|
1263 DR
Vrinma Zerridell awoke to the sounds of metal clanging, shouts, and explosions. Something was terribly wrong. In her short life she had only heard such noises coming from the soldier barracks. Never just beyond the walls of her own room. "What is happening Vrinma?" Vrinma sat up and scanned the room with the heat sensing vision of her people and saw her little brother crouched behind his own bed, glowing brightly.
"A battle, I think," she fearfully replied.
"Inside?" she heard him reply. Before she could respond the door flew open and slammed against the wall. In the doorway a drow soldier wearing an unfamiliar uniform stood holding two bloody swords, sporting a look of battle frenzy.
"Nobles!" he shouted, then charged in, closely followed by a second soldier. Vrinma's brother screamed from behind the bed as the first soldier bore down on him. The second soldier raised his swords and charged towards Vrinma. In a sheer panic she managed to roll off the bed half a second before a sword impaled the mattress where her neck had been. The screams of her brother abruptly stopped as she scrambled to gain a footing. To her horror the first soldier was hacking away the mangled corpse of her brother, paying her no attention. The second soldier however quickly retracted his weapon and spun around to attack the nimble drowling. Adrenaline pounding through her, Vrinma managed to dash past the attacker while only receiving the tip of the wide sword swipe to her side. Her escape instinct carried her into the hallway, where she clumsily navigated an obstacle field of dead or dying soldiers and goblinoid attackers without the slightest inkling as to where she would go next. Two other marauding soldiers rounded the far corner ahead, stopping the terror stricken girl in her tracks.
"A noble" she heard spoken behind her. In a sheer panic, Vrinma glanced behind to see her previous attacker looming towards her. And when her gaze returned, the two new attackers were now closing in on her as well, each wielding a pair of bloodied swords and visage of pure bloodlust. At that moment a drow dressed in ornate, black robes materialized directly in front her, both arms raised. Frightened beyond measure, Vrinma began screaming, only to have her stance kicked out from beneath her. Vrinma landed atop a dead goblin. Still panicking, when she rolled off the corpse and stared up at her newest attacker her vision was immediately assaulted by a painfully bright flash of light. Vrinma's hands instinctively flung to her face. However, within seconds, when no further attack came, the terrified princess pulled her hands away and gazed up the most handsome drow she had seen, holding a featureless black wand. For a few seconds the drow glared down at her coldly, as if he were studying her. Though no words were spoken, Vrinma's panic dissipated enough for her to react to the mutilated goblin corpse beside her. Repulsed, she crudely shoved herself up and backwards towards the stone wall when the drow modestly stepped back, suddenly distracted. With minimal attention, the wizard turned his head and pointed the wand down the hall. Another white flash nearly blinded her, closely followed by the brief cry of pain and the thud of another attacker hitting the ground. When she turned to look, three drow corpses blackened and burnt beyond recognition stood out from the other casualties that littered the hall.
"Get up." The blunt order shook her back into the present. The wizards gentle face did not match his actions or demeanor. Yet it took little time for her to conclude that he was apparently there to save her life. As she struggled back to her feet the wizard spoke again
"If you wish to live, take my hand." The wizard raised his free arm and outstretched towards her. "Take it," he ordered. Practically entranced, she felt herself slowly reach up to take his hand. The wizard looked down at the drowling and his grim look of disapproval became a devious smile. Then suddenly she felt dizzy as her surroundings seemed to melt away.
In seconds, she found herself still clinging to the wizard, but standing in a huge, tomb-silent meeting hall in an unfamiliar castle, facing a row of dozen unfamiliar faces all staring at her. An old, stern looking woman nearly dwarfed by the most extravagant priestess robes the young girl had ever seen was perched upon a tall, obsidian throne. She was flanked by four other priestesses, several highly armed female guards, and six other wizards similar to the one who had abducted her. Her rescuer then tugged her over to face the old priestess, whereupon the group circled around to enclose the two. Standing in a torn sleeping frok before the powerful looking old woman, the young girl felt as she were being visually dissected.
"She was the only surviving female, my matron," the wizard spoke.
"She will do. You have done well," came a gruff response.
"Thank you," he responded. "And thank you for..."
"The fun?"
The wizard flashed an evil grin, then nodded slightly and joined his colleagues in the phalanx surrounding the girl. The old woman stared down at her with a look of contempt, lines deeply etched in her face betraying a near permanent frown she had probably wore for centuries.
"What is your name, child," she sternly asked. Terrified under the scrutiny of the surrounding group, her voice cracked as she spoke.
"Vri- Z ri-"
"Speak to the living!" the old woman shouted, causing her to cringe even more.
"Vrinma Zerridell," she weekly replied. The four younger priestesses immediately growled in unison, grabbed their whips, and lunged at her.
"No!" The girl instantly fell back onto the floor and wailed loudly, holding her hands to her eyes as if to shield herself from the reality of the situation surrounding her.
"Stop!" The girl could hear the woman shout. Before long she felt a gentle hand tug at one of hers. She slowly looked up to see the same old woman standing above her except that she now appeared softer, almost kindly.
"Stand up, child," she spoke. The confused girl only continued to weep. "You are safe now, I assure you. Stand up and show some courage," the woman stated, a bit more forcefully. Vrinma slowly stood up, focussing on the old priestess the whole time. "Come here," the woman prodded, guiding her through the line of scary looking priestesses and over to a large obsidian bowl to the side of the chamber room. "Take a look," she ordered. Vrinma had to strand on her toes to see over the side. In the pool of black water she was further shocked to clearly see her own house in flames, bloody corpses littering the ground around it. "Your matron has offended Lloth and your house has paid the price. Another house, not mine, has attacked it. According to our law, the Spider Queen demands that when a house that has lost her favor is attacked, there are to be no witnesses, especially noble witnesses." The old woman aggressively leaned into her with the last sentence. "To even speak the name of such a house demands a swift punishment. However, you and you alone can truly decide where your allegiance lies, who you truly are. So I ask you again, child. What is your name!"
Vrinma fell away from the bowl, dizzy with fear and sorrow. She struggled in confusion for a few seconds and then softly whispered,"Vrinma... Vrinma?" The old woman stared down at her, unflinching. But soon her stern glare softened as she unexpectedly chuckled. The other priestesses began laughing as well, and soon the whole room erupted in laughter. The old woman then motioned for everybody to settle, which they all promptly did.
"Congradulations, Vrinma. You have passed the test, as if one should even be necessary," the old priestess said, gripping onto the girls shoulders and wiping the tears from the girl's face with her own hand. "I am Hesken-P'aj Symryvvin, Matron of the eighteenth noble house of Menzoberranzen. While our rank is the lowest among the noble houses we are very powerful and very ancient. However, as you can see I am ancient as well, and my ability to bear children has passed. That is why I would deliver and adopt you, Vrinma Vrinma, as a daughter of my own." A fresh wave of quiet laughter briefly filled the room upon their matrons mentioning of her apparent nickname. "You will know powers and responsibilities beyond what you would have possibly known in your former house, if that is what you desire. Is it?" the matron demanded. Vrinma, still shaking from the radical events of the past ten minutes, softly replied.
"It is... Matron," she awkwardly answered.
"Good, for if it weren't I'd have you locked up in a dungeon until you changed your mind." She then turned the young girl around to face the forbidding assemblage lined up in front of them. "Behold, Vrinma Symryvvin, my youngest daughter, your newest sister," she announced to the group. The female guards immediately dropped to one knee and bowed. "May I introduce to you your new brothers, a collection of some of the most powerful wizards in Menzoberranzen." One by one the proud looking wizards came forward to her. The wizard who had rescued her was first. He strode up to her and dropped to one knee.
"Zraketh, firstborn son," he proudly spoke as he took her hand and kissed it before standing up and marching off. Then another wizard stepped up to her.
"Jerrin-P'aj, secondboy," he introduced as he similarly kneeled and kissed her hand. For the first time the terror of the situation and the pain of seeing her former family murdered began to melt away under the warmth of the adulation and respect she was now receiving. True to her drow nature, with each kiss from each powerful wizard new windows of power opened up in her mind. And the possibilities quickly washed away any sorrow she previously felt for her murdered family.
After the last of the wizards presented himself to her, Hesken-P'aj addressed her again. "These are your new sisters. You kneel to them, for now." The proclamation quickly tempered the young girl's blossoming ambition. She knelt down as the first priestess approached her. The priestess was short, unattractive, and seemed to radiate hatred to all around her. When she reached Vrinma she gripped the young girl's shoulder tightly and proudly declared, "Genevee, fourthborn priestess. Welcome, young sister." Next came two tall, voluptuous sisters 'Tanj'ee' and 'Dureen' who each greeted her with the same enthusiasm, except each declaring themselves as 'high priestess of Lloth'. Last came her oldest new sister. And judging from the subtle changes of expression of the other priestesses, she was not well liked. Thinner and less featured than the others, her stark robes and thin, tightly double-braided hair left her barren of any form of vanity other than rank. And this, along with a facial expression of an executioner made her quite frightening.
"Drisinil, firstborn high priestess of our beloved matron," she proudly, forcefully spoke. "Stand up, young sister." She gripped Vrinma by the hand and gently guided her to her feat to face their matron again.
"How old are you," the withered matron abruptly asked.
"I am twelve," Vrinma answered.
"In just a few years you will be entering Arach Tinnilith where you will be schooled in the ways of Lloth. I am confident you will become a priestess of the same might and prestige as the rest of us. Until then, you are Drisinil's. You will obey her as you would me, and do not ever disobey me. The children of mine who did are no longer among us," she sternly warned, sending a chill up Vrinma's spine. Hesken-P'aj then faced her entourage again and announced, "it is finished." As if on cue, every one of her new siblings except Drisinil quietly walked off, some quite hurriedly.
"Come," Drisinil beckoned. "This ceremony was largely a show, for all of us. But it was important," she explained as the two reapproached the scrying bowl. "Have you ever scyed before," she asked.
"Not on my own," Vrinma inquisitively responded.
"Then it is the first thing you must learn. For you will soon see just how unique our house is, and how fortunate you are," she sharply remarked.
***
1278 DR
Weary from hours of copying one of the hundreds of history tomes in the vast Symryvvin library, Vrinma bitterly recalled that pivotal day of her short life, fifteen years ago. Any hope and salvation she felt during those first few hours was swiftly and permanently snuffed out as she assumed her role as perhaps Menzoberranzen's sole noble female lackey. A 'sister' of hers, one that she would never meet, had been executed weeks earlier when it was discovered she had been selling some of the thousands of pieces of forgotten knowledge held within the house's meticulously documented history of their ancient city. Vrinma was a replacement, nothing more. In fact, quite the opposite. Jayan'nel, the deceased daughter, had been second in age and rank within the Symryvvin daughters' hierarchy. Vrinma, however, would enter the family at the bottom of this hierarchy, a spot happily vacated by her venomous new sister Genevee. Hesken-P'aj's strict policy against family infighting would not prevent her sisters from tormenting her mercilessly for years. Nevertheless, their pettiness was not lost upon the young Vrinma. She would soon learn to recognize her sisters' bullying for what it was. However Drisinil would prove to be nothing but a vindictive tyrant, and would visit upon the young adoptee any cruelties she saw fit short of torture.
Worst of all was that her status and her young age would summarily exclude her from all family or religious concerns. She was, however, given more than her share of religious and family duties. For, as the youngest noble daughter in a family of scribes, there was never any shortage of transcription or recopying work to be delegated to her. Once fully trained in the unique Symryvvin scripting technique Vrinma surprised all as she steadily surpassed her sisters' own scripting speed and accuracy. Thinner than all her siblings and shorter than all save Genevee, Vrinma's slender, agile fingers along with her unusually intense focus made her a natural for the craft. At first she took great pride in her ability, particularly when it was needed for Zraketh's more invasive method of scrying. Occasionally through careful planning Zraketh would teleport into the manuscript vaults of other noble houses in order to "borrow" sought after tomes. Vrinma could scrawl an entire text at amazing speed when a timely return of the text's origin took precedence over penmanship and illustration.
No less ambitious than any other noble female, Vrinma desperately yearned to attend Arach Tinilith, the school of Lloth, to fulfill her promised destiny of becoming a high priestess. Unfortunately, her low status coupled with her unusual talent with a task that her sisters all loathed to do would prove her to be too valuable to let go. For at the age of twenty seven, two years older than the oldest novices at Arach Tinilith, Vrinma Symryvvin sat alone at her desk in her scholarly prison, slaving away at recopying a three hundred year old genealogy, utterly frustrated.
Exhausted, Vrinma set the quill down and rubbed her forehead. Though she was but a twentieth of her expected life span, she felt old. Recopying these endless and painfully dry genealogies seemed to sap the life from her. And she was not even half way through them! Drisinil knew she could not keep her out of Tier Breche forever, so she had promised Vrinma entry after one more task- recopying the entire genealogies of Menzoberranzan's nobility.
"What!" Vrinma had exclaimed as she knelt before her sister.
"Our matron tires of constantly sending for them. She desires a reference in her personal library," Drisinil bluntly exclaimed.
"That will take weeks! This years academy class meets-"
"Shhhhh," Drisinil placed a hand on her sisters mouth and smiled. "It will not be as much work as you think. She requests no illustrations or emblematic fonts. For the quill of Vrinma Symryvvin certainly ample time is allotted."
That was six days ago. Drisinil was right in that Vrinma had sufficient time to complete the task. That is, if she spent the bulk of each remaining day before the Academy convened working on it. There was one benefit though. Through all her years of sage work she probably knew more about Menzoberranzan's history than many of the Academy mistresses. And because of this final task she would likely have encyclopedic knowledge of every student and mistress she would encounter, depending upon how much she could commit to memory.
Vrinma took a drink from her glass of spiced tea, a very expensive import for Menzoberranzan. Vrinma much preferred it to the spiced ales and wines that her race normally gravitates to, preferring the light stimulant to the former's stupefying intoxication. She then set the glass down and ran her fingers through her own hair, envisioning how disheveled she was. "I must look like a mess," she muttered to herself. She could feel the top set of thin braids that loosely crowned her head coming apart from each other. After fidgeting with it for a moment she threw her arms back down on the desk in frustration. "What does it matter," she bitterly asked herself. "I'm not going anywhere." Vrinma picked up the quill again and began scribbling away.
Before long, her concentration was broken by the approach of another. She looked up to see a timid twelve-year-old boy approaching him, heaving a large book nearly the size of his torso. It was Jarl'ell, Drisinil's child, retrieving the tome he had asked him to fetch. Regular servants typically are not allowed inside the library, so menial cleaning tasks usually fall upon the lowest ranking priestess or non-noble family member. Jarl'ell had been sweeping nearby when Vrinma sent him to fetch the book. Welcoming any distraction, she observed her nephew as he approached her desk. Drisinil, in her typical haughtiness, refused to accept the fact that her son was technically non-noble, being a generation removed from the house's matriarch. So she did everything she could to elevate him, at least in appearance. The young, painfully thin boy was dressed in an expensive, oversized cloak with the Symryvvin family insignia boldly emblazoned on the front, the sleeves, and the back. Probably the inside of the hood as well, she thought to herself. He's too young to realize that he looks like a damned comic.
As the boy reached the desk she looked down at the parchment again to appear disinterested. "Set it on desk beside me," she ordered. Jarl'ell cautiously hoisted the book onto the side of the desk his aunt indicated, then backed up a step. Soon Vrinma realized that her nephew had not left her, but was instead standing a few feat away staring at her. She quickly put the quill down again looked at him. It was a curious sight. The young boy seamed to be studying her. This was very brave considering that his status as a boy child in a noble house demanded that he kept his gaze locked to his feet. "Don't you have other duties to tend to," Vrinma said sternly.
"Are you a page princess," Jarl'ell timidly asked. The question hit Vrinma like a slap to the face.
"Am I a what!?" she responded incredulously, anger quickly building.
"I am a page prince. I do whatever mother tells me to do. You-"
"Get out of here!" Vrinma jumped up and shouted furiously. Jarl'ell recoiled in fear
"I am sorry," he quietly whimpered as he hurried away. Seconds slowly passed as her anger quelled from this exchange that she could scarcely believe took place. What in Hades was that little insect thinking, she thought. She could have beaten him senseless for such a breach of etiquette. Fortunately, for him, she was more interested in simply getting rid of him than in punishing him. Am I soft, she asked herself. Lloth would disapprove. As she sat back down and collected her thoughts, she came to realize that she wasn't soft, she just didn't care. "He is Drisinil's," she spoke as she picked up the quill again.
No sooner had she started her recopying again than the silence of the library was shattered by the familiar sound of Drisinil's angry shouting.
"I saw that! How dare you look at her and speak to her like that." Startled, Vrinma looked up just in time to see Drisinil crack her multiple snake headed whip across the face and torso of her young son. Jarl'ell threw the broom aside and made a futile effort to shield himself, but was knocked to the floor for his efforts. His cries of pain were met with more strikes. "Do you see what happens," Drisinil yelled between strikes. "This is what happens when you break the rules. This is what will happen every time!" With her son curled up in a ball at her feet below her sobbing, Drisinil apparently felt her point was made. She then stepped over Jarl'ell and headed straight towards Vrinma, eyes burning with anger. Vrinma cautiously stood up and braced herself for an argument she was sure to lose. Drisinil reached her, yanked the chair from behind her and tossed it, and stood inches from her face staring up at her coldly. "Explain yourself," Drisinil barked.
Vrinma was stunned. "What, for not whipping him," she asked
"He looked at you and spoke to you unsolicited!" Drisinil angrily replied.
"And I sent him away! I am too busy to be bothered with him. Besides, he is yours," Vrinma shot back. Drisinil, completely incensed, outstretched her arms. A wave of energy slammed down upon Vrinma, forcing her to her knees. Drisinil roughly grabbed onto the braids on the top of Vrinma's head and drew a knife. Vrinma felt the tug against her head and suddenly realized what was happening, but was unable to move.
"No!" she shrieked. Vrinma struggled to wriggle away but was unable to break out of the headlock her sister held her in. "Please no!" she pleaded, but the grotesque sound of a blade slicing through hair along with the sudden release of a thousand points of tightness revealed of the horror she was going through. Suddenly Drisinil released her, shoving her to the ground, where she instantly grabbed at her head and felt the peculiar prickliness of stubble where her top left braid had been. No longer tied to its counterpart, the top right braid dangled limply in front of her face. As the terror of this ultimate humiliation sunk in, Vrinma burst into tears. "How could you! Even you!" she cried, clutching the side of her face.
"The raising of children is the responsibility of all of us, including you. The expectations placed on Jarl'ell are simple. If you don't have the stomach to enforce them than you do not deserve the nobility you've been given," Drisinil derisively spat, clutching onto the braid.
Vrinma jumped up to her knees. "Bring the boy here. I'll beat him to a bloody pulp and chop off his fingers if that is what you want!" she screamed, tears streaming from her eyes making a mess of her hair. "I cannot go to Arach Tinilth like this!"
"Then perhaps you could use another year of scribing," Drisinil snidely answered.
"How convenient for you," Vrinma responded between sobs. "Our Matron will know of this."
Drisinil spun around and lunged at Vrinma. The frightened novice cringed as Drisinil grabbed onto a fist full of hair and got in her face. "Of course she will. She will hear of it from me!" Drisinil gripped onto her trembling sister and stared into her face with a look of sheer abhorrence. When Vrinma finally stopped shaking Drisinil shoved her aside, turned around, and strode out of the library.
Still in shock, Vrinma struggled to stand up again. She felt dizzy, panicky. Station was everything to the drow. Technically she still is a noble, but beginning her schooling at Arach Tinilith with this huge blight on her appearance would be an immense source of shame and ridicule. As soon as the social ladders within her class establish themselves, she was sure to end up on the bottom rung. Vrinma retrieved her chair from where Drisinil had tossed it and sat down at her desk again with the intention of resuming her copying work. But no sooner had she picked up the quill again that she threw it across the room, buried her head in her arms, and cried hysterically.
Minutes later she felt a light tug on her robe near the shoulder. "Auntie Vrinma..." She instantly pulled her head up to see a heavily scarred Jarl'ell standing beside her desk, looking sad.
Her sorrow transformed into rage. "Go away!" she shouted at the boy. Frightened, he turned around and ran towards the exit. "Wait," Vrinma called out, to which the boy stopped and turned around. "Is your mother in here?" Jarl'ell looked side to side but gave no visible answer. "Are you in here Drisinil, you wretched faerie queen?" When no answer came forth Vrinma sat up straight and wiped the tears from her eyes. "Come here, nephew," she called out, voice still wavering slightly.
Jarl'ell sheepishly approached his aunt, who tried to look dignified despite her obvious despondency as well as the large patch of exposed ebony skin near the point of her left ear. "Do you have something to say to me," Vrinma sternly asked.
Jarl'ell looked down and answered. "I am sorry I got you into trouble," he quietly spoke. The sorrow flushed from Vrinma and was replaced with astonishment.
"Look at me," she ordered. Jarl'ell slowly raised his head, but was hastened when Vrinma grabbed him by the chin and pulled his head up. Staring into this young, ebon skinned youth was simply eerie for Vrinma. There was not a hint of malice or trickery in his dark red eyes; his expression, punctuated by the multiple bruises and scars, was one of honesty and sadness. Other than the gender difference, it was like looking at a mirror image of herself from the day she joined the house. "You really are, aren't you," she brightly spoke. Jarl'ell slowly managed a half smile to match Vrinma's. However hers abruptly fell into cross frown again as she pulled her hand back. "Well don't be, for anything," she said dryly. Jarl'ell looked at her with a hint of confusion. "There is an innocence about you nephew. Many children are born with it. I had it. I tell you, it is a curse," Vrinma paused to choke back her tears again, then continued. "One day, probably some day soon, someone will try to steal that innocence from you. But they cannot steal what you cast away willingly." Jarl'ell was intrigued with his young aunt. Up until today she had spoken less than ten words to him in his whole life. Vrinma gestured to one of the genealogies on her desk. "I have read the lives of hundreds if not thousands of drow. In every family there is always a young child who was killed or was sacrificed because he or she 'did not know what it was to be drow.'" Vrinma then gripped the young boy by the shoulders. "I tell you, Jarl'ell. Be strong and obedient, but never be sorry about anything, or this city, this world of ours will eat you alive!" Vrinma let go, giving the boy a slight push backwards. "Now for your own sake be gone from me."
"Yes Auntie," he timidly responded. Vrinma lay her face back into her arms and began weeping again. Jarl'ell wished there was something he could do. Vrinma was the one female in the house that didn't abuse him. And to see her so wounded from the treatment of his cruel mother whom he truly hated made him both sad and angry. "Mother, you ugly wicked thing!" he said to himself as he shuffled out of the library.
|