Post by Rae Bonatti on Jun 24, 2007 10:50:59 GMT -5
He never had the chance to be normal. Not like other elves his age, not like other boys his age, not like other mages his age. His mistake lay in being born to an elfess who loved intrigue and power far more than family, who loved ambition and its rewards more than anything else save her husband who loved them just as much as she. They were matched in many ways, brilliantly beautiful couple who sparkled and shone and ran House Narathameralsia from the shadows while the lawful Patriarch watched over his own precious family given to him finally in the twilight of his years.
There had been a time that he had a chance. When he was young he had been looked up to by his sisters both younger and older, they had adored him and were almost enough to be his salvation, he had even saved the lives of the younger three, saved them from drowning on a fair spring day and they had bravely defended him to their mother when she had berated him. It had almost been enough, but in the end the twisting of Dolcenaya had proven to finally be too much and where before he had bent and swayed and survived her machinations like a willow in the wind he finally cracked and broke, his mind splintering and fracturing like a broken bone.
Yet the madness was held inward and did not affect the brilliance of his mind nor the sheer raw power of his magic, much to the dismay of those that would face him afterwards in mage duels. He had a solitary mantra, one that would carry him through the many plans he hatched on his own and was the cause and explanation for the things he did to Rae before she left Faerun, his once most beloved younger sister. She bore the whip marks on her back to this day, and in the still silence of the night she would often hear the echo of his words when she asked him why.
“There can be no mercy, mercy is an illusion and a curse more hurtful than hope.”
“Quintus why are you here alone? Where are my other apprentices?”
There was a deadly quiet that wrapped his tone, his words were spoken softly yet there was steel hidden in them. Quintus was his current favored student as well as one of his bastard sons, a cambion that he had begotten on a beautiful and fiendish succubus that had been a companion of his for a time. He had Dalamar’s looks in that he had long black silken hair and features so fine as to almost seem feminine, though his ears were shorter and far more gently pointed than those of an elf. The fangs and claws were sheerly his mother’s gift as were the impressive wings which were folded quiescently at his back but had the wingspan and strength to carry him through the sky if he wished it. His psionics were strong though not as strong as the powers his father and half brothers often wielded, but those powers had not been enough to save them in the end.
His head tilted a bit in the acknowledgement of his father’s words and the steel in his tone though of all those that dealt with any regularity with Dalamar he had the least to fear. His mother had made doubly sure of that by making him immune to his father’s greatest strength, his magic. Yet he chose his words with care nonetheless and showed no real emotion in his expression as he spoke.
“They are all dead. All your bastard sons save myself, though I managed to save Etheria. Tell me father, can you not smell their blood commingled on the stones below? They were all slaughtered at their places and they lay where they fell. From what I can see they did not put up much of a struggle, save for Etheria. I have moved her … elsewhere.”
He would not speak of where he had put his half-sister lest whatever had killed the others was still around and listening.
“I will be going now father, as I have no desire to be caught up in whatever has come to punish you. I have no desire to die, in your defense or the defense of this castle.”
A chill smile rose to the cambion’s handsome lips and he bowed slightly in what respect he chose to show him that had helped give him life.
“I expect of course that if you survive you will seek to punish me for this, I welcome your arrival if that be the case.”
With that his wings stirred and he launched himself towards the open window and there was the loud crack of the leather of his dragon-like fiendish wings as they opened fully and bore him away. Dalamar watched his son leave and for a brief moment he did allow himself a feeling of relief. He did not know what had done this but if magic had been used he could trace it and he would know by the end of the night at least what hands had finally moved against him in such a final way. To destroy those of his blood that they could touch was a blow to him, harsh as he was he did treasure his children as he never treasured the females that bore them for him.
So he would find the magic if it were there and he was almost certain it would be, and then he would winnow down the list of those that would be powerful enough to do it, whether they had motive or not. And when he found the party responsible there would be no mercy in him, and what had been done here would be a pale shadow of the revenge that he himself would take.