Defiled Filigree

Roleplaying can be a great source for stories. But whether your stories come from roleplaying or whether you wrote them separate of anything else, this is the forum to post your stories. These stories can be funny, dramatic, epic in scale, of very small scope, or really anything you can think of. Note that this forum is for posting stories only. Discussions on stories and even just simple compliments should be posted in the Out Of Character forum or by sending a private message to the author.

Moderators: Shir'le E. Illios, Bhaern Quel

Post Reply
Talanna T'orgh
Posts: 1
Joined: Thu Apr 16, 2009 6:57 am

Defiled Filigree

Post by Talanna T'orgh »

[center:23ubfgtg]Would you trade gold shackles for leather armor?

Well, would you?

Because I did. And now I have to reap what I've spun. Don't get me wrong - I wanted this. I planned most of it, even.

But it's what I didn't plan that led me to make the decisions I did. That seems to happen often, doesn't it?

Here, let me elaborate:

Deep within the festering cesspool that is the Underdark lays an even fouler essence – Menzoberranzan - home of the Arach-Tinilith and all the cunts that will eventually make the society of the Drow collapse on itself – Which doesn’t sound so bad, you would think. But I didn’t at the time.

See, I was born a commoner’s second daughter. Auvrylyl was the House name I bore back then. But I’m not going in-depth with that because it won’t matter in a couple of paragraphs from now.

Eventually nothing will matter.


In the year 1368 at the ripe age of 75 I was hastily sent to this said academy, Arach-Tinilith. I was lucky that my house was able to get sponsored by a noble house (though minor) or else enrollment would be impossible. It wasn’t as much me who was anxious about this as it was my Matron. Typical, right?

I attended the bare minimum of the required courses that were available for the common born, starting off as a Yath'abban. I must’ve looked ambitious because by the end of my 4th year one of the instructors approached me with what I thought was going to be a death sentence – or at least a good back lashing.

I didn’t dare look at anything above her ankles, but I could sense that the confined infernos that were this woman’s eyes were giving me a long, unnerving glare. I heard a faint snort and I felt her long nails drag themselves against my scalp. Did she want to cut off my hair? Oh, please Lolth, no.

But no, instead she proposed an offer. Actually, it was more like a demand. Whichever. She wanted me to become her “adopted” heir. Hm. Her House just must be desperate for members. But nonetheless, I saw a potential opportunity – I could possibly become a Yath'rin in half the time it would take otherwise. As if I had a choice in this matter, I gladly accepted.

At this point in time I was declared as Talanna T’orgh, the new “adopted” daughter of thee T’risstree T’orgh, instructor of the central Academy Arach-Tinilith. But a new name wasn’t all that came along with this arrangement – I also got slammed with intense training and expectations. Just try me, Mistress.

I became a pet. But a pet with power. Power is a good thing to have in this society I live in, so if that means letting Mistress T’risstree T’orgh touch me in ways I’ve never been touched before, compete with my classes and risk a dagger wedged in my spine, then so be it. T’risstree wasn't particularly homely and one would had to have been practically touched in the head not to expect betrayal in this arachnoid Abyss.

Because of my exclusive tutoring through T’risstree T’orgh I accomplished many achievements that no commoner would’ve been able to do. An abundance of envy aroused amongst fellow students in the process, but I had something most of them didn’t – Arach-Tinilith’s instructor by my side not trying to murder me. But of course one can’t be too paranoid.

Then came a time when I was placed on guard duty for the city. I got acquainted with a drowess by the name of Sinvyll Arabrret. She had just ascended into Priesthood, the lucky bitch. But where exactly has this one been hiding this whole time? For a Yath'rin she actually had a personality. Dark, dry humor constantly spewed from her pretty mouth. She was funny, unlike the other priestesses who only thought they were funny but were only insipid morons. She liked me so much she chose me to be her “advanced” personal assistant.

Over the course of our “relationship” Sinvyll reveals to me that she’s a Noticulan. Meaning she worships the goddess Noticula (goddess of pleasure through giving and receiving pain), meaning Sinvyll’s a heretic.

Meaning that she actually trusts me to keep this secret.

I ask her, “What in the Abyss are you doing in Arach-Tinilith, then?” Her round-cut ruby eyes look up at me, I could see the hesitation in her glossy, sable lips. She tells me, “Other than to appease my naïve ‘Mother,’ I’m here to gain enough power where I can worship my goddess and not have to look behind my back as often.”

Okay, maybe she wasn’t as clever as I thought. It’s a shame though, for such a classically beautiful Drowess as sharp and witty as herself. And how she was able to get this far in the game without detection was beyond me. Perhaps she did have Lolth’s blessing after all.

But by this time I’ve already grown infatuated with her so I agreed to tolerate her heretical ideals. At least for now Sinvyll, you gorgeous fool. Besides, all this Lolthian dogma honestly was beginning to bore me to tears. Sinvyll could be the impulsive thrill in my oh-so mundane life, through more purposes than one, naturally.


It’s towards the end of the year 1371, I was already halfway through my training at Arach-Tinilith. I now officially held the rank of a Yath'rin, a priestess. Lolth must’ve been pleased with me because I could’ve sworn that I was beginning to get messages from her. I mean, directly. Well, it was either that or I was contracting “Priestess Fever.”

They were incoherent at first, but every now and again I would hear a faint whisper when I knew for a fact that I was alone. C’mon, Lolth. Speak up. I’m not Sinvyll, a new High-Priestess. Oh wait, that’s right – Sinvyll’s actually a heretic.

Just then the messages became clearer. Maybe I should’ve been careful of what I wished for because whatever I heard would be the turning point of my story. And all that I’ve told you will not matter anymore.

The next time I saw Sinvyll I was pressing a dagger against her slender throat. The calm expression she maintained on her delicate face was starting to piss me off.

“Fight back!” I screamed.
“I know what this is, Talanna.” Damn her cool attitude. It makes mine look insane in comparison.
“It’s your death unless you fight.”
“Lolth told me this was going to happen. She told me that I should kill you. But I won’t, Talanna. I refuse.”
Wait. What? Starting to feel the sweat emerge from my pores I say, “You’re a gorgeous fool. Lolth didn’t tell you shit, Noticulan!”
She smirks. I should be the one smirking.

I’ve begged enough. It was time for her undeserving luck to run out, Yath'tallar. Traitor. With my current state of mind void of any feeling but animosity I stabbed her a few times in her gut. Blood sprang up from her pretty mouth to spray me in the face. Not once did she stop me. As much as I lusted for her I found it difficult to understand her logic. The only courtesy I gave Sinvyll was allowing her to stain my gown with her blood when she slid against me to meet the ground.

She died with her eyes open, now always staring up at me.
Lolth better appreciate this…

But she didn’t, that bitch! I’ve spend tendays upon tendays just continuing my normal, mundane routines. No reward, no recognition for ridding the Underdark of another heretic. I didn’t feel any closer to the Spider Queen. If anything, I felt driven away. I decided to consult my Matron, T'risstree T’orgh. It’d be the first time I’ve ever approached her.

Of course I chose my words wisely, excluding any names and ranks that might’ve been critical. My Matron looks at me carefully and finally says, “Perhaps the obstacle wasn’t meant for you.” At first it sounded too simple of an explanation, but then I knew what she meant.

I felt myself frown. How is this possible? It doesn’t even make sense. Why would Lolth choose Sinvyll to test over me? How was she more worthy? She doesn’t even worship Lolth!

Oh, but that’s right. I’ve forgotten. The nature of Lolth doesn’t have to make sense. What a cop-out.

I bet Sinvyll and I was just entertainment for her. One of us must’ve gotten so boring that Lolth felt the need to interfere. So boring that she killed one of us off. Lolth must be leaning back in her throne, choking on hysterical laughter. Well ha, ha. Joke’s on us. You perpetual whore.

I graciously thanked and complimented my Matron for her insightfulness and asked to be dismissed. I wanted to get out of her sight before she saw the shade of red glowing on my face. For the first real time since I became a potential part of this clergy I have felt the doings of the Spider Queen. And I hated it.

Everything else has been lip service and empty rituals. Not just from me but from all of the priestesses. I bet if Lolth were to directly have influence in their lives they wouldn’t betray each other and kiss her ass raw for her petty favors.

Whatever I’ve gotten myself into I’m sure as Hell going to get myself out.


It’s reaching the end of the year 1372 and I’ve been playing my devoted priestess puppet act with success. To finish off this year the Academy had the top priestesses of their class lead a raid on the surface. And guess who was third in command? We were to destroy a nearby colony of surface elves. Sounds easy enough, right? Wrong.

All of a sudden, in the middle of battle, just when it looked like we would prevail we notice that prayers weren’t being answered, meaning we have no divine magic, meaning we’re fucked. I could tell that deep within their apathetic facades they were all panicking. I would’ve too, but by now I’m not surprised. Lolth’s a cunt like that.

Every inch of the surface ground we stood – or fell on – was layered with the blood of both surface elf and Drow alike. If my troops were smart we’d retreat. But no, as Drow we must always advance. As Drow we must never give our enemies the satisfaction. Yeah well, all of this was starting to exhaust me. I’m done fighting for a cause that would never fight for me.

So I hid. As pitiful and ingenious as that sounded, I hid myself away from the outnumbered carnage with the little arcane magic I knew. Sinvyll had taught me most of them. She had an upper hand in that department because while she and I were close in that sexual sisters sort of way, she was also close in that disposable boy-toy sort of way with a Sorcere fellow who served as her assistant in her Advanced Potion Brewing course. I only pretended that the fact of their fornication didn’t bother me.

Hours of curdling screams and gross noises later, I come out of hiding to find a very grisly and ill conditioned graveyard. The odor of blood and raw meat was still floating in the air. The surface elves were out of sight so I’m wondering if they were going to at least bury the remains.

But then an idea hit me like the scourge of a menstruating Mistress.

I went over to one of the Drow female bodies. Her physique was similar to mine so she should do just fine. Dishing out my limited knowledge of arcane magic I cloaked her image with a glamour spell. She was now Talanna T’orgh. Or what others curious enough to investigate will know as Talanna T’orgh, “adopted” daughter of thee T’risstree T’orgh who fell during battle on the fiery surface to avenge the very goddess of her people. She died with great honor, they would hopefully say. But I doubt it.

To top it off, I removed my House insignia and presented it to my new, post-mortem clone. Now she can bear the bullshit.

I, on the other hand, have become a whole new identity. Whatever happened here has now soaked into the ground to feed the damned surface trees and surface worms. To be scorched under the surface sunshine and swept away by the surface rain. I’m already getting sick of this place.

So I will return to the Underdark with the two most cautious feet and the most precise strike. I, however, will not return to Menzobarranzan for what rat would revisit the same pantry that now has traps waiting? Besides, I’ve already denounced my “devotion” to the Spider Whore so why go back to the very waste bin that she frequently dumps and pisses in?

No, I will take a different route. The Underdark is a truly mysterious and vast plane but only the Drow who are not blinded by warped faith would ever know that. Sshamath was a possibility. No deity reigns supreme and it’s teeming with merchant Houses. I could even sell poisons and drugs for profit. After all, I did excel in those related courses at the Academy. Again, kudos to Sinvyll. This will be my biggest challenge because for once in my life I won’t have any support or connections. No one who’ll have my back, not that I’d trust them with it in the first place.

But this is what I want. I mean truly want. Everything I squandered was only what I’ve been trained to want. And now I’m left with a blank canvas to reap what I’ve spun.

So, getting back to what I was saying earlier:
Would you trade gold shackles for leather armor?[/center:23ubfgtg]
Post Reply