|
House Symryvvin's unprecedented longevity as the eighteenth house can largely be attributed to Matron Hesken-P'aj's policy of refusing to give up that rank. House Symryvvin plays the role of a small, proud band of historians firmly entrenched in Lloth's favor, but unwilling to enter the political arena of the larger noble houses. However, this alone does not fully explain House Symryvvin's perpetual lack of enemies. The true might of house Symryvvin lies with its wizard clan, the five sons of Hesken-Pa'j. These wizards live a highly isolated existence, each fanatically devoted to the pursuit of higher Magic. For the most part they have each fallen into an addictive cycle of achieving new heights of magical power, only to be further inspired for more meditation and study. However, on the rare occasions that they emerge and act as a collective, the wizards of House Symryvvin are a potent, lethal force even more secretive than Bregen D'arthe. On more than one occasionally in the past millennia a house or clan has been mysteriously obliterated from the inside out, leaving a city of onlookers to ponder the identity of the anonymous assassins.
The doorway that led to the Symryvvin Wizards' chambers appeared to open into a stone wall. But to those trained to navigate it, the doorway led to a pathway to an extra-dimensional pocket. Jarl'ell had shown a strong aptitude for magic at an early age. And much to the displeasure of her brother, Drisinil saw that Jrevek, the youngest of the group, provide regular instruction for her budding son. Naturally, one of the first lessons was how to safely traverse this gate. As he stepped through the false wall and into the shimmering mist beyond, Jarl'ell became very worried. Not worried for his safety during this planar travel, he had done it a hundred times before. He was worried about his uncle's reaction to his unexpected arrival, a first at that. Drevek was never particularly pleased to see him; this time he was certain to be furious.
Directly in front of him the mist grew brighter. And the closer he drew to the light source a circle of dark figures began to take shape. Benches, each facing outward, some with drow wizards behind them deep in meditation. Other wizards stood facing into the circle chanting to themselves, their arms stretched inwards, with tiny whips of colored light dancing around them. All appeared to be completely entranced with their magical studies. The sight was enchanting. Jarl'ell wanted to stay and watch as long as he could, but he knew that Drisinil would be done praying soon and would be displeased by his disappearance. The issue became moot when Jrevek, who apparently was not as entranced as he appeared, locked eyes with him. Jarl'ell returned the look with a shy smile. Totally flabbergasted, Jrevek quietly stood up and approached Jarl'ell outside the circle.
"On your worthless life what are you doing here. It is not the appointed hour!" the tall, stone faced mage angrily whispered.
"I ask a favor, uncle," Jarl'ell gingerly asked. Every muscle in the mages face seemed to tighten with rage as Jrevek thought of all the things he could do to rid himself of this irritant, but dared not.
"Do you see Zraketh over there?" Jrevek pointed at the elder mage standing motionless, staring into a glowing ball of energy in front of him that he seemed to be controlling "He has been slaving on... on whatever that is for hundreds of hours. If you had disturbed him you would be lucky if-"
"Hear me out, uncle. I will meditate during my next three lessons if you agree to what I ask," Jarl'ell frantically interrupted. Drevek was momentarily even more furious upon this boys brazen attitude, but upon pondering Jarl'ell's words he slowly allowed his blood pressure to drop.
After a few seconds of calming himself, Drevek responded. "What is it that you want?"
***
Genevee Symryvvin strode down the division between the library and the scribing area. At the relatively youthful age of a hundred and ten, Genevee did not possess the slender, shapely figure her race was noted for. In other races where the norm of body shape and size isn't so tightly defined, she might have been looked upon as "well-rounded" or "big-boned". But amongst elves, drow or not, she was simply fat. And all subordinates surrounding her would forever feel the brunt of her vendetta against the genetic lot she was dealt. It was late, she had spent a good deal of the day scrying the activities at the bazaar, and she would be up a while scribing what she had seen. However, not before riling up her favorite (her only) little sister. Vrinma sat in the back with her head buried in her current assignment, some god awful genealogy recopying that Genevee would certainly been dealt had she still been the youngest.
"Well, Vrinma Vrinma. How goes it this evening," Genevee taunted. Vrinma shuddered with anger at the mention of that nickname, but otherwise remained hunched over her work. Undeterred, Genevee continued her approach. "I cannot begin to tell you how much you will be missed. It has been fifteen years since I have done such work."
"I'm busy Genevee. Go torture a slave or something," Vrinma angrily responded.
Genevee cackled at the reaction. "You are developing an attitude. Just in time for the academy," she observed, reaching her sister's bench. Leaning into the front, she coyly spoke into Vrinma's ear. "I would keep it in check if I were you if you wish to keep that pretty little face of yours unblemished." Vrinma slammed the quill down and shot her face up to meet Genevee's.
"Leave me alone Genevee! Just go away!" Vrinma shouted. Genevee recoiled in shock to the sight of Vrinma disfigurement, the large patch of black skin above her left ear. She instantly surmised what happened.
"Was this Drisinil's doing," Genevee coldly asked.
"Yes, and here's the other one. Why don't you finish the job," Vrinma cried, gesturing with her head so that he free braid flopped about.
Genevee's face suddenly tightened into a look of barely controlled fury. "Get a hold of yourself, it will grow back," she hissed, then turned around and began lumbering off.
Vrinma sat dumbfounded by Genevee's response. Hers had been the reaction she had dreading the most. "Come on Gen, get it over with. It must please you to no end knowing my first years at the academy are doomed."
"Oh shut up!" was Genevee's shouted response. "You think you are the only one who has suffered our sister's whims?" As she stormed off Genevee thought of how she would normally delight in this turn of events. Next to Dureen, Vrinma held the most beauty of all of Hesken-P'aj's daughters, and Genevee hated her for it. Nevertheless, any satisfaction she should have felt was tempered by a memory. An ugly memory, from nearly a hundred years ago. The memory of looking at herself in the mirror for the first time after her eldest sister viciously and unjustly chopped off one of her braids.
As she neared her own bench it became obvious to her that she was no longer in any mood to do any work. The scribbling can wait, Genevee thought as she headed for the exit. As she emerged into the hallway, she turned to the guard on her right and decided she didn't like the way he had looked at her. Though looking as expressionless as he could, the young male soldier's face winced at the last instant before the priestess's fist slammed into it. "You think I am fat, do you not!" she shouted at the guard. Terrified and completely at a loss for a response, the helpless guard stood there speechless. Genevee quickly began to feel foolish in the midst of this situation she created. Of course she was fat! And the guard was not about to tell that to her face, nor lie to her about it either. "Hmmph," she spat, then continued stalking down the corridor towards the kitchen. Once out of sight, the trembling guard looked towards his counterpart, an older veteran, for some sort of explanation.
"She is an angry one. It is best to avert your eyes from her at all times," the old lieutenant gruffly spoke.
"But I did not-"
"She thinks you did."
***
Twenty minutes and one large glass of wine later, Genevee had calmed down again and was returning to the library. Very little of importance had taken place in the Bazaar that day. She would record some minor incidents, a few trends in trading and fashion, then go to bed. It had been a long day, too long.
As she neared the door to Drisinil's quarters she was once again reminded of Vrinma, as well as that ugly incident nearly a century ago. A century is a long time, even for her, to hold a petty grudge. Still, she could not help but entertain the thought of sneaking in and slitting her dear sister's throat. However, just as she approached the door, it began to slowly creek open. A bit alarmed, she skirted over to the side of the corridor and watched as, to her further surprise Drisinil's twelve-year old son cautiously emerged. Jarl'ell scanned up and down the hallway and apparently didn't see her, for he the delicately shut the door and began to scamper off.
"Stop," Genevee bellowed down the hall as menacingly as she could. Jarl'ell froze in his tracks, turned, and stared up at his approaching aunt with a look of absolute terror. "What are you doing boy, sneaking around so late," she snarled, secretly amused by his fright. The color drained from his face, as he began to shake violently in his tracks. Instinctively, he began to slowly back away. Convinced that she had caught him in the act of something, Genevee was no longer amused or pretending. "I said hold!" she barked. The boy looked as if he were staring into his own death as Genevee bore down on him. "Answer me! What are you up to!"
The tension rose explosively when, to both of their shock, a large, glowing dagger fell out of Jarl'ell's cloak, landing between his feet. After an instant of disbelief Genevee grabbed her nephew by the neck with one hand and squeezed. "What treachery is this," she cursed. Before he could attempt to answer she dragged him to his mother's door and opened it. Inside, it was pitch black. "Drisinil," she whipsered. None of Drisinil's decorative faerie lamps and runes glowed and other than their own, Genveee could detect no breathing or heartbeats. She then let her vision slip into the heat spectrum and was terrified by the sight lying in the bed before her. Genevee practically stumbled over the boy she had in tow as she scrambled to get out of the room as fast as possible. Once outside and with the door closed, it was now Genevee who was panicking while Jarl'ell stood by as if resigned to his fate. "Are you insane? Tell me why I should not kill you right here and now!" she quietly screamed. Jarl'ell instinctively let his gaze drop. However she promptly grabbed his chin and jerked his face up to meet hers.
"I hate her," he spoke, his voice cracking. Tears began streaming from both of his eyes. "She's a witch," he continued. Genevee was stunned by her nephew's brazen attitude upon being caught red-handed in the midst of a crime worthy of a tortuous death. "She whips me, beats me. She's a witch. I hate her," he repeated.
"We all hate her," Genevee attempted to respond. "But this…do not move!" she cut herself off and faced the wall, exasperated by the position she just found herself in. After a few awkward moments of silence, Jarl'ell weekly came to his own defense.
"Please, just kill me now and spare me the wrath of that... that... thing that is my mother."
Upon hearing Jarl'ell's pitiful voice beg behind her Genevee turned around and sternly faced him again. "Stop that whining, you dishonor yourself. Now, pick up that weapon and go to bed," Genevee ordered. Shamefaced, Jarl'ell backed up and knelt down to retrieve the dagger. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her approach him. He cringed in preparation for a violent beating, but none came. Instead, he watched as her wide frame strode passed him and continued down the corridor. Though baffled by her inaction, Jarl'ell was extremely frightened. This had gone horribly wrong, wrong!
***
As Genevee approached the library again, the two guards straightened themselves and intensely focused their gazes to the other side of the corridor in front of them. The young guard's pulse began to race as the prickly mistress who assaulted him earlier approached. And sure enough, the moment she would have passed by him she stopped instead. Only this time, rather than punching him in the face she grabbed him by the back of the neck and forced a brutish kiss on the frightened soldier. After a few seconds Genevee released the mystified guard as abruptly as she seized him. "I apologize," she uttered, then brushed passed him into the library. Once alone, the stunned guard looked at his lieutenant for some kind of explanation. The old guard looked back with an expression of now having seen it all.
You are in uncharted territory, the old guard discretely signed.
What must I do to be sent on the patrols, the first guard worriedly replied.
***
At mid morning the next day a tall, powerful looking female loomed through halls of the Symryvvin compound. Dressed in highly decorative priestess robes that rivaled those of most matron mothers and carrying a large scepter, she strode towards the throne room as if her coronation were about to commence. Every slave, every soldier bowed deeply to her, remaining so until long after she passed. Tanj'ee Symryvvin, third-born noble daughter and Academy Mistress, had a violent temper and a notoriously low tolerance for anyone subordinate to her. Nobody wanted to become the latest corpse that had tested that tolerance, knowingly or not.
The two guards on either side of the throne room saw her coming and immediately pulled open the doors, just barely in time for her to pass through the entrance unimpeded (for if not, at least one of them would soon be lying on the ground in severe pain). Inside, in the back of the hall was the venerable Hesken-P'aj Symryvvin perched upon her solid obsidian throne. Nearby lay Dureen Symryvvin, Tan'jee's next older sister, on her stomach, spooned up on an angled couch obviously fashioned specifically for her slender body, her arms draped around a miniature scrying bowl. Hesken-Paj grabbed a nearby cane and stood up as Tanj'ee traversed the hall.
"Ah Tanj'ee. What do I owe the pleasure of this visit from our illustrious academy mistress?" Hesken-Paj graciously asked. Though she knew she did not need to, Matron Symryvvin found that placating her tiresome daughter early on would keep her in a mood where she would remain useful.
"As you know this year's class convenes in ten cycles of Narbondel. I would...strongly urge that Vrinma be sent with that class if she is to be sent at all," Tanj'ee boldly appealed. "She will already be older than the rest of her class. And the older she is when she begins, the more awkward it will reflect upon our house."
"And upon you, I expect," Hesken-P'aj dryly added as she sat down again. Tanj'ee's upper lip quivered, but she otherwise remained silent. The deeply etched lines on the Matrons face slowly crept into a smile. "Relax, daughter. She goes this year. Were it not for a combination of my own inattentiveness and the scheming of my other daughters" the matron flashed an accusing eye over at Dureen "she would have been sent earlier."
Dureen pushed herself up and faced her Matron. "Mother, I took no part in that. It was Drisinil who-"
"Do not deny it!" Hesken-P'aj loudly snapped. "Having her here has been too convenient to remind me of her age!" Defeated, Dureen lay back down again and stared into the bowl, angry for the first time that day.
Grinning as widely as she was capable of, Tan'jee made no attempt to hide her delight in seeing her sister dressed down such. Being younger than Dureen by only two years had made them the fiercest rivals within the relatively amicable House. "I would meet with her then, since I assume that Drisinil has done nothing to prepare her for the Academy," Tanj'ee casually quipped. Dureen sniffed to herself as she scryed. For once, she was in total agreement with her stupendously arrogant sister.
"I think you underestimate your older sister, and future Matron, I might add," Hesken-P'aj sternly responded. Dureen placed the bowl on the ground below her and then rolled onto her side, facing Tanj'ee but addressing her Matron.
"Tanj'ee is right, mother. Drisinil treats Vrinma like her personal slave," Dureen added.
"And you do not?" Hesken-P'aj challenged. Dureen paused and debated herself of how truthful she should answer this.
"True enough, I have done very little scripting in the last few years. But even if I wanted to Drisinil... Drisinil made it very clear that she was in charge of Vrinma's upbringing. And I have learned not to interfere with her wishes," Dureen grudgingly admitted.
Tan'jee then stepped forward again. "Mother if you had given her to me to raise, by now Vrinma would be in her seventh year of Arach Tinilith, and first in her class at that," she declared. Dureen laid a contemptuous gaze at her sister.
"Tanj'ee if you had raised her she might have turned out like you, and then gotten herself murdered before the end of her first year," she huffed. Tanj'ee began to snarl viciously at her most disrespectful sister, who resembled a human prostitute awaiting her next customer the way she lay on that couch.
"Quiet! Both of you!" Hesken-P'aj barked. "You will refrain from questioning my judgement Tan'jee. Is that clear?" the matron's thunderous voice hardly matched her otherwise frail appearance. Tanj'ee bowed her head slightly.
"Yes, of course, my Matron," she quietly replied. Hesken-P'aj then craned her neck to face Dureen.
"And you will not exercise this stupid rivalry between you two in my presence," Hesken-P'aj shouted with equal ferocity.
"I apologize," an equally penitent Dureen responded.
"Why do you lie about like that in this prestigious hall," Tanj'ee haughtily addressed Vrinma.
"Tanj'ee," Hesken-P'aj ominously warned.
Dureen smiled as she responded. "I can scry much more effectively and efficiently when I am most comfortable. Mother cares not how the work gets done, just so that it gets done."
Tanj'ee's face brightened as she retorted. "Oh if that is so than why are you not on your back."
Outraged, Dureen instantly jumped to her feat and screamed. "You filthy troglodyte-"
"Silence!" Hesken-P'aj's magically amplified voice shocked her two daughters into submission as the eighteen hundred year old priestess acrobatically jumped out of her throne and onto her feat. "Back on your couch, Dureen. And you!" she shouted, pointing outstretched an angry finger at Tanj'ee, who took a wide step backward. "In case you did not know, when Triel Baenre offered me a position at Arach Tinilith to fill, Drisinil would have been my first choice. But I sent you. Why? Because I had to separate you and Dureen to keep you two from each other's throats. I kept Dureen here because she can scry better and is much less likely to drive me to kill her. And once again, you have proven the wisdom of that decision!" Trembling in fear for the first time in at least a decade, Tanj'ee could not help but notice the faint glowing of her mother's outstretched hand as well as the eight viciously writhing snake heads attached to the whip on her mother's belt. Even Dureen was shocked at her mother's rage as well as her unusually one-sided stance in this ongoing feud. She nervously sat back down again and wisely decided not to gloat, this time.
Tanj'ee unconsciously dropped her scepter as she sunk into a most humiliated stance. "Mother I am humbled if it was my abrasiveness, not my abilities, that earned me my position. But in spite of my faults I assure you that I am among the most respected mistresses-"
"You do not need to make a speech. Triel has only ever spoken highly of you," Hesken-P'aj interrupted, again returning to her throne. "Now let us forego any more bickering and return to the subject of your young sister."
***
Vrinma had spent much of the morning in her quarters in front of a mirror, trying to arrange her now unbraided hair in such a way that would hide the blemish. After hours of gelling, brushing, and creative pinning, she came to the depressing conclusion that she could not. Removing her remaining braids was bad enough. But it was necessary. Better to be a commoner with imaginative styling than a disfigured noble. Still, black skin underneath thin, white hair tends to stand out. Even her most convincing disguises betrayed a dark patch above her left ear. Frustrated and angered, Vrinma returned to her drudgery in the library. Undoubtedly her day's work would include recopying the violent demise of some extinct house, something to cheer her up.
Genevee was already scribing away when Vrinma entered. Genevee looked up at her sister as she entered, smirked, then resumed her work. Nearby stood Jarl'ell, appearing as though he were an enemy captive awaiting sacrifice at an alter of Lloth. Vrinma resented it. Male or not, he is family and should not be treated like a goblinoid slave, much like herself.
"Did Drisinil give him to you for the day," Vrinma sarcastically asked. Genevee looked up at her again and bit her lip, as though trying to contain laughter.
"Drisinil has not arisen yet," she answered back. "And yes, I thought our nephew might prove himself useful today." Genevee's plump face was strangely contorted into a futile attempt to mask her own hysterics. Convinced it wasn't working, she placed a hand in front of her mouth before dropping her gaze again.
Where she had been despondent about her appearance the previous day, Vrinma was now simply furious. "Go ahead and laugh, Gen. Get it out of your system," Vrinma hollered, intending to bring her sister back into her usual poisonous demeanor. Instead, she remained calm as she responded.
"Vrinma, calm yourself. Before you depart for the academy we shall see what else can be done." Vrinma went from anger to puzzlement. Genevee spoke in the friendliest tone she had ever heard from her. "But in truth, what you have done is presentable."
Vrinma was a bit unnerved by her sister's unusual civility. "Thank you, Gen," she cautiously spoke as she sat down at her workbench. "I thought you were laughing..."
"Everything should explain itself anytime now," Genevee cleverly quipped, obviously straining to remain composed. Then suddenly her disposition radically shifted as she noticed Jarl'ell attempting to sneak away. "Get back here, boy!" she snapped, then smiled wickedly. "Come keep your Auntie Genevee company." A terrified Jarl'ell slowly crept over to his aunt's side.
"Keep a close eye on him, especially if his mother is about. Otherwise you may loose a braid," Vrinma bitterly uttered.
"Trust me, she won't be sneaking up on us today," Genevee replied, snickering under her breath.
***
Drisinil Symryvvin woke up, sprawled across her bed fully clothed, feeling extremely groggy. Something was wrong. She could remember returning to her quarters the previous night after suddenly feeling inexplicably tired. But the last time she felt this way was the morning after a party she had attended years ago when she had been one of dozens of victims of a practical joke involving spiked liquor. As she sat up she was jolted by a wave of dizziness. That confirmed it. Somebody had drugged her. Alarmed, she jumped up off the bed and quickly set aglow all the faerie lamps on the walls around her. Surveying the room, she could find nothing out of place. That was when she felt it, a queer breeziness on the left side of her head. She instantly reached up and felt around her cranium. "No," she softly uttered, feeling nothing but skin. She then rushed over to her mirror to find, to her sheer horror, fully the whole left side of her head had been shaved and polished. "By Lloth," she gasped in complete disbelief, stumbling back, clumsily rubbing her face and head. Sure enough, the image in the mirror reflected her every movement, and her hair was still missing! Her face quivered and her blood began to boil as the undeniable reality of the reflection staring back at her sank in. Within seconds a murderous rage enveloped her that manifested itself with by her letting out an ear piercing scream and then slamming her fists into the mirror, shattering the nearly priceless object into a thousand shards.
***
"I have very little dealings with the novice students. Our paths should rarely cross, if ever," Tanj'ee assured her mother. Hesken-P'aj paced back and forth in between her two daughters, disgusted with herself for waiting so long to consider her youngest daughter's departure. She was too used to thinking of Vrinma as an adopted child under Drisinil's tutelage.
"Good. See that they do not unless there is a good reason. I do not want her to stand out in any way amongst her peers, lest it be her academics," the old matron declared.
"Absolutely," Tanj'ee emphatically replied. "I will see to it that she understands not to expect any special treatment or consideration from me...with the exception of an advanced list of her instructors and fellow classmates," Tanj'ee cautiously added. Hesken-P'aj stopped in her tracks and gave Tanj'ee a suspicious look. "Every person within her midst will be a potential enemy. Since she has access to our resources, she might as well prepare herself," Tanj'ee staunchly reasoned.
"Very prudent," Hesken-P'aj quietly agreed, resuming her pacing. At that moment the three priestesses became aware of the faint sounds of a familiar screaming voice, coming from the direction of the library. Hesken-P'aj was the first to react, with a sigh and a clear look of annoyance. Tanj'ee appeared puzzled.
"You do not recognize the sound of our illustrious elder sister," Dureen spoke derisively from the couch. Tanj'ee shook with hatred as she placed that all-to-familiar voice.
"What is wrong with that ogress, did she run out of slaves to torture," Tanj'ee spoke out loud to no one in particular.
"That ogress will one day be your Matron. You would be wise to remain on her good side," Hesken-P'aj curtly warned.
"With all due respect, mother, she does not have a good side," Tanj'ee replied. Before the Matron mother could respond they were distracted by the doors opening, and then to a frantic Jarl'ell squeezing through, past the guards.
"You are not wanted here, boy!" the matron shouted. Similarly, Tanj'ee growled and grabbed her whip. Ignoring both angry priestesses, the boy ran up to the group in a panic.
"Matron please come quick! My mother is going to kill Vrinma," Jarl'ell sputtered. By now the guards had rushed in as well.
"Matron, I must apologize for this. He said it was urgent. I was not sure how to proceed," the ranking guard announced. However, Hesken-P'aj was still focussed on her grandson. Tanj'ee, too, had quickly forgotten the boy's intrusion in light of his announcement. She then looked towards her mother for some kind of direction.
"Follow," the Matron ordered.
|