The History of Medri Venorik Rilyn`Ndar

Prelude: Cloak and Dagger
"Usstan tlun natha Streea T`zarawur, uss de`mzil g'waeklyth wun natha feryxonis thalack. Usstan tlun swariyus ulu elgg nindyn izwin iz`natha turi'ko ulu udossta quellar." - Streea T`zarawuren pledge

In the Quellar de`Streea, you were one of two things, or you were nothing – you either commanded death as your servant, or wielded it as your weapon.

For quite some time in Neriak, it was a well known fact that those of Quellar de`Streea were Necromancers of the most advanced degree; their talents were raw and highly proven again and again. Even the prestigious Quexill family attempted to marry the de`Streea into their House, failing to pursued more than one into their treacherous arms – they were always very selective of which Houses married into theirs, and which Houses they would send their children to marry.

Beneath their seemingly loyal and noble ties to the Dead and Queen Kristanos was something a bit different; you see, it was called the House of the Dead for more than it’s Necromancers. Hidden away behind the masques of mages were many exquisitely trained assassins – the price to know of their existence was dear and always paid in blood, for the de`Streea wished to keep their true power absent from the eyes of Neriak.

Their Patron, Velkyn Aster de`Streea, was a meticulous Machiavellian calculator. He would silently watch the gatherings of the High Born, listening more often than speaking, and in more ways than one; the assassins of the de`Streea were exceptional spies as well, and seemed to be everywhere and nowhere all at once. Between his own observations, and those of his many eyes and ears, Velkyn learned his peers well and could easily spot their faults, their passions and the focus of their Hate. It was these that would draw Velkyn to reveal lightly small things about the de`Streea’s true nature.

His children, his cousins, his nieces and nephews – they all learned from his example, honing their skills of espionage and subterfuge on each other. Such things made Velkyn smile, and he was always sure to let them get to the very edge of disaster before intervening to teach a lesson; many a de`Streea has been seconds away from death at the hands of their siblings, only to be saved and humiliated by Velkyn.

These things continued for a very long time, long before the discovery of Kunark the de`Streea began their rise to power, and by the time the moon lay open at the feet of the Teir`Dal, the House rivaled any in the city for the Queen’s blessings. Their assassins kept their distance from other murdering Houses, for a predator can always know another predator should they become too intimate.

When she rose from the ashes of a particularly deadly tryst, Lo`Larox Lle`Isgar de`Streea came to her Patron and Uncle with determination and awakened ideas. She realized the potential the family’s “practicing” on each other had, how it could easily rip them apart and destroy them forever. Rather than see such an incident come to pass, Lo`Larox suggested to her Patron the idea of beginning the training of the assassins in seclusion, away from the eyes of Neriak and the well-being of their family. The training plans themselves were bold, quite like what Velkyn had endured himself years ago, and after very little time, her ideas became reality.

Deep in the wilds of new-found Luclin, in the marshes and in the mountains, several secluded residences were built for the use of Lo`Larox’s “school”. As soon as a child could walk, talk, and showed grace and statue befitting an assassin, they were drugged and brought to the training grounds. They were taught not only the history of Neriak and the Teir`Dal, the skills of a scout and assassin…they were also raised to believe they had one purpose – to defend the de`Streea from anything that may endanger them by using stealth, guile and graceful murder. They were raised to know their existence was a secret outside of the house, and sometimes within, and that at all costs they must put on the airs of normal Noble Teir`Dal.

Lo`Larox and her grand-nephew married, and had five children, however only one of them survived – Ssin`Urne Eld`Chalok de`Streea. Ssin`Urne’s skill as an assassin and a deceiver were as focused as her mother’s, while her talents in the Noble ways were natural and flawless. The Patron would be pleased with such a child, not only for her parent’s, but for what being raised from day one to become an assassin did to her. Upon the day she left to return to Neriak, Ssin`Urne shattered her relations to her mother, informing her that the four other children had been put to rest by her own hands.

The purpose of the training facility had been to create cold-hearted killers, perfect at what they did…to grow up as such had done more to Ssin`Urne than the de`Streea could ever imagine.

Hate burned in Ssin`Urne’s breast – Hate for her family, Hate for her childhood, Hate for herself and her talents, Hate for the God who had made them what they all were. It was a burning beacon, and many times younger Priests of Innoruuk would tremble and near flee when they saw her. Many times she and Perrir Zexus would clash, he trying to initiate her into the Priesthood, she telling him to make sweet love to a Troll; clearly, there would be problems between the de`Streea and the Priests if one of them did not back down.

Perrir eventually did just that, denouncing Ssin`Urne and painting her to be a heretic; though there were many who agreed with Perrir, few did anything to remove her from Neriak – her family was still in the good graces of the Queen, and it was a boon in her favour.

The Festival of the Blood Moon came and went twice before Ssin`Urne finally was forced into participating. She loated the idea of bedding a commoner, and formulated a plan to avoid such a fate. After a time, she snuck away from her family and their Noble allies and by disguising herself as one of the Low Born, she was able to mix into the hopeful commoners, praying for Innoruuk’s beloveds to chose them for this night.

Hidden well in the center of the commoners, she was surprised when a Noble made his way directly to her, as if he could sense her in the crowd. As he walked towards her, she could see his distaste of the commoners, and she knew that he loathed the idea of bedding with one as much as she did. Smirking silently, she awaited him, recognizing the elaborate black rose emblem stitched on his shoulder…a member of the House of Black Hearts, another prominent House in Neriak, though loyal to the King and not the Queen. But still, even one of Naythox’s lap dogs was preferable to the common filth she stood among.

Taking her hand, the Arisaur lead Ssin`Urne along the streets of the 3rd Gate, back into the estate and his waiting bed; both were delighted to have cheated the horrible and belittling ritual of the night. That night, she felt something she’d never felt before – Passion. A burning, lustful Passion that rivaled the Hatred she felt constantly, tainted by the embers of Jealousy. It was during that long night she discovered that the Passion could be fueled by Hate, the Hatred of even the thought another woman touching her new lover.

Predators are possessive…


A few months after the festival, Fuer`Yon Arisaur and Ssin`Urne were bound, and Ssin`Urne turned her back on the Quellar de`Streea, taking with her many servants and loyal assassins. With the best of their talent gone, the House would begin to decay and fall to the wayside until they rivaled the Kakita as the fallen from grace; even then, they would not do nearly as well as the prior fallen Nobles did.

The ranks of the Arisaur assassins and spies were dwindling, and they were forced to train those who were better suited for other, lesser professions in their arts of death when Ssin`Urne was brought in with her pack of de`Streea. For quite some time she had noticed the growing requests from the House for eliminations, but the reasons behind such was until then unclear – some prominent House just have that high of an assassination rate without internal strife.

Fuer`Yon knew what Ssin`Urne’s childhood was like, however he was not aware of exactly how cold it had made her; blindly, he took what was left of the old Arisaur sect of espionage and elimination and allowed Ssin`Urne to recreate a new sect…Streea T`zarawuren de`Arisaur…

Rather than return to the Moon of Luclin, as auspicious as the Lady of Shadows was to any assassin, Ssin`Urne instead struck out into the wasteland of the Lavastorm Mountains; far from the prying eyes of Neriak, the firey hell of Solusek’s Eye, and the haunted ruins of Najena. Carved deep into the rock, a small citadel of Hate was fleshed out from the stones – the lesson being a remind of what was done to create Neriak.

Much to the surprise of Fuer`Yon and the remaining Arisaur, the Streea T`zarawuren training put that of the Indigo Brotherhood and the Ebon Mask to shame. Night after night, they would collapse into their beds, unable to move any further only to be awakened a few short hours later to begin again. Many of the weak died, and their bodies were cast into the burning lava – a pyre of molten rock burned their bodies away as the Priestess freed their souls to return to the Plane of Hate. The first to question these events was the first to meet with Ssin`Urne’s wrath…and the molten pits of Lavastorm while still breathing.

Those who eliminated their competition found themselves in positions of power – within months another, secretive hierarchy was created within the Arisaur assassins and spies. But rarely did their murderous intents towards family fall outside of the T`zarawuren themselves.

Lessons were learned.


Time marched onward, and as the months gave way to years, the Arisaur saw a resurgence of their missing assassin sect. At first, they acted as though nothing changed, however they soon realized that those who left were different beings than they were before their seclusion. Now their eyes were hard and haunted, as if hundreds of years had passed in the short time they were away; countless deaths, and countless hours of hard work had refined them into something useful once again.

And as time moved forward, each step brought the world closer to the War of Defiance and other events that would forever change their world. When the Rallosians rose up against the great cities, all of Neriak found itself preparing for war; the Arisaur were no exception. While the templars gathered up their shining armours, readying their swift and deadly great swords, the Streea T`zarawunen slipped into their second skins of blackened leather and readied their throwing spikes, stars and knives before vanishing into the night.

During the War, a great number of the family Templars were wounded or killed as they fought long and heard to stave off the Rallosians outside the forests of Neriak. Meanwhile, the majority of the assassins were left unscathed and hidden from the eyes of their Patron and fathers.

For the first time in centuries, the King tasted the glory of war, and it was then he fell prey to the spell of the Zeks. That first day of strife in the Commonlands would lead the Teir`Dal towards wild ideals, and the continent of Faydwer to avenge what happened long ago in the War of the Broken Crown.

For centuries, millennia since they became a House of Neriak, the Arisaur had followed the King. But the Teir`Dal have long been creatures of turmoil and strife, and there were those among the House who began to distrust the King’s judgement. When the call to the War of Fey came, the House stood divided – many of the assassins railed against leaving Neriak, spurred on by the frightened Priests who no longer could feel the Power of Innoruuk in their being.

In the end, the Patron commanded a large number of the Templars to join him for the War of Fey, also forcing nearly all of the dissident assassins to go with them. But there were those of the House who remained – the aging Matron Mother whom ruled before her son stayed behind with the ill, maimed, and those to young to leave their home. Nearly five sixths of the Arisaur left Neriak to fight the War of Fey, carried over the grounds of Antonica and Faydwer by horse drawn litters and carriages while the soldiers walked on foot or rode on horseback.

In the Streea T`zarawuren’s carriage, all was not well; both of their leaders were discontent with the orders to leave Neriak – for weeks the Priestesses of Innoruuk were heralding the news that if they left there would be no return. Their supplicants an lackeys echoed their sentiments, and rumors of possible rebellion spread like wild fire among those outside of the sect, though few pointed fingers at the T`zarawuran.

During the War proper, very little aid was actually received from the sect – while they made all the proper airs of fighting for the family, they only protected the few whose thoughts and words echoed their own secluded conversations. Few assassins died during the War of Fay, though many of the House died by those the assassins let through before eliminating them. There were whispers that several deaths were not by the hands of an enemy that had dwelt on Faydwer for years, but by those within.

Rebellion was beginning, for all the Teir`Dal.


The night of the Sealing was long, and hard. The many priests remaining awoke from nightmares, screaming over something they could not remember. Despite the tremors it had sent through the psyche of the Teir`Dal nation, it wouldn’t be until the death of the King and their return home that the dark elves would learn the truth of the matter.


Returning to find their way to Neriak closed, as a whole the Teir`Dal nation fell into despair; the losses of two Wars, and the Rending following the heels of their Gods sudden silence pushed them to a new extreme – seeking shelter with the humans of Freeport.

There was much debate among the many sects within the House, though the final decision always lay with the Patron. The assurances of the ‘Foci’ were great in number, and the promise of a section of the city just for themselves was a large draw to many of the Teir`Dal; with hopes of rebuilding from the ashes, the surviving Arisaur settled in Freeport.

Many of the family were not content within the walls of what would become Longshadow Alley, but few knew of anything to escape their fate that didn’t end in death. The T`zarawuren, however, decided to revive traditions long dead because of the cataclysms that rocked Norrath, and many of them struck out for Lavastorm again.

Fuer`Yon remained within the House Estate in the future Longshadow, while Ssin`Urne took several of the more talented officers and protégés back to their broken down citadel in the mountains. Most died crossing the waters, though those that survived began the long task of restoring their training grounds. As time passed, many of the survivors had new children, who were trained as their parents had been long ago; these children were sent back to Longshadow, resuming their long ignored duties.

Those children of the existing officers filled the roles of their parents back in Longshadow, creating a mirrored hierarchy of the training grounds. But opportunity was as it had been before – through the elimination of that which was in the position you desired. Slowly, the T`zarawuren returned to their former selves, and some faint memory of Neriak lived through their actions.

Even Ssin`Urne and Fuer`Yon eventually had a child, Medri Venorik, though the mother died shortly after the child birthing. For a few years, the academy fell to the hands of her next officer before Fuer`Yon found a suitable replacement in Longshadow. The leader took the reigns of the training grounds, and a new coldness was found within the T`zarawuren – the death of Ssin`Urne had left him a changed man, and that reflected in the sudden changes within the sect.

Fewer aspiring trainees survived their time in Lavastorm, but those that did return were far more deadly than their predecessors. Within a few months, many of the former leaders in Longshadow’s T`zarawuren were replaced by these deadly children, vanishing without a trace during their assignments. The Patron questioned these things, as such a noticeable shift in power called his attention to the sect; whether through divine intervention or luck, the sect was able to avoid the Patron’s wrath.

Things seemed to calm in Norrath, and for years the House was able to focus on stabilizing their new position in Freeport, eventually moving into the city proper through the graces of the Foci. Subsequently, the assassins found their hands full during this time, removing threats and annoyances to the Patron and his children; the ranks of the assassins nearly doubled for a time, as did the number of their positions within their hierarchy.

Each year, the sect – at least those available at those times - met at their citadel in Lavastorm, though none outside their ranks knew what these pilgrimages were for. Strangely, all in attendance returned to their places once they were over, usually with an even more haunting look in their eyes.

Roughly fifteen years ago, none returned; their meeting occurred upon the night of the Shattering, and those few that were unable to attend can only guess that Lavastorm was ravished by the falling pieces of the Moon as the areas near them were. The two that were sent to scout Lavastorm were never heard from again either.

Since then, the quiet war of the T`zarawuren continues – nothing is filled in their ranks, and many positions are up for grabs. All of them work to rise above the other, though it seems that they are avoiding their more murderous traditions of the past.

Perhaps they’ve realized they’re all they’ve got left…



Death Bringer
Her mother had died in childbirth, and her death brought nothing but distance and malice from her father. Most of those who lived within the rocky citadel of Lavastorm were surprised that her father did not outright kill her upon her mother’s death. But he had not, and the child was left with those who stayed in the darkened rooms of the T`zarawuren training grounds.

Out of spite and Hatred, Fuer`Yon named her Medri Venorik.

Her aunt was not so quick to blame Medri for her mother’s demise, and as she assumed the duties of the dead Ssin`Urne for the sect, she assumed the duty of raising her sister-in-law’s daughter; her wish was to revive Ssin`Urne by molding her child from birth to be like her mother. The woman’s obsession with Ssin`Urne ran deeper than many would ever guess or know.

“Ilninil…Ilhar?”

Her first words, much to her aunt’s delight.

As time passed, Medri was taught many things. Her academic studies included the history of the Arisaur and her mother’s former House, the Quellar de`Streea along with many lessons in etiquette noblesse. Though they were assassins, they were expected to be able to put on the airs of their Noble heritage and surroundings. A beauty like her mother, Medri visually fit well into the more social settings that would be required later on in life.

But her teaching was not always so pretty and kind.

At first, Medri lacked the cold jealous Hate that had driven her mother, which greatly disturbed her aunt. But it was not long before her caretaker thought of ways to bring that burning Hatred to the surface; over the next few years, she bore several children, doting upon them as though they had been the Patron’s own, while beginning a vicious cycle of abusive behavior towards Medri.

Though she proved to be a protégé like her mother in academia, espionage, subterfuge and murder, Medri would be beaten and belittled even in the light of superb achievement. As far as it was presented to Medri, she would never be as perfect of a child as her aunt’s blood-kin; she was merely the orphan of the T`zarawuren – unwanted by her own father, and a burden to her aunt.

Over a few short years, her aunt’s plan worked all to well, for not only did Medri come to Hate her adoptive siblings as Ssin`Urne had hated her own siblings, but she came to Hate her aunt and her surroundings. The lack of intervention from the others in the citadel – order from her aunt, of course – pushed Medri further and further down the road Ssin`Urne had followed. This delighted her aunt, and as Medri approached her teenage years, the tone of the beatings changed, as did the venomous words of her keeper.

Behind closed doors, away from the eyes and ears of the other assassins in Lavastorm, Medri’s aunt would live out her fantasies of Ssin`Urne with the woman’s daughter. The obsession sickened the young girl, the violation of her body pushing her Hatred of her aunt to new levels. Though she did as she was told and took the beatings and caresses, returning them when she was told to, Medri did so only to learn her aunt from head to toe.

The child threw herself into all of her studies, especially those of the predator. When she was not in formal training, she would stalk the various predators of the Lavastorm Mountains, learning from their actions. Her favourite hunting companion was a cousin’s pet lioness, from whom she learned most of her techniques – though her muscle structure was vastly different from that of the feline, Medri taught herself to move like the cat she was near constantly with.

Of course, it was expected for the children being taught to attempt to remove their competition, however for quite a number of years none had actually killed their prey. When Medri entered into this circle of learning, her Hatred and vengeance drove her to do away with her competition – completely. For the first time in years, the T`zarawuren were forced to renew their war within.


“Why are you killing them?” her cousin asked as she stalked past with Caite, the lioness.

The smaller Teir`Dal merely shrugged at her cousin, tucking a dagger away into her boot while resting a hand on Caite’s back. A fresh tattoo rested on the edge of her palm, like all the others who had survived to this time in their lives. Once the dagger was away, the ebon child slipped onto the back of the lioness as though she were a horse, laying her thin body against the beast’s neck.

“Because they’ve done naut to change this place,” was all she said before Caite walked out of the room, and out into the night of Lavastorm.


Of course, others began to follow in her footsteps, not only murdering their fellow relatives, but attempting to take out Medri herself. None were too successful, in any degree, and many ended up in the burning pits of Lavastorm without the graces of their Priestesses before being released from their mortal coils.

Their screams as they slipped beneath the lava only made her smile.

She soon grew bored with the games of her class, mocking her teacher before poisoning him at a family dinner. Such things were merely distractions while she plotted against her obsessive aunt; as she grew older, her aunt’s sick desired grew more twisted, but still Medri did as her aunt commanded behind their locked door. It was not yet time to remove her sickness from the family.

As the time neared for Medri, and the few surviving children that trained with her, to return to Longshadow to begin her work for the Arisaur, the stakes of their game was upped considerably.

It was clear to Medri that her aunt had truly grown fond of her children, as a human grows fond of their offspring, and that the beginnings of punishment lay within their beating hearts.

The first child to become prey was a simple kill, for he was rather large and lazy, spending his time resting upon silken pillows and sleeping or reading erotic tales he found in his mother’s drawers. He was found naked, draped over his bed of pillows, books open and sprawled about him with millions of fine paper cuts kissing his skin. The blood ran over the pillows, the books and his body, little not being soaked up by the things he enjoyed so much.

Grief took over her aunt, and Medri comforted her with the caresses and beatings that she knew the woman loved, removing herself from the woman’s mind as a suspect. For a week, the child created fantasies for her aunt, drawing her mind away from her dead child and deeper into her obsession.

The second child to become prey was also a fairly simple kill, for he did nothing but spend his time sitting at their private dining room table, eating the exotic foods his mother always had made for him. This child was found set perfectly in his chair, a feast laid out before him…an apple grotesquely shoved into his mouth and his throat slit open in a wide smile, his blood filling the goblet before him.

And again, the daughter of Ssin`Urne distracted her aunt with vises, playing upon the madness in the woman’s mind and building up her obsession. Further into lust and desire she pulled her aunt, building her up to what was yet to come. Such things were done after each death, and each time they were more elaborate than the last.

The third child was a girl, who even for her young age had a vast ego and opinion of herself. She would not wear anything but the finest fabrics, and preferred the most stylish jewelry over their true function; though quite plain, she thought herself stunning and constantly primped herself. This girl was found sitting like a rag doll upon a pile of her dresses and jewels – every bone in her body had been broken, leaving her limp as one of her fine dresses.

The fourth child turned prey was a little thief, constantly sneaking coins from those around him, hording away theses riches, hoping one day to be taken to Freeport where he could spend them lavishly upon women and wine. The thief was found hanging from a tree in the courtyard, while his hands were found in the mountain of coin he had collected over time.

The fifth child’s death brought a sigh of relief to those that dwelt in the training grounds, for the girl thought herself a great warrior, when she had no training as such at all. She would prance about the citadel, speaking of her own greatness, and threatening those who told her otherwise. Her presence had long annoyed many of them, but none wished to anger her aunt, as she did run their portion of the sect. She was found at the feet of a stuffed drake, ripped to pieces as if by his claws – her head hung by her hair from the mouth of the silent drake.

Five weeks had passed, five children had died, and thirty-five nights of twisted passion had passed between Medri and her aunt. Obsession had turned to addiction within her aunt’s heart, hero-worship to envy in the heart of her oldest son, and Hatred to cruelty in the heart of Medri; and all of this she knew would happen, because that is how it was planned.

The night before she would leave for Freeport, Medri brought her cousin with her behind the locked doors. Her aunt was already deep into ecstasy that had been brought on by an alchemical concoction and wine. With little pushing from Medri, her cousin went to lay with his mother, enjoying her body in the ways he’d Hated his cousin for. They were found naked together, still in the act of love-making…holding the hilt of a dagger buried in the other’s heart.

She had delighted in shattering her aunt’s twisted dreams, the expressions and words upon her aunt’s face and lips as she slipped the dagger first into her cousin’s chest and then into her aunt’s while remaining deathly silent. The memory would comfort her for years to come, as she felt that in the end, vengeance had been given fittingly.

The next day, she left Lavastorm long before her father returned to bring her back to Longshadow; instead Fuer`Yon was forced to stay in the citadel and repair the damage that had been done by his sister’s murder. She had sealed his fate, though she did not know it then.

It would not be the first time.


As she traveled back to Freeport, she met an artist who could imprint his works upon the flesh. It was then she had the elaborate gemmed tattoo created upon her back, the black and bleeding rose being a stylized crest of her House. She had survived the Lavastorm Mountains, and left her mark upon their citadel there, just as her mother had left her mark upon the de`Streea citadel; she had honoured herself and her house in blood, earning the right to bare the rose on her flesh.


Medri Venorik returned to the estate of the Arisaur, however she spent little time there. Her time was spent stalking not only those whom the messenger ravens bid her to eliminate, but those who caught her eye. She desired to experience passion that was not forced upon her in the ways her aunt had done, but each left her feeling hollow and so she would leave them dead.

Unknown to the young assassin, she herself was being hunted.

Though destitute and cast aside, a number of the forgotten Quellar de`Streea had survived the cataclysms, escaping their status among the Teir`Dal by selling their blades and souls to the Overlord. For years, they had watched the House, and they knew of Ssin`Urne’s child and her demise; many of the de`Streea who had followed her had met death by their blades in the years before the War of Fay, ending their stray family line effectively.

The continued life of the traitor’s daughter was a sin to the last few de`Streea.

And so they hunted her, with their first few attempts proving fatal and harming to their numbers. Medri thought them merely bandits after the coin they thought she may carry, brushing off the first attempt and it’s two dead attackers as a pair of rogue’s fatal mistake. With the de`Streea’s numbers below five for the first time in years, their leader was forced to back away from the game and rethink his strategy.

But it was not long before he had an idea.


The bar was crowded, an obvious wise business maneuver that played upon the lack of anything between the Commonlands and Antonica. Though long used to the places of other races, Medri still despised being among mixed company as such. Disappointment settled upon her after several hours without sign of another High Born, or even a Low Born, as she had been craving to experience pleasure again, however lacking it might be.

Such an event, in such a setting, as precisely what Xukuth de`Streea needed.

Hood pulled up over his face, and cloak hiding his features from the crowd, Xukuth entered the bar and made a hard line for the darkest corner he could find. His actions drew the attention of nearly everyone in the bar, however he did not pull back his hood until nearly all but Medri’s eyes had drifted away again. Feigning attention to the bar wench, the Teir`Dal waited patiently for his prey.

The sudden arrival of such a mysterious and lavish dark elf had come at the last moment she imagined, as she was half way to the door when she saw him enter. Changing course, she moved to the bar to watch him; for nearly an hour the pair watched each other with curiosity, until finally Xukuth moved to make an introduction.

“Vendui, wenress,” he said in a voice like smooth silk as he dropped down to one knee before her. Patiently, palm upturned, he waited for her to give him her hand; when she did so, he gracefully kissed it, pausing as something kicked violently from deep within his mind.

In the dark corner, the two spoke quietly of recent events in Freeport. The blatant murder of a High Priestess of Innoruuk, and the arrest of the Teir`Dal Lucanic Knight who tried to avenge her, were events she had been unaware of due to her travels. Hatred burned behind her eyes, and venom ran thick in her words, further strengthening the violent and frightening thoughts in Xukuth’s mind; none of the de`Streea had clung to Hate as he had, and to find that their prodigal had shook him deeply.

The night passed slowly, and in many ways the two Teir`Dal became taken with each other. Xukuth’s task at hand became less and less relevant to him, though he was given a jarring reminder when she invited him to join her somewhere more secluded. They had prepared a small hut a few miles from the tavern, where he was meant to end Medri’s life. His thoughts had grown more and more conflicted, Hating her for her mother’s crimes, Hating her for being who she was, Hating her for her devotion to the Teir`Dal and the Will of Innoruuk, Hating her for captivating him as she had.

With quiet words he invited her to join him in his ‘home’, unsure of what he should do with her. Leaving her alive would turn his brother and cousin against him, but he doubted he would kill her.

His sudden distraction set off a small red flag in Medri’s mind, however she spotted a mutt trying to follow them as they left the bar and assumed that is what had him suddenly so unnerved.

He was, after all, just a Necromancer…


Watching Medri dispatch of the mutt was somehow erotic to Xukuth – she moved in ways that few he had seen did, which lead him to other thoughts and movements. He wanted quite a bit from her, even her death in his arms, but not in the crude manner in which he and his kinsmen had devised. She would not die…tonight.

For hours the pair enjoyed the other’s body, passion running high. Though she’d generally felt hollow and unfulfilled when engaging in such acts, it was very different with the man she knew as Uln`Hyrr; every touch electrified her and made her want more. Xukuth felt the same burning fire, and it drove him mad with Hate – he had for so long loved to Hate her as he was raised to, and now he Hated himself for falling for her.

Something snapped in his mind, and he felt the driving desire to mark her as his own. As she lay, resting on her stomach after the last of their passionate embraces, he gently caressed her flesh as he tied her sleeping form to the bed. When he began to tighten the bonds for the last time, she awoke and began shouting at him, struggling wildly against the ropes.

Though she nearly bit off his finger, he forced a bit of salve into her mouth; after a few minutes Medri found herself lethargic and unable to move her muscles. The strong sedative was designed to create a paralysis in a victim but was not enough to knock them out. Xukuth wished for her to be awake for this.

It took time to remove all the elaborate pieces of metal from his leather belt, and fashion them into patterns, binding them together with long handles. Once he was satisfied with them, and sure they could withstand the heat of the fire without melting, Xukuth stoked the hearth with more tinder and waited for the first brand to turn red with heat.

Medri’s eyes widened as he stepped towards her, though she could only make small hissing sounds by then. Her fear only excited the other Teir`Dal, and resting one hand against her shoulder, he placed the first of many brands against her back. Involuntarily, tears sprang to her eyes, and she made a small scream of surprise, though the sedative had made it nearly impossible to shape any sort of words from it.

Once the flesh was well burned, Xukuth pulled the brand from her skin and replaced it in the fire with the others. Slowly, pressing down hard against her burned flesh, he rubbed a salve over the pattern; the salve stung hard as it sterilized her fresh wounds, and was heightened by the pressure he placed as he worked. Once the salve had been spread, he would blow gently on the burn, the cold air shocking Medri further.

The burns would arch over her elaborate gemmed tattoo, several symbols of the de`Streea and Xukuth in particular tied into the latticework. From some angles, they looked much like wings, and from others spider webs; by dawn they covered her shoulder blades, down the edge of her back to frame the tattoo, and around her sides to wrap to the tips her hipbones.

When his work was finished, he placed more sedative into her mouth, kissing her roughly as she slipped into unconsciousness; he prepared a carafe of water and left some jerky on the table, and vanished into the vanishing twilight.

She would always remember, and never forgive.


Her cloths rubbed against the burns, sending pain through her being constantly on the long journey back to Freeport. Xukuth had left her the salve, though she barely trusted it; the ointment did lessen the pain, and it would not be until later that would learn it helped to preserve the scars on her back.

At the Crossroads, she again met the man who lovingly imprinted her family crest upon her back. Though he was a mutt – an abomination at that – she approached him and explained briefly what had been done to her back. There was little he could do, especially with the freshness of the scars, other than provide more ointment to her and explain what would happen to them as time passed.

She spent over two weeks with the artist, allowing him to treat her burns so that she would not have to disgrace herself by asking the family Priests to do so. The mutt would keep her secret, and she would keep him alive as best she could in return. Once the last of the scabs fell from the burns, and the scars had toughed from their raw births, Medri decided to return to Freeport.

Before she left, the artist begged to be given the chance to give her at least one good memory from her last round of travels. In the end, she agreed, and the artist explained his planned gift to her.

In secret, the mutt had learned the magical arts, which is where much of his true talents lay. He wished to imprint upon Medri a symbol of slight power, which would help guide her along the Will of Innoruuk and protect her from the man who maimed her. While she doubted that the artist was capable of such, the design was pleasing enough to her that she agreed.

L`Anth de`lil Lloun`az, he called it.

He claimed a dying priestess with her blood and sacred herbs made the inks, while he claimed the six onyx gems were fashioned and blessed by the Foci. Elaborate, befitting tales of bards, but somehow comforting to the Teir`Dal.

Without flinching, the artist swore fealty to Medri and her House, though she would never speak of such to her Patron unless it was needed. For now, the artist was her secret and an escape from the world she knew – a good servant for her, in her mind.

As the night stars sparkled, Medri prepared to leave. The artist called her attention to the moon, which was pulsating with strange light; in terror, she flung the artist back inside his stone hut and followed behind him, shielding their eyes. The first rocks hit the earth several miles away, sending tremors through the entire Commonlands. Quickly, the artist and Medri made their way into his cellar beneath the sand, moving as much of the sparse furniture and supplies as they could.

For days the land was pummeled by the falling pieces of the moon, and the two elves waited in candlelight for the tremors to end. When an entire day had passed without the violence of the earth, they left the cellar; most of the house was intact, though severely dusty and partially filled with sand. After making sure the artist was resettled, Medri took flight for Freeport.


The Estate had little structural damage done to it, however the House itself was in quite a mess. Few – the Patron, his sister, their niece and a few other nobles with their retinues - had been indoors during the events, and a handful of those gone had returned by the time Medri reached Freeport; even after her return, only three more nobles and their retinues returned.

“Medri, have you word from Lavastorm?” one of the few T`zarawuren who had not gone on pilgrimage asked her after she had reported to Patron Anavel’s scribe that she had returned unharmed.

She shook her head at the younger assassin, pondering his wide eyes, surprised that he’d been allowed to leave Lavastorm at all with how easily the event had unnerved him.

“Nau, I was away on assignment when the moon shattered,” she replied.

The remaining assassins assembled behind locked doors, and two of the seven were selected as scouts. The pair left immediately for Lavastorm, and the remaining five worked to organize themselves and aid the Patron in restoring order to the house. Of the other four left, three had just barely been released from the citadel, and the other had just barely clawed his way to the lowest rung of rank above the general sect members.

In a bold act, Medri stepped up to lead the sect – Kilena, the assassin twin of their patron, would have her hands full as one of the Patron’s line, and the T`zarawuren had always been led by her family. For now, the arrangement would have to do, though there was little doubt in her mind that she would ever step down from such a position.

The scouts never returned, and finally she announced to the Patron that all contact had been lost, and that they could only assume that the citadel had been destroyed in the chaos that followed the Shattering. It was a deep moral blow to the last five T`zarawuren, and in memorial to their beloved training grounds, the Festival of the Fallen Star was created; each year, on the day of the Shattering, the sect would gather in the deepest part of the Estate and celebrate their purpose and those lost.

Perhaps ironic, perhaps poetic, it was Medri’s birthday the day the moon shattered.


Since the Shattering, she has spent little time at home, instead conditioning one of the other five to manage the menial task of handing assignments out. Her time is spent searching for a suitable training area, eliminating those she feels a threat to the House as well as helping the Patron continue to advance their power within the city. Unknown to her family, she hunts for the man that branded her, stalking the streets and wilds looking for some clue to his whereabouts.

This caused her to be gone for great periods of time. Such an absence of an older and more well-known member of their family eventually led Anavel to order her to conduct the sects business from the Estate, cutting down greatly on the time she had to stalk her brander.

For the first time in years, Medri lives in one place, returning to it nearly every night. She barely knows her family, having always avoided them after the vicious cycle of the training citadel…

Lessons need to be unlearned.