He sat in the dark comfort of his personal space. It was a place no one but his former master Jarlaxle knew of. He watched them through the scrying glass on the desk in front of him, studying the young child with a growing intensity. Lanie had unnerved him, she had stirred up old memories, memories that aroused an inner beast he had long ago caged and controlled.
But now this deep seated rage he locked away within the core of his being was suddenly restless, it was threatening him for release. He focused his mental energies on calming himself, tapping his fingers, and counting his breaths, all in an attempt to find the strength to tame the rage, gain control again, and put the beast back to rest.
His childhood made him the monster he is. Kimmuriel Oblodra was just five years old when his structured training in the psion arts started and when the abuse began followed by his rapid descent into the darkest depths of his being. His childhood was a nightmare, even by drow standards. The torture he endured through at the hands of his mother, sisters, and the illithids in his mother’s employment was simply cold hearted and beyond cruel.
K'yorl Odran, the house matron and Kimmuriel’s mother, passed her psionic abilities to all of her children. Kimmuriel was her only son, that in itself was a curse, but when it was revealed during his training that his potential was greater than K’yorl’s own and any of her daughters’ she grew angry and fearful of him. K’yorl took great care in reminding Kimmuriel of his station in life, employing extreme torture tactics; ones that left scars in various places of his body, some that nearly made a eunuch of him.
Breeding was of the upmost importance to K'yorl, she was continually trying to add to and improve upon the psionic abilities within her house. Even so, however, castration was a step K’yorl utlized for all males born within house Oblodra displaying any psionic ability. A select few were kept unaltered for breeding purposes to enhance the trait and keep it strong within the bloodline, then castrated later.
K'yorl often aquired handpicked females from outside sources to breed with her chosen male psions. Any children born of these pairings with the psion trait were kept ,all others were sacrificed. These females breeding captives were kept for four cyles of breeding and then quickly destroyed. They were destroyed immediately if they were infertile.
K'yorl too great care and pride in her breeding program, ensuring only the the best psionic traits possible were passed down the line. K'yorl, her daughters, and those employed by her were responsible for making sure no males or females bred outside the house. In doing so this kept their psionic abilities closely guarded and cared for within the Oblodran line.
Though she fear him immensly, Kimmuriel was one such chosen male. K'yorl knew his power had to be utilized even if it bothered her. She kept him under watchful eyes at all times because she saw the potential power he brought to her house and the Oblodran bloodline. But after centuries of such extreme torment he was ruined, he had become a wretched twisted being and the mere sensation of someone getting close enough to touch him was enough to drive him mad. Kimmuriel doesn't allow anyone to touch him in any way, lovingly or otherwise.
Then one day he simply snapped, he had been pushed too far by his oldest sister, suffering a terribly devestating mental break. He saw black and still cannot recall what set him off or what happened during that time span . Three weeks of his life he lived in mental darkness unable to recall a single moment of it.
Apparently, according to Jarlaxle, during the first day he wreaked such havoc inside the Oblodra compound that five of K'yorls strongest psions were instantly killed and even K'yorl herself was wounded, though only superficially. It was Jarlaxle who had found him wandering the Underdark just outside of Menzoberranzan and managed to draw him out of his dark rage. It was Jarlaxle who gave him a new life and a mutually beneficial friendship- the likes of which he had never known before.
He allowed his fingers to trace the line of a scar on his chest as his thoughts roamed further. His physical scars are the memories that he keeps hidden in secrecy. Any other drow would of had the scars magically erase, but for Kimmuriel the damage was done, why erase their physical nature when their memory ran much deeper? Nothing could erase that.
His index finger continued following the jagged line of one of the many fibrous tissue mounds that webbed across his torso, his back, parts of his arms, and in areas he wished they didn't. He reminded himself of the comfort and satisfaction that the ritualistic torture of others, especially women and illithids brings to him.
A brief thought of the child entered his mind and he contemplated what he would do to her. With that a wry smile cracked his lips as he remembered his family's demise, of which he played no small roll in. Jarlaxle had taken great measures to afford him the opportunity to do so.
The one time he ever felt pure euphoric excitement was at the site of his house falling into the rift along with the wretched drow of the Oblodran household. In that moment, hidden high in a shadowed perch of a cavern wall, he felt as though he shed his skin of the past- he felt free for the first time in his life.
He considered all that Jarlaxle had done for him even before the fall of his house and quickly refocused his attention back on the scrying glass, watching that female child with a heightened hatred. He was already sensing that Jarlaxle had a purpose for her and he wanted no part of it. That child with her unique abilities posed a threat to Kimmuriel, he could feel it. Having another psion in his midsts was an uncomfortable situation that he didn't want to be bothered with.
The strong mental walls he constructed in his mind over the centuries held a strength even the most powerful illithids were hard pressed to break through. But this child was different, there was something terrible about her. And yet for a drow whose emotions run cold he found a chord of fear rang within him, sounding off a warning that told him this child needed to be destroyed. He hadn't felt a damn thing in centuries and now he was truly feeling something. He was unedge and when he was finished scrying he saw his own face reflected in the surface of the mirror and with that sight came one thought, the child reminded him of himself.
~*~*~*~
The Tall Toad was full of good spirits and good food. Jarlaxle had eaten there once before not too long back while travelling with an acquaintance. However on this evening he felt the piercing stares of other patrons grow more intense than that night, but didn’t let the feeling bother him too much. He had grown accustomed to the way drow are perceived by the surface races but he still did not find comfort with it.
The little girl was clutching his right wrist with both hands as they wiggled their way through the tables towards the only empty one. He noticed how she walked with her head down so no one could see her face and the way she allowed her long hair to fall forward so that her locks would cover her eyes. When they sat down at the table she pulled her chair closer to his, tucked it in and placed her forehead on the table and sat so she could keep her eyes on her feet.
“You look downright silly sitting that way,” he cautioned, “too many people here taking notice of how you are sitting, and my presence here is already questionable in itself, now I have you besides me looking sickly or worse, disturbed. Do me a favor and sit up and at least make a valid attempt at manners. I know dwarves who have better table manners than what you currently display. We should have a stopped to get you washed up and new clothing first.” he complained.
She looked up at him with an apologetic smile which was emphasized by the sadness in her eyes. She really looked pitiful in her dirty torn clothing, snarled hair, and black dirt caked under her fingernails. Jarlaxle could tell she was a pretty little thing beneath all the grime.
Lanie had an angelic soft expression, he could have mistaken her for a surface elf by her build, which was unique to the imaskari. her features were angular however, a far cry from the harsh features of the drow. She looked like one of those porcelain dolls that the human children played with and she looked about as fragile too.
“How about after we eat we get you cleaned up in and in some better clothes?” Jarlaxle said.
“Okay, but I don’t want to be loud in my clothes like you are” she was quick to exclaim.
“Loud?” he questioned.
“Yes, loud! I don’t want to stand out. I don’t want anyone to notice me. You stand out, with your big feather hat, and gaudy bright colors.”
“Gaudy?” he shot back at her, “and here I thought I was being nice bringing you a long with me, and treating you to a nice meal and this is how you show your gratitude, by making fun of my attire?”
“Well you are not dressed like any normal drow I’ve seen before. Nor any normal person for that matter” She declared again for the second time.
Jarlaxle contemplated that remark, she was right, he was a far cry from a normal drow and wondered just how many other drow this human child encountered in her young life for her to make such a declaration.
“I’ll let you slip by on that one.” He winked at her just as a Halfling waddled up to their table with sourdough bread.
Jonar rudely dropped the bread basket on the table with a look of disgust aimed toward Jarlaxle.
“Listen drow, your coin is just as good as any other here and times are rough I need to be getting what I need to keep this establishment going. I don’t want any trouble from you or else I will have to ask you to leave and take that odd child with you.” He scoffed.
“Looks like the establishment is doing fine from my perspective, quite busy.” Jarlaxle retorted.
“You know what they be sayin’, can’t judge a book by its cover, and with things bein’ the way they have been in Luskan, I have had to severely drop my costs, because folks here just aren’t bringing in earnings, and I am seeing mine dwindle as well. The cost of food and supplies alone are on the rise and I can’t be going much longer like this. Trade hasn’t been good in these parts lately. No doubt your kind had a little something in doing with that.” He said eyeing Jarlaxle coldly.
“There be but two things on the menu today, Lamb Pocket, and Beef Stew.” Jonar sourly announced not giving Jarlaxle a chance to retort.
She could feel them, their emotions as if they were her own. All of them, the patrons in The Tall Toad, they hated Jarlaxle, they hated drow, and they found her questionable because of her association with him, because of her eyes. She could hear their thoughts clearly in her head and she wanted to silence them all.
The sharp pains in her head had only been growing stronger and were lasting longer. She found herself having to try harder and harder to control them and maintain her composure. She just wanted to disappear somewhere never to be found, a place where she could just melt away into nothing, where there would be no pain. At least this time the pain wasn’t accompanied by a nose bleed.
Look at those hideous eyes on that child. She looks sick with some disease that the drow must have infected her with. He can’t be trusted, especially him, look at the way he is dressed. I just wish they would be gone. I hate those wicked creatures here, most stay in the shadows, but that one with the eye patch walks around like he owns the place, like he wants us to notice him.
Their thoughts were chiming through her head ricocheting out of control off the confining walls of her skull. She was aware of their thoughts the very second she and Jarlaxle had entered the Tall Toad but her awareness had heighted as their stay in the restaurant continued. It was beginning to drive her mad and she was trying her hardest to control herself.
This was her first time since she was three that she had been in group consisting of more than three beings. The last group she had been in, were all of Illithid biology and they kept their thoughts and feelings strictly to themselves, she never had to worry about blocking them. Lanie did not have the experience to block out more than one person at anytime. That required a lot of focus and skill.
Luckily Jonar had returned to the table with their food and that alone provided enough distraction for her temporary relief. Jarlaxle took note of the young child’s nearly insatiable appetite. She downed her Lamb Pocket in seconds. What he didn’t know was that the consumption of food was giving her temporary respite from what was going on in her head.
“Are you going to eat all that?” she questioned eagerly eyeing the beef stew Jarlaxle still had left.
He nudged it over to her, “Have at it little one,” and just as she reached for the spoon, he pulled it back, “but you will have to first tell me more about yourself. I am curious, Lanie, I want to know why you are here?”
The little girl sat back in her seat and studied Jarlaxle before she leaned forward whispering, “I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t think that I should and I don’t trust you,” she hesitated slightly before continuing, “I am not sure if I ever will. You are not the trusting type.”
Jarlaxle raised his eyebrow at that remark and even felt the slight sting of truth behind it.
Her eyes matched the intensity of his. She was seeing right into him, she tilted her head awkwardly not once pulling her stare away from him. He could feel it and with a thought he activated his eye patch as he slid his beef stew over to her and sat back watching her curiously. She was an intelligent little thing.
Luckily though, for Jarlaxle, she was young and impressionable and he was very patient. He had all the time in the world to unravel her mysteries and discover the scope of her abilities and thanks to Kimmuriel, he knew that could be done sooner than later.
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