Suliss'urn
Hunkered near the alleyway's darkly stained cobblestone, she arose in a single motion reminiscent of serpents releasing lifeless prey. She, yes. Definitely female, definitely not human. Skin so black that it highlighted blue in the far off torch light shone down the length of space between two buildings. Her eyes which were almondine slanted flashed animal-gold in illumination.
Though only a diminutive height of five foot, five inches, the split seconds the watch was able to catch sight of her was impressive enough. Coated in what seemed like ritual scarring, old claw marks, old knife battles, old sword wounds, the skin from her neck down glittered with rich silver scar-tissue in various winding lines; some hateful, some not.
While it was only a blink of an eye, the guard holding torch later said it felt like a life time as he was not sure for a moment if she was going to come at him or not. He'd been well informed of drow and their nature and none held against him the terror which had paused him at the mouth of the alleyway for several heart-beats.
She turned in leather glory, a vest cinched tight to keep it closed and sleeveless to keep her arms free, a pair of woolen britches to remain decent and that was all. Her bare feet made no noise as the watchman saw her fling herself into the shadows as woman might fling herself into lovers arm.
She was gone.
The only testament to her passing was the bloody corpse left on cobblestone, split from collar to crotch. In the torch light, the watchmen noted that the man's ribs, glistening white like maniacs grin in bloody red, had been thoroughly gnawed upon.
WHO AM I?
This is the question that I pretend does not exist. The question which my mind asks in a little voice, hunkered and cowering behind all else in my head. This is the question that has plaqued me, silently, as the spectre of my Matron mother cackles gleefully in her spider-legged throne in all my nightmares, watching as her daughters eat each other's hearts whole.
Who I once was, no longer matters, however. My name I carried on my tongue in the Underdark, the house glyph I allowed to lay near this useless muscle called a heart--unimportant here in this white washed surface of sun and pale skin.
Who am I?
I am the spaces between. Between the skin and after teeth break through, the sound of canines tearing. I am the teeth. I am the nails raked until the surface peels, bloody and shredded into fine red mist. I am the instinct that all of you cringe away from; that which you wish you could do when you bite your tongue so hard blood arises between your gums.
I am the violence beneath.
I am the animal.
I am the shar vith you have craved for so long, watching, waiting, wishing, hoping.
I am drow.
I am neither of these things, and all of them. The sweetest poison you wish to drink until your tongue turns as black as I.
And I am so much more.
I am Suliss'urn.
THE PAST
Suliss'urn was born middle daughter to a trio of females. Her mother was a Matron of a middling noble house within the Underdark. Her first memories were as washed with blood as any brain-addled Lloth worshiping drow would hold. She could not come up with a number if pressed, as to how many children her own age she murdered in order to ensure her survival.
The oldest sister, Skikudis, was a brute of a female with a broad, plain face much like her pit-fighting father, who was pulled from the pits to service Matron Mother and her requirement to breed with some of the best and strongest males of the Underdark had to offer with or without their permission...It did not matter, of course. They were simply males, after all.
Suliss'urns father was a powerfull wizard who, according to her eldest sisters recollections, had the prettiest spell-slinging hands. Often, Matron remarked it was a shame that Suliss'urn had not inherited any of his handsome traits: only her father's hands. Whether or not this is true, Suliss'urn would never know as Matron had her father sold as second hand goods to a lesser noble house for breeding stock as well as sport.
The third and youngest sister resulted from a mating with a delicate, slim and pretty male who was tailored specifically for breeding. Though not a wise choice, as it is said females should breed for power and strength, Matron was much like many drow--(and do not say this too loudly, too close to any pointed ears--but like any elf)--fascinated in addition to being mesmerized by beautiful things. Suliss'urns youngest sister indeed inherited her father's features. It became evident early on that Suliss'urrns youngest sister would become a testament to all that was found perfect in how a drow female should look.
It is ironic that it came to be so, for it is often the most enchanting little spider which holds the most venom behind its charm.
Attempt to activate the Glyph warding above to read more on Suliss'urns young life within the Underdark.
THOSE WHO KNEW HER
In the beginning, her first time in Rhy'Din was tumultuous. Sprung free from the clutches of chaos spinning Goddess, it seemed as if Suliss' was free to do as she pleased on the surface of this odd new realm. A realm that had, some how, connections and means of travel from below to above.
She lavished in the starlight, detested the day, found some strange connection with her sister and reluctantly agreed to hear her on the subject of Eilistraee.
Tentatively, the drow began making other connections. A white eyed wolf-man with whispers and echoes, a drider, of all creatures, and even a human or two.
This 'new' Suliss' did not last long. Word of her survival had reached the pointed ears of Suliss' younget sister. And Drow? Well.
They aren't known for being terribly forgiving are they?
THE SHATTERING SWORD
Suliss'urns youngest sister, now Matron and Lloth-bent on revenge had wrangled her black little hands on the neck of her middle sister again.
The period Suliss'urn spent under the 'care' and 'work' of her sister shattered her mind completely. She was no longer the same drow--the same creature--she should have been. Something slithered into between the fragments of the dark elves mind settled in. This is the period in Suliss'urns life where she was skinned from top of crown to her very toes by the Priestess', to "see what a betrayers guts looked like," among other things. The Priestess enjoyed experimenting on Suliss', throwing her to the males to treat their good behavior, and ensuring that she would never know the sweet release death brought.
In fact, it was Suliss'urns sisters suggestion when Suliss' finally broke and began gibbering nonsense, that this would be a perfect opportunity to carve her sisters skin like a walking, talking, post-it warning note to those drow on the surface cavorting with light elves and dosib humans.
This is how she survived her second decent into darkness. Not from any brave act or heroic circumstances. But through humiliation, shame, violation and fear.
On Suliss' skin, each rune is an actual piece of drow language, spelling out the deep seeded hatred Lloth following drow hold for the surface, its dwellers and those who follow Eilistraee. To make matters more complicated, they carved into her back a literal Wanted Poster, saying that her skin itself was worth a hefty amount back below.
When she returned to Rhy'din, she could barely form coherent sentences and those she once knew could no longer stand being in the presence of the scarred, insane, ruined husk of the drow they once knew.
Suliss'urn fled for the caverns and wilds within Rhy'din and truly lived as beasts do.
THE PRESENT
Once again set upon Rhy'din to do as she so pleased. It is most certain that the drow is doing exactly that--whatever she so pleases, how she so pleases, when she pleases.
Selfish, destructive, violent are just a few of the usual words to describe her. Self-serving, pleasure seeking, greedy, scheming, teeth-grindingly prideful...She's a fine example of her race and so much more. Some might say more unhinged than most and perhaps that is what makes her a bit more dangerous than usual.
She has worked for Rhilshen, crouched by the feet of Alysia--she has laid waste to foes side by side with Jodiah Ayreg and drove the man mad. She has belittled Veighnn and lived. She has encouraged Dave to drink drow wine. She has attempted to understand Tara and failed. She has understood intimacy, respect, and even adoration bordering on love. She has woven webs of lies ontop of lies with more lies, she has toyed with the powerful Minotaur Horam and survived, she has shanked Sinjin, eaten candied eyeballs, worried Carley, tricked Lydia, prodded Tucker bluntly, admired Sid & her Midnight Tears, frightened Rekah half to death, kissed Salvador as well as shoving a dagger between his ribs, helped Madison in killing, haunted the underdark to wipe out the last remenants of her own family, cannabilized her enemies, eavesdropped on conversations between Ali & Lucien and apparently garnered the approval of one of the Many Faces of Fio with the cautious respect of her husband. She has entranced Paige with her purple gums and settled on many porch rails. She had begun to miss the presence of annoying Gabreal.
And still she feels as if she has been gathering dust. That it is not enough. That there is something more out there. Recently the drow complains of being plagued by the Gods. Whether such a thing is true coming from such a twisted mind as hers, there's no telling.
Though there are a few who say that, recently, Suliss'urn has been slowly changing once again.
The question was...Into what?
Touch the Warding Glyph to find out more about Suliss'urns current SL.
The humans have a saying.
The humans have several sayings, actually, and are more than willing to fling them at me or anyone willing to listen while they mate their lives away--time heals all wounds.
This is the most ridiculous thing I have heard yet, xas. Time does nothing. We who have nothing but time, we who sit in the dark and gather the dust of ages...We who bring our world under our teeth through years- long stalk, we know of time and it heals nothing. For we remember. For we see it, we do not forget.
Time festers the poison. The passing of days in an untreated wound makes the flesh begin to rot and skin peel away. Soon the muscle turns green then liquefies, then the bone yellows and dries as the maggots set in.
No, I hate time. It has done nothing for me but remind me that all which I have is my rock, my stone, my little holes in the earth. I am a worm on my belly, but at this--at least the earth protects.
I wish nothing more than to cut out these pieces of my chest and offer it for wolves to eat. To know nothing again? The singing screams? It would be...
Empty.
How empty it was then.
How empty it is now, too.
I go there, I go to the place where they gather outside instead of inside--because...because, because--it reminds me of things. Of him. Of them. Of all the names I have lost in the years here. (I have been here so long.)
I go, and there is this human within chair. It has wheels. I dislike this male. He comes and he sits, expecting the world to be given to him upon a platter because his limbs do not work. He is weak and a fool. Many things, many of us do naut work right--inside or out, limbs or hearts or souls. Many of us to do naut come to these places and expect the world to give us what we want because we do naut work.
He is food and naught more and deserves naught more. Why they tolerate him and those like him remind me that they are not me. They are not drow.
I do naut understand humans.
The last I saw of him he was with some other large breasted breeding female. Now, he is with another naut months between. This from a species which attempts to convince me that loyalty, bonds of love are stronger in them than within the drow.
I have seen masters keep pets for centuries, and they can naut keep a mate for longer than months?
I will never understand humans.
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