Axxon
10-25-2007, 10:36 AM
<p><i>This is just a backstory I did for an alt's character history. I don't post here much, but I liked it and thought I'd share. <img src="/smilies/3b63d1616c5dfcf29f8a7a031aaa7cad.gif" border="0" alt="SMILEY" /></i></p><b><u>The Ledger</u></b>The young Teir'Dal rose from his courtesan's bed and stretched lazily. Having spent three days in her company, his lust was satisfied and he pulled on his leathers. He opened his coin purse and threw its contents on her bedside table. <i>No matter</i>, he thought. <i>Plenty more where that came from. </i>The last of his line, he had lived comfortably in Neriak, squandering his family's wealth on wine, women and all the creature comforts the city had to offer. His hands were soft and manicured, having never seen a day's work.The youth walked casually toward his manor house and smiled as he replayed the events of the last few nights in his mind. Life was good. So good, in fact, that he had largely ignored the goings on of the surface world which had recently been opened to him and the other Nerians. Ignored, that is, until now. As he approached his home, he saw several Ogres wearing the mark of the Freeport Militia roughly moving his belongings into a row of carts that had been parked outside. He approached the first, barking angrily at the "lesser.""You there! Stop! What is the meaning of this? How dare you attempt to steal from me! I will see your corpse moulder this very day for this insult!" As he shouted at the confused Ogre, a gnome with a ledger stepped forward and shook a finger at the youth."Ah, no, you see Sir, this is a legitimate seizure. It's all right here in the ledger." The Teir'Dal noble eyed the Gnome indignantly. "What are you on about? What ledger?" The Gnome opened the book and delivered the news to him."Your father, Sir. He incurred a debt - a rather large one - to the City of Freeport and to its Most Esteemed Overlord Lucan D'Lere. This was, of course, prior to the time of Neriak's sealing, you see. But now its time to settle accounts. With interest compounded over the past 150 years, the total amount of the debt now due and owing is 572 platinum, 86 gold, 97 silver and 23 copper. Its all right here in the ledger. You see? There - your father's hand and your family seal, is it not?"The man snatched the ledger from the Gnome and glared at the pages. <i>Innoruuk's blood! It was true! </i> "But...that's all the coin I have to my name," he stammered weakly. "Not exactly," the Gnome corrected. "Your account at the local bank shows you are short a few platinum. But the good news is your family home and its contents will juuuust cover the difference. Now then, if you will excuse me, I need to inventory these items. Sign here please."<u><b>The Hood</b></u>The Teir'Dal complied and slumped against the stone wall of his former home, slowly sitting down and bringing his knees to his chest. From the height of wealth, he now had nothing - not a copper to his name. The clothes on his back and the ornate dagger he carried mostly for show were all the possessions he had in the world. Hatred for his father welled inside him as he considered what he had done to him. Even from the grave it seemed he was to suffer his father's foolishness.As he sat and wondered where his next meal would come from, a shady looking Teir'Dal seemed to materialize from the shadows around the corner. His voice was quiet, but full of power. "Down on your luck, eh 'Master' D'Rael?" The youth stood quickly and glared into the blackness of the man's hood in the area where his eyes would be if he could see them. "You could say that, cur. What business is it of yours?"The man smiled under the hood. The youth could not see the corners of his mouth turn up, but he could hear it in his voice. "You find yourself in need of coin, yes? Well I am in need of a service. If you will do it for me, I will provide you with some modest weapons, provisions and some more appropriate clothes," the man said. "Appropriate for what?" The man chuckled softly. "For adventuring, of course. For work. Or were you going to become a beggar?"The now destitute noble swallowed hard. There was no way he would beg for scraps like some commoner. He would rather throw himself from the palace bridge. But, in truth, he wanted to live. "What do you want me to do?"The man explained that he had a contract to kill a certain merchant but, because the man's guards knew his face, he could not get close enough to him to complete the job. The young man, on the other hand, was a well-known spendrift and carouser....he could easily get the man alone and complete the contract on his life. he reluctantly agreed and the two set a time and place to meet when the job was done.<u><b>Death of a Salesman</b></u>It was not hard to get to the merchant as the youth had spent a fair amount of coin in his storefront before. Lorn welcomed him into his small store, smiling and scraping before the "wealthy" patron. News of the youth's recent misfortune had apparently not traveled to the market district yet."Do you have that tunic in a guilded style?" he inquired as he pointed to an expensive piece of clothing. "Oh yes! Yes we do...let me just get it for you." The man turned to retrieve the requested item and the youth's heart pounded as he saw his opportunity. He pulled the knife from under his cloak and plunged it deep between the man's shoulder blades. Lorn let out a sharp yelp, but the assassin was upon him in an instant - his survival instincts kicking in. He pulled the knife from the man's back and clapped a hand over his mouth, stifing Lorn's scream for his guards. As he pulled back the merchant's head, he dragged the edge of the blade across his throat and silenced him at last.As the body slumped to the floor, the youth crouched, listening for the guards, and wiped the blood away on the dead man's tunic. He had thought he would be scared. He had thought he would be repulsed by the act. But as he knelt over the corpse, he felt instead something he had not expected: he was excited by it...thrilled by the hunt...the chase...the kill. He sheathed his blade and walked out of the store with the tunic under his arm.<u><b>"Xanit The Blade"</b></u>When he met the cloaked man, the young assassin stared again into the blackness of the hood, but this time with different eyes - the eyes of a hunter. "Well then, looks like you got the job done. Looks like you liked it too," the man mused. The youth stared coldly back. "Do you have my payment?" The hood nodded. "Yes, yes of course. Here - take this pack. It's all in there. I bid you aluve, 'Master' D'Rael." The man turned to leave but the youth caught his arm."Do not call me that. I no will no longer live in the shadow of my family's name." The man looked down at the hand that had gripped his arm, more amused than angry by the insult. "What then should I call you?" The youth thought for a moment about names he had heard in his education...names of nobles...names of historical figures. As he thought, his hand fingered the hilt of the dagger concealed in his cloak. "Xanit L'Vel," he said finally. The man nodded. " 'The Blade,' eh? Very well, Xanit L'Vel. Pleasure doing business with you." Xanit nodded. As the man left, he glanced in the direction of the tunnel leading to the Hall of the Ebon Mask. He shouldered his pack and walked toward it - the first steps of his new life as an assassin.<b><u>The Disciple</u></b>Xanit learned quickly under the master assassins of the Mask. He was highly intelligent, and had a thirst to learn and to better his skills in as short a time as possible. The Mask taught him how to make and apply poisons, how to conceal himself more quickly and effectively, and how to best attack his unsuspecting prey for maximum damage within a few seconds. The Mask was an excellent resource for him and it was full of others like him - assassins making their way in this new world where Nerians and Haeth'un alike roamed the tunnels of the Underfoot. But that environment also presented a problem. With so many assassins milling about the place looking for contracts, work was hard to come by. Xanit knew he needed to break out on his own - to find a house where his blade would be one of a few - not one of many. He sipped blood wine at the Blind Fish and poured over the listings of the guild registar. One in particular caught his eye."The Discipleship," he murmured. A longstanding order dedicated to service to Innoruuk, Xanit meditated on this guild. <i>Certainly, they would have many enemies, both inside and outside of Neriak. The turmoil between The Dead and the Disciples of Innoruuk, for example, was reaching its boiling point. </i> Xanit thought about his own path as well, and whether life in a militant religious order was for him. He had never been overly religious, yet Hate filled his heart and mind like his lifeblood. To focus it...to unleash it with the power of the Dark Lord behind his blades: this appealed to him a great deal. For the power he once had - the power of coin - had been taken from him. It had proven fleeting. Perhaps it was time to dedicate himself to a larger cause - one who's power was not temporal but, rather, infused with the Divine.Xanit stood, his mind set on this course. He would join these "Disciples." Power would be his to weild again...the power of Hate.<b><p><b><i><img src="http://img207.imageshack.us/img207/4104/xanittdwn1.jpg" alt="No alternate text supplied." width="400" height="176" border="0" /></i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Signature art from Bored....by </span><a href="http://niekra.deviantart.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Niekra</span></a></b></p></b>