blood. But why would one go to such trouble to grow and tend a flower like this you may ask? Is it for the beauty? They are indeed beautiful. Perhaps it’s for the ability to claim ownership over something so rare? Well they truly are rare, growing in only one cavern in the entire world and jealously guarded. No, the answer is quite simple really. Power. These roses, unique in all the world and fed by blood in the darkness of the lands below, possess one of the deadliest poisons known to any of the races. The dew gathered from the petals is a narcotic with hallucinogenic properties, which is widely praised as an aphrodisiac… in small quantities of course. The petals can be dried and consumed. The one so unfortunate to have this spice added to a meal, almost certainly without their knowledge, would very quickly begin to suffer the most unpleasant of sensations as their insides twist and turn upon themselves, breaking bone and ripping vessels and organs in the process. Oddly the victim stays conscious throughout, but really it’s just an inconvenience. There is no cure, so those last moments are usually spent praying for death. Perhaps the worst fate comes from the thorns of the roses themselves. The tiniest of scratches from the roses can deliver a fatal dose of the venom. The effects are almost immediate as the muscles lock into place with a searing pain like being burned from the inside out and the scream is stilled in the clenched throat. The heart constricts and is stilled while the abdomen compresses the lungs into the chest cavity forcing out the last breath. It seems that the only voluntary action the poison allows the victim is tears, which silently crawl down faces frozen in the agony of death. How do I come to know so much about Blackroses? A good question since the vast majority of people who come to a personal knowledge of them can no longer speak of the experience. But such is not my case. I am Cyane Blackrose, born into the noble Teir’Dal House Blackrose, and it is my family that discovered this cavern eons ago and it is we who tend the roses. Part Two: Kin My family’s history is ancient and to write it would fill many volumes, so what I pen here is but a small part of it. My father was Visser Blackrose, a powerful Shadow Knight, and he took for his bride Lady Lassira, a Necromancer of no small skill herself, whose undead slave was ever by her side. They took control of House Blackrose after the questionable deaths of my grandparents, but of this I will not speak. Suffice to say that when they came to power they had lost the favor of several powerful Teir’Dal Houses, but this is always the way in our world. In an effort to begin building their own power base, my father came up with the plan to sire an offspring with a human woman. Needless to say my mother was not pleased. It is no secret that intimate liaisons are a part of dark elf society, but it is only a fool that would allow themselves to get caught doing so, much less claiming the proof of such a coupling. In this case however what would normally be considered foolish was instead genius. The result of this particular encounter was my half brother, the bastard Nystir. Nystir looks very much like any other half-elf with slightly darker skin tones that he passes off with the lie that he was born in the sun drenched lands around Freeport. This gave him the ability to enter into any goodly city at will, an ability that my father put to great use. Arranging for him to be brought up in the Bard’s guild, my father gained the best of all spies and informants, a contact that any other dark elf House would kill to possess. My family has made its great fortune selling the poisons of the Blackroses to any who could pay the price, and with Nystir able to freely move about the world that clientele was greatly increased. Merchant, mercenary, scholar, procurer of items, Nystir is all of these. It was his usefulness alone that kept my mother from killing him I believe, and there are many others in Neriak that would have the bastard half-elf dead. Early on Nystir obtained a magical mask that allows him to conceal his half-breed nature and move about freely in Teir’Dal society, thus he can come and go in any city in the civilized world, evil or good. It was then that, perhaps in an effort to appease my mother, my parents decided to spawn a full-blooded offspring. I am that heir. Like any other youth born in Neriak, I was sent to the temples and colleges of the Teir’Dal to determine my strengths and abilities. It was here that I began to meet the others, those who considered themselves my “peers.” I was quickly able to discern that the vast majority of them were doomed to become the fodder they were born to be, all except one. Tvar Whitehand was an exception. Early on is was clear to me that he showed great promise and no little skill. I quickly called him to the attention of Nystir who wasted no time currying favor with the youth, gifting him with coins, gems and items of magic. In Neriak you live and die by choosing the right allies. As we went through the testing process together, we both showed an aptitude for the arcane, but whereas he was enthralled with the power to influence the minds of others, my interests were in the darker arts. My talents with the Blackrose poison gave me skill in learning other poisons as well as diseases and other afflictions of the blood. Where Tvar wanted to control the thoughts of others to bend them to his will for a time, I wanted the power to command death itself. Thus he was sent off to study with the Enchanters while I was sent to the Lodge of the Dead to learn from the ancient Necromancers. Part Three: Madness I descended to the lowest parts of Neriak, where only the privileged are allowed to walk. Past the last walls of the city there is a dark cave that is guarded by ghouls who ever hunger for blood. If you are of like spirit, you may pass. If not, their hunger will be sated for a time. They followed me with their unblinking gaze, but allowed me passage. I descended past them into a large cavern that held a temple whose walls were stained crimson. Making my way up the stairs and past the iron bound doors I sought out the highest room in the tower where my new master awaited me. Approaching his door I could hear screams from within. Steeling myself, I knocked on the ancient door, which opened of it’s own accord. Inside stood the decrepit form of Val’mir Noxiven, the oldest and most powerful dark elf Necromancer known. His skeletal form was wraith thin and covered by the black folds of his robes. His skin looked like ancient parchment drawn tight about him while wisps of yellow-white hair hung sparsely from his scalp and his elongated fingers ended in what looked more like claws than fingernails. For all of this it was his eyes that held me most enthralled, they were like pits of the deepest dark, black and unblinking. It seemed as if eternity were held in those eyes, and knowledge that no mortal should ever know. He stood silent observing me as well, and then, as if he had come to some silent decision in his ancient mind, he began to speak. The parchment-like skin around his desiccated lips cracked as if it was unused to choking out the normal words of speech. “You come here seeking power is it?” the raspy voice asked. “Know you well what it is that you will give in return, I would not have you be deceived. Your heart still beats within your breast, but it will not always be so. To seek the power of death is to court death itself, to learn its secrets is to become death. Those who tread this path exchange life for death, though they seek power to exert their control over others in life end up with their own death in the end! It is insanity I say, insanity!” His voice rose to a fevered pitch and was cut off in cackling laughter. Regaining control of himself he regarded me again and asked, “Is this the path you chose?” Peeling my eyes away from him for the first time I glanced around his laboratory. Cases along the walls were filled with rows of books, ancient scrolls and glass jars of pulsating worm larvae, insect wings, and bits of fur, spider webs, claws and a multitude of other grotesque odds and ends. Chained to the wall was a wood elf female clad only in scraps of cloth. Her skin was deathly pale except for the deep red scars on her arms showing where her veins had been opened for a bleeding. Weakly raising her head, the pleading hope in her eyes faded upon seeing me and she fell back to sobbing. On tables were vials of blood, knives and beakers that smoked and hissed. Cauldrons in fire pits bubbled with unknown liquids and released a putrid stench. A disembodied human head lolled around inside a small glass tank, its eyes rolling and its mouth straining to form screams that the missing throat could no longer make. A specter clad in a burial shroud silently floated in the corner of the room awaiting its master’s commands, waves of unnatural cold emanating from its ghastly form. At the far end of the room lay a coffin, unearthed and broken open. A single arm protruded from it, bleached white except for blue-black pustules from which sickly green pus slowly flowed to form small pools on the floor amidst red stains. Thick smoke from the torches wafted up the walls to obscure the rafters where vampire bats rustled in roost. I turned back to Val’mir who stood watching, but I was resolved. “Can I play with madness?” His answering cackle echoed throughout the halls as the door silently shut behind me. (OOC A tip of my hat to the lads in Iron Maiden...) Part Four: Black Widows The years that followed under Master Noxiven’s tutelage were harsh. He demanded much from me, but was generous with his knowledge. Often I would go for days without sleep, constantly reading from his ancient tomes and committing their contents to memory. The Master had long ago given up eating and drinking, a talent I had not acquired, and thus I was forced to live on whatever I could scrounge up in his laboratory. Amazing what one will live on when one is desperate enough. His testing would rend me to the ends of my abilities and beyond, often leaving me a withered husk lying on the floor passed out for days at a time, but there was always more. The risks were great, for toward the end true death itself was no longer an option, but whole new realities were opened up to me with each task I passed. I vividly remember the first time he taught me how to use the dark arts to trade my health for the mana that powers our spells. How I screamed when the flesh was stripped from my bones, but then there was the ecstasy of feeling that magical power pouring into me! My mind was tormented to its limits, but I was ever its master; the darkness wouldn’t warp my mind as it had others. Over the course of the years Nystir would come by and deliver rare and obscure pages and texts that he discovered in his travels as well as information, thus the Master tolerated him. It was during one of these visits that he told me that our father was dead. It seemed that even though our House is well guarded, an assassin was able to creep into the bedroom where he and mother lay sleeping and was able to choke the life from him without alerting mother or her undead servant. Oddly, mother shed no tears at his passing, and was quick to have his body delivered into the rose beds, for of course the roses must be fed. Nystir also mentioned that the rumor passed through the slaves that as they lay his body among the roses, marks and bruises could be seen on this throat, bruises in the shape of skeletal fingers. Nystir was human enough to be outraged by this murder, but he was Teir’Dal enough to know to keep silent. It is, I believe, a misconception among the other races that in Teir’Dal society it is the females who rule. This is not entirely accurate. The one who rules is the one with the most power and who is most able. Males of my race are just as fast, strong, wise and intelligent as females of our kind, but it is the truly rare male who can match a dark elf female in sheer cunning. Their shrewd and devious manipulations and schemes leave little to chance and it is this ability that gives them the advantage over males and explains why most Houses and Guilds are run by Matrons. They do not rule by right of birth, they rule because they take it. Black Widow spiders are well named. Part Five: Death The night finally came when I was to attempt my last test and take up the mantle of Necromancer. I had learned all that I could at the hands of Master Noxiven and thus he cast me out of his tower and bade me return a Master in my own right or to not return at all. Failure is not accepted in our world. Thus I made my way out of the caverns of the Underdark that had been my home these many years and entered up into the surface world. It was dark and the full moon was riding high in the night sky, occasionally masked by the thin clouds as they passed. I called upon the shadows to mask me as I walked and made my way toward the human city of Freeport, but it was not the city itself that was my destination, it was their graves. The night was silent as I walked with only the whisper of the wind in the autumn trees to mark my passing. I reflected on the past several years and all that I had learned from the Master. Many were the dark secrets he had revealed to me, but in one thing he had been mistaken. His warning of our first meeting echoed in my mind, such needless babbling! The thought of it actually brought a slight smile to my lips. Reaching my destination, a cemetery on a hill beyond the city walls, I pushed open the old rusted iron gates which screeched in protest as if they knew what I was to attempt. I slowly made my way up the hill. A low fog hung about the hill which parted as I walked, not unlike a ship slowly making its way through the water. As I passed among the tombstones and grave markers I began to hear their voices. Softly they spoke and I listened as I walked. Some called out to me begging for release, others bemoaned their fate and death cheating them out of what they could have accomplished and others quietly whimpered to themselves in hopes that I would take no notice and pass them by. But these were not what I was searching for. Straining, I listened for a particular voice, one that would rise above the others and prove worthy. My searching was not to be in vain. At first I could not make out the words, just the anger and fury that raged behind them. Carefully I drifted toward the voice and it began to grow louder and the words began to form. The voice was cursing the wooden walls that encased it and the ground that covered it, the death that cut it short and the lives that others continued to live, and especially it cursed me for being there and for drawing breath. As I stood at the foot of that grave the voice from below rallied up at me, screaming for me to come down and join it so that it could suck the life from my bones and from any other that continued to live while it was held in the prison of death. I had found the one. I moved up to the tombstone and laid open my Tome of Dark Bindings on its pitted stone. I didn’t bother to read the name inscribed. Its name in life no longer mattered, in undeath it would be my thrall. I lit several tapers and placed them about the grave and on the tombstone. The flickering light moved across the runes inscribed in my Tome, but provided enough light to proceed. Gathering my breath and slowing my heart rate, I began the chant. Slowly and softly at first I began to form the arcane words and I began to pull on the invisible strands of mana and gather them to me. The voice below my feet quieted down as I spoke and then must have realized what I was attempting for it began to taunt and ridicule me in an attempt to break my will. If it succeeded it would have its wish and I would join it in the grave. On and on the chant went, until my mouth went dry and sweat ran from my brow as the mana I was channeling washed through me and poured down into the grave like water from a thunderstorm. The voice increased its threats and rants until I couldn’t hear myself over it. Down below I could feel the magic working on the corpse, pulling old bones together, reconnecting them and giving them strength. At one point I heard a thunderous crash and the splintering of wood from below. Slowly I felt the ground under my feet start to shift and knew the moment of truth was at hand. I had given the corpse unlife, but now I had to bind it to my will. From below I could feel it clawing its way to the surface with inhuman strength but my incant was not yet complete. My body shook and my voice was barely a whisper as I forced out the final stanzas. The soil near my feet opened and a skeletal hand broke through and reached for the night sky. I gasped out the words and the magical energy continued to flow into the corpse as it continued to pull itself up from the grave and began to reach for me. At the last it grabbed the hem of my cloak and pulled me toward its waiting arms, but I muttered the last word and with a flash of black and green energy the creature was struck. Slowly the energy faded into it’s bones and a sickly green light emanated from empty eye sockets as it turned its skull toward me and simply said “Master.” It had worked! The corpse was fused with dark power and was totally under my control. My last test was passed; I was now truly a Necromancer. Part Six: War My joy knew no bounds that night as I walked from the cemetery, undead thrall in tow. I made my way back to Neriak and after a quick search, I found Tvar in The Bauble talking to the jewel merchant Telnor D’Unnar. They seemed to be haggling over the price of several high quality gems that Tvar was interested in so I stood by and watched. The merchant was adamant about his price, but as Tvar spoke to him with his usual charismatic charm, I noticed that his hand gestures were doing a bit more than just punctuating his speech; they were somatic components to spells. Suddenly Telnor agreed that he was being a bit pricy and that Tvar’s asking price was much more reasonable. I almost laughed out loud at the poor fool. So deft and subtle was Tvar’s casting that not even Guard K’Jartan who was stationed at the door took any notice of it. I was a bit surprised that neither of them offered to help Tvar carry his purchases home. As Tvar made his way over to me with a weighty bag of gems in hand he offered me a wink and we made our way out. Once outside, Tvar noticed my new companion and I told him of my success at the grave that night. I invited him home with me to share in my celebration assuring him that the feast and entertainment would last until next nightfall. We made our way to the secret tunnels in the Underdark that led to the caverns that held House Blackrose, but our cheerfulness suddenly turned to shock when we emerged on the main cavern and found my home under attack! A rival dark elf house had decided to try and take over the Blackrose caverns and my family and slaves were sorely pressed. Most of the enemies knew better than to try and rush through the rose beds for fear of the poison, but some either forgot or accidentally found their way into them and were writhing in pain as the Blackroses pulled them down. The House guards were using the rose beds as protective barriers, but the arrows and spells being launched at them were taking their toll. My mother was at the front of the fight, casting her spells to devastating effect and her pet was bringing death to many of the attackers as well, but they were being closed in on anyway. Nystir was surrounded by dark elves, goblins and orcs, but his bardic magic was speeding his attacks while slowing down his attackers so that his ancient mace and curved blade brought them down one by one as he danced. The other House guards were holding their own, but it was only a matter of time. This was going to be a war of attrition, and the attackers had the greater numbers. Enraged, I ordered my undead thrall into combat, which it rushed into with cackling glee. I began casting my most potent spells bringing disease, poison and death into the enemy ranks, while at my side Tvar began to cast his own spells which left the enemy spell casters and archers dazed and confused. With our surprise attack from the side the tide was quickly beginning to turn. The attackers were being pushed back, but with no clear exit and now no defense from their rear, they would have to try and get through the hedge-row maze of the rose beds. We gave them no chance to do so and drove them into the roses like pushing an invading army into the sea. I took a moment to look over at my mother who had several House guards and her pet with her, but they were suddenly rushed by a huge ogre swinging a two-handed maul. Mother’s pet rushed to attack it, but the undead creature had been severely beaten and was no longer a match for the ogre. Several swipes from the beast’s maul and the pet was reduced to dust. With rage in her eyes, my mother turned her fury on the ogre just as he raised his maul over his head. She began the words to her spell, but she was not fast enough. I looked over to Nystir who was closer than I, just to see him finish his remaining foe and lower his weapons as he watched the remaining battle. The ogre brought his weapon down with both hands and struck mother fully in the chest blasting the life from her body. The remaining guards fell on the ogre and were able to bring it down with but a few more losses. With that, the battle was at an end. The remaining attackers were being subdued or were facing their fate in the roses. I quickly moved over to mother’s body and was met there by Nystir and Tvar. There was nothing left in her eyes and the decades of wielding dark power began to take their due on her body. I lifted her up and carried her over to the nearest rose bed. Softly lowering her down, the roses slowly wrapped around her and pulled her down into their final embrace. No matter what else happened, the roses must be fed. Nystir bent down on one knee and in front of all gathered, he pronounced me Lord of House Blackrose. Though he was the elder of us, he was still a half-breed and he knew his place. I wondered then, and have often since, if he could have saved mother. His bardic magic allows him speed unknown to almost all others and I would have thought him able to get to her side at the last. Perhaps not or perhaps he is just more Teir’Dal than I have given him credit for. Rising up from the rose bed I gave my first orders as head of the House, which were to have all but one of the formerly secret tunnels leading to our caverns collapsed, and to have the prisoners readied for torture. Turning to Tvar I praised him for his loyalty to House Blackrose and proclaimed him a brother in all things except name, and that he would from then on be treated with all of the rights and privileges of a noble of the House. Turning to Nystir, I ordered him to take all the platinum he needed from out vaults and to go to the slave markets and buy more guards, plus five of the largest, meanest trolls he could find. Our defenses were weak and needed to be rebuilt. Part Seven: Bahali Over the next several days the repairs to our defenses were put into place and we made plans to raid the Butcher Block Mountains and capture a dwarven mining crew to excavate new tunnels from our caverns. They would be killed after they were done of course, but the hope of being freed would keep them working. Nystir brought many new slaves back from the slavers market and presented the five trolls he had picked out to me. Looking them over I agreed that he had made good choices; these were large even by troll standards. Turning, I addressed them and told them of my plan. “You five are to fight each other to the death. The winner of the battle will be trained and made the new head of the House Guard, the losers will be turned into undead slaves.” One of the dimmer looking trolls smirked and said “What we no fight fer youz?” My hand instantly lashed out and flames shot forth from my finger tips. The troll was suddenly bathed in flames and the other trolls and Nystir had to duck to keep from being caught up in the blaze. When the flames extinguished there was nothing left of the brute but a charred skeleton. I waited until they all looked back up and then turned to me, I wasn’t finished and I didn’t want this lesson to be lost on any of them. When I had their full attention I began another incant and as the magic flowed from my hands it wraped around the skeleton until it began to reform and stand up. Green light started to show from its empty eye sockets and it began to walk over and took up position behind me. Looking back to the others I began again. “As I was saying, you four will fight to the death and the winner will be my new House Guard Captain, the fighting will begin now.” Without another word the beasts turned and began to ravage one another. They started by attacking the one closest which paired them off in two’s. While the first set of brutes set about pummeling each other, a seemingly cleverer one of the bunch in the second pair lured his opponent in close and then rushed him, dropping him to the ground. With surprising speed, he was able to wrestle his mate over onto its stomach and then grabbed its right arm around, pulled it behind and began to push it up toward the back of its head. The troll on the ground screamed in pain as the muscles tore and the bones broke, but the brute on top didn’t stop there. He continued to twist and push until the limb came loose and was ripped free from its socket with a spray of blood. Stomping on the head of his armless foe brought that ones struggle to an end. Now armed with a weapon, so to speak, he charged the other pair who had basically beaten each other senseless at this point. They were no match for the new comer to their battle and the macabre club he wielded. He proceeded to beat them into the ground and continued pounding until neither moved. Finally done the troll looked up and walked over to me, severed arm still in hand. “Well done” I said. “What do they call you?” “Mez Bahali” said the brute. “Well it looks as if you are the winner. You will be taken to the armory and fitted with armor and given weapons. See that you are worthy of them, you will only keep your position, and your life, as long as you serve us well.” The beast nodded and began to walk away, taking a large bite out of his meaty club. I looked back over to Nystir who was grinning. “Take him and have him fitted for armor and give him his choice of the weapons in the vaults, then take him back to Grobb and pay the masters there to teach him to use them with skill. Give him all the food, ale and women he desires, but take care not to let him get fat and lazy. I want him to have a vested interest in our House, besides his life depending on it.” Still grinning, Nystir nodded and moved to catch up with Bahali, putting an arm around the troll and leading him in the direction of the vaults. Yes, things were beginning to take shape nicely. The skeletal troll standing behind me voiced no opinion. |
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Lobian Darthuk
The Silverhand Nimoy Fanboy Quote | Reply | |
A tale of House Blackrose
replied on: 5/19/2003 3:58:04 AM Sorry, but I'm not going to read a post that long. Nothing personal, but my eyes get tired of remembering where they were on the screen. |
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House Blackrose
Crypt Keeper Quote | Reply | |
A tale of House Blackrose
replied on: 5/19/2003 9:21:35 AM That's why it's broken up into sections. |
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Lobian Darthuk
The Silverhand Nimoy Fanboy Quote | Reply | |
A tale of House Blackrose
replied on: 5/19/2003 5:18:01 PM So are books. I don't read them online either. |
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