Noamuth Karilth
It was time for the final lesson, the last removal of innocence from the young ones of the House. All others had been learnt and upheld by the children of the House, male and female alike. The daughters were, of course, the favoured ones; the sons, merely tolerated for their blood. But this youngest female, this one her mother had named Greylin - the pale commander - with her dying breath, she had proven to be defiant to the ways of Lolth and her people.
Not only was her manner and form less than what it should be, but she was marked as unusual by view of her appearance. Amber eyes shone brightly from her ebony dark face, where her sisters held the more commonly found blood-red hue. This should have led to her death, but for the sheen of her hair. No pale white, no glorious sheen of red or black or emerald, no ....this child bore the silver-white of a favoured soul. And it was this sign that had protected her from death at birth. Born of her mother's blood, Greylin dril' Vaseyl was an uncompromising mix of favour and disfavour, and already a confusion and burden before her fifth year had come.
She learned well the lessons set before her; she understood in her child's way the teachings of Lolth and the ways of their people. Even at her tender age, she knew her position as a female of the House Do'Tlar, what was expected of her. With the mark of favour, it was expected that she should rise swiftly through the ranks of clerics once her training was done, albeit in many years' time. Perhaps she might even become the Matron Mother of this beleaguered House, with it's many enemies and weakened position in the strife-torn city of Eryndlyn, where the followers of Lolth, Ghaunadaur and Vhaeraun struggled with one another for dominance. But that was a future that could not be guaranteed, not until she was made aware of her true place ....the youngest and last, the least extraordinary of her House.
The blade was set into the child's hand. Small fingers clasped about the hilt, amber eyes studying the finely wrought piece in curious appreciation for the dagger given to her for this one moment in time. Then those eyes turned towards the doors, where a kobold, battered and bruise, sat chained to the wall, regarding her with wary eyes. It knew what was coming, just as she did. It had been a favoured pet to the child Greylin ....too favoured, for this was her last lesson.
The female that was her tutor watched her with dispassionate, dull eyes. It had to be done, she had to learn this vital lesson for herself. If she did not, if she refused ....then Lolth would be given a new life in sacrifice upon her altars come the final moments of the day.
The kobold watched as death stalked it on tottering, juvenile feet. Amber eyes flickered with what could almost have been regret, the blade flashed out, and the creature fell, bleeding from the throat, choking on it's own life's blood. The female tutor nodded, removing the blade from the child's hand, and bade her watch as her favoured pet died, killed by her own hands.
And she did, still, cold, unmoving, unfeeling. The last and most vital lesson of childhood was learned, the final part of her innocence chipped away. All love is foolish, and those who would love are fools a thousand times over. Life is pain. Lolth reigns supreme.
Blood pooled around bare, ebony-skinned feet. Greylin looked down at all that was left of the only friend she had known, and felt a fire burn deep inside. All love is foolish.
She was no fool.
It was time for the final lesson, the last removal of innocence from the young ones of the House. All others had been learnt and upheld by the children of the House, male and female alike. The daughters were, of course, the favoured ones; the sons, merely tolerated for their blood. But this youngest female, this one her mother had named Greylin - the pale commander - with her dying breath, she had proven to be defiant to the ways of Lolth and her people.
Not only was her manner and form less than what it should be, but she was marked as unusual by view of her appearance. Amber eyes shone brightly from her ebony dark face, where her sisters held the more commonly found blood-red hue. This should have led to her death, but for the sheen of her hair. No pale white, no glorious sheen of red or black or emerald, no ....this child bore the silver-white of a favoured soul. And it was this sign that had protected her from death at birth. Born of her mother's blood, Greylin dril' Vaseyl was an uncompromising mix of favour and disfavour, and already a confusion and burden before her fifth year had come.
She learned well the lessons set before her; she understood in her child's way the teachings of Lolth and the ways of their people. Even at her tender age, she knew her position as a female of the House Do'Tlar, what was expected of her. With the mark of favour, it was expected that she should rise swiftly through the ranks of clerics once her training was done, albeit in many years' time. Perhaps she might even become the Matron Mother of this beleaguered House, with it's many enemies and weakened position in the strife-torn city of Eryndlyn, where the followers of Lolth, Ghaunadaur and Vhaeraun struggled with one another for dominance. But that was a future that could not be guaranteed, not until she was made aware of her true place ....the youngest and last, the least extraordinary of her House.
The blade was set into the child's hand. Small fingers clasped about the hilt, amber eyes studying the finely wrought piece in curious appreciation for the dagger given to her for this one moment in time. Then those eyes turned towards the doors, where a kobold, battered and bruise, sat chained to the wall, regarding her with wary eyes. It knew what was coming, just as she did. It had been a favoured pet to the child Greylin ....too favoured, for this was her last lesson.
The female that was her tutor watched her with dispassionate, dull eyes. It had to be done, she had to learn this vital lesson for herself. If she did not, if she refused ....then Lolth would be given a new life in sacrifice upon her altars come the final moments of the day.
The kobold watched as death stalked it on tottering, juvenile feet. Amber eyes flickered with what could almost have been regret, the blade flashed out, and the creature fell, bleeding from the throat, choking on it's own life's blood. The female tutor nodded, removing the blade from the child's hand, and bade her watch as her favoured pet died, killed by her own hands.
And she did, still, cold, unmoving, unfeeling. The last and most vital lesson of childhood was learned, the final part of her innocence chipped away. All love is foolish, and those who would love are fools a thousand times over. Life is pain. Lolth reigns supreme.
Blood pooled around bare, ebony-skinned feet. Greylin looked down at all that was left of the only friend she had known, and felt a fire burn deep inside. All love is foolish.
She was no fool.