The short answer for all the ‘how is X going to get along with Great Betrayer, The’ is ‘probably not going to at first, but mutual usefulness is a hell of a drug’.
The medium answer is ‘in a world of neutrality connected to the other aligned planes, you always want the devil you know on your shoulder’. Especially when he wants to bash the other actual devils with a hammer.
The long answer is actually the shortest; ‘I have no predictions’. We’ll have to see how folks react to the Drow equivalent of an edgy teenager with too much physical strength and ambition for his station. I hold to a firm rule of OOC chatter and consent, I won’t do anything directly opposed to the party or another player without pitching it first; the social contract trumps any ‘what would my character do?’isms.
He’s evil for the sake of alignment and perspective for the roleplay, not for me to murderhobo and ruin the party etc etc so on and so forth.
He may do things independently but I ain’t here to ruin anybody else’s fun.
Personality Traits: The violence of war lingers in my mind. I may never escape the horrors I've witnessed. I survived where others fell, by my own skill and cunning.
Bond: Those who shed blood at my side earn my respect. Those who earn my respect are worth killing for. The bond of shared blood is a sacred thing.
Ideal: Survival of the fittest, might makes right. Through strength of arms is order established. Order is the final evolution of stability.
Flaw: The depths of my hatred and bloodlust is blinding. I can become unreasonable when angered, and once my wrath is earned it is total and patient.
Zaraknvyr is a young elf, not yet considered fully an adult by his culture. His stature is short, rising to a height of five feet even, and his body is defined by the lean, whipcord, strength of elfish warriors-to-be. Dark skin, shockingly white hair, and pale eyes make him a striking visage and unmistakably different than his more fair elven kin. Lacking in the traditional malicious intelligence, his eyes rather dully exude a base sadistic cunning instead; his soft mannerisms and underwhelming social presence render him an overtly menacing sort at a glance.
...And yet, in subtle ways, he is also uncannily different from other drow.
His pale eyes do not flinch from bright light or the sun, and his sneering expressions feature sharp teeth that reminisce of shadow'd predators. He does not seem wholly comfortable in his flesh at times, and arrayed among the scars of punishment and upbringing common to the drow soldiery are also vicious scratch marks that could only be self inflicted upon his body. In particular, the skin on the back of his neck is viciously scabbed and damaged- the insertion point of the vampiric parasite having been a source of grievous discomfort for him over the years.
Personality: Zaraknvyr is a young man grappling with complex views, whilst being unburdened by an intellect that could abstract and philosophize the warring concepts within his mind. An adherence to a hierarchy of strength is the rigid pillar sustaining his fraying mentality- and yet this pillar erodes slowly over the years since his symbiosis with the vampiric parasite. The desire for order and stability maintain loose control over bloody thirst and the desire to overtly exert his strength over others, and a past of betrayal gnaws at the tattered vestiges of a culturally and divinely ordained upbringing of obedience. The vampiric parasite offered him a liberation and a path towards agency of his own actions, but it means that he must contend with the truth that the cruelty and power that he craves is ultimately of his own choosing rather than imposed upon him by the society of Lolth's chosen.
Having been under the heel of one of the most oppressive and tyrannical of the multiverse's institutions, Zaraknvyr wishes only to climb the ladder of ambition in the hopes of reaching its top.
I was squire to the Lady Aratea, the scion of house Arabndar. My elder sister. She was as cruel as she was beautiful, and she bore the title of 'The Silken Silence'. I was nothing compared to her, in the eyes of both my family and the matriarchs. I was nothing to her. I served under her for fifteen years. I carried her supplies as she had the honor of riding upon a great spider steed. I cleaned her gear after her tortures and battles- even when I was her latest victim, I had the esteem of cleansing my own filth from her blades.
Whatever I had done to earn her displeasure paled in the mounting hatred that her voice filled me with, that the glint of her eyes sparked within me, that her voice gripped like iron when she spoke. She did not kill me, and that was all that mattered. No matter what challenges she put before me, I continued to breathe and my suffering was an exultation to the goddess Lolth. Such was my obeisance that my growing wrath went unnoticed. Such was her arrogance that she did not even conceive of my betrayal.
Never again will I bear such a burden.
Our war party had come into confrontation with a strange party of Duergar; they walked with ghouls and wights. I saw only skirmishing on the cliff walls, but Aratea claimed glory in the vanguard of our host. I can remember the burn-stench of undead flesh as I hauled corpse after corpse onto the pyres. I remember the laughter of Aratea as she discovered the treasure of our foes; a worm, blackened and fat like a leech, yet ringed with teeth saw-edged and soaked in vitae. I saw her discussing with the priests the nature of the 'symbiote' as she dubbed it, even as the fleshsmoke choked my eyes. I saw the gleam in her eye as she placed it upon her own neck. I saw her flesh writhe as the worm took hold.
I wanted it. I wanted whatever power she had claimed.
That night I was to be punished once more, for failing to bring low a sufficient quota of the foe. She slashed my bonds and dropped her knife upon the table, but after years of her ministrations I had become inured to suffering and the pain only sharpened my hate. Perhaps she sensed my malice in her final moments, for she snatched the knife up before my hand could reach it- yet she seemed surprised to realize I was never reaching for it in the first place. My hands found her throat even as the silver'd blade plunged into my back.
I broke her upon the stones of that cavern, and tore her neck open with my teeth. The worm writhed within her flesh, and I tore it free with my bloodied fingers and brought it to my flesh just as I'd seen her do hours before. It slipped in with ease, and even as I grew weary from my life's blood spilling upon my sister's still-warm corpse the changes came quick. My bones shifted within my skin, my skull felt as if it split asunder, my eyes went blind. When I came to, my teeth were once again claiming Aratea's neck- but this time I drank deep, greedy, a hunger insatiable claiming my body. I drank until she was empty. I drank until a slave discovered me, and then I fled into the dark.
I fled so deep that I fell into another world. It was the first of my betrayals, but it brought me freedom from a world where I could never have attained my rightful strength.
The Outlands welcomed me, and I found myself in the company of the Dispossessed. It was a natural relationship, one exile fitting into the company of others. My life amongst those dregs was scarcely better than it had been before, save for the simple fact of the matter that I was acting upon my own choices rather than a slave to my sister and the dread goddess Lolth. The Vampiric Worm writhed against my spine, its own ill-fated existence fused with mine and granting me boons beyond my lineage.
My band of Dispossessed acted in its own interest, of which I hold them to no fault. We had the strength of arms to enforce our will upon others, but after two years I found there to be a plateau to what was possible amongst such a band of lowlifes. Even Aratea claimed greater glory in her dark conquests than these fools could claim in their pitiable existences. The splendor of worlds all abound and they contented themselves with being mere agents of chaos? I needed an out, and the spire of Sigil rose e'er distant and mocked me with my every waking breath.
My second betrayal came easier than the first. Poison, swift action, and brutality bought me amnesty. One dozen heads, offered as tithe to the Mercykillers. My former comrades had at last proven their worth, escapees of the order that now bears my allegiance. I was a natural fit as a bounty hunter, my skills with tracking and chasing and murdering found a welcome avenue of expression- and the city even calls it justice! Lo, for I came to witness my dream in effect! The words of one bringing swift arms down upon another, order upheld by fear and strength! At last, Sigil showed me that my world could be realized!
And now Tir Na Og has disappeared? The fates themselves keep laying upon my feet the path to further prowess and repute. Factol Nilesia seeks truth- or, at least, vindication- and I shall be the one to bring it to her.
Related Factions The Mercykillers - Present member (Factioneer Rank, Badge Bearer) The Dispossessed Sect - Traitor The Underdark Empire of the Drow - Traitor
yearly reminder that I made the most obnoxious build for a forum game of D&D imaginable. I will never stop apologizing for making a reaction-based character lmao.
Zavakri grinned by the end of Gabriel's responding monologue. She ran a hand through her hair and pulled it back from her face, starting gently and dropping her hair at the unexpected pat on her shoulder. A laugh bubbled up from her, not at his words but from her own awkwardness.
"I'm all for living in the now and the future if we all are." She added gently to his thinking-aloud. She performed a facsimile of a toast, open palm raised upwards as she quietly chortled; 'To Us!' quietly. She nodded to herself, as if this blessing was sufficient to the occasion. Aurora's words were absorbed by Zavakri as she methodically pulled her hair back and bound it into a short ponytail that some would dub librarian-ish.
"Pshaw, I said I trusted you all didn't I? My only concern is that I'm technically an employee of a governmental body, being an astrologer of Baldur's Gate and all, so if this affair somehow spreads back home then I think I'd be up for a promotion into..."
She makes a finger wiggling gesture, as if balancing an abacus.
"Intelligence, under the duke's retinue, I believe. It's a net positive for income, but I'd refuse on general principles. Rirvudd makes enough money with the merchant caravan he runs."
She chews her lip, a brief moment of thought.
"I also don't know if these...er...bullywugs are good people, if this is how they resolve their leadership disputes. It can't do more harm for us to help out, right? I'm as refreshed as I'm going to get. I can tap into almost all of my magical power at the moment, and I haven't had a chance to do so as of yet but I can manage grid-coordinate positional manipulations, as well as fudge the numbers on some faulty mathematica should the need arise. In a pinch I've had good luck with unerring projectile production, but largely my magic is still rather utilitarian."
She certainly had a way with words, that Zavakri; with enough parsing in their minds her companions could surely suss out that she meant to inform them that she could teleport someone moderate distances, simultaneously damage an opponent and heal a companion in close proximity, fire magic missiles, as well as a few other supportive abilities.
"I don't suppose shrinking or growing quite large would benefit our scheme?" She offered hopefully.
CAPTCHA raised her glass and took a deep drink. She let out a content sigh and giggled-- interrupting herself as Frost continued and spoke.
"Ah, drek, refill me then. I'll cheers to not getting shot. Kanpai!"
She held her glass out to be topped off from the bottle, then let out a cheer as she leaned back on the poker table and threw her head back in a display of professional alcoholism and downed the glass in a swift, mess-less, gulp. Her cheeks grew warm from the back-to-back shots of liquor, but her eyes did not lose their cunning edge nor did her coy smile diminish.
"Bah!" CAPTCHA chimed to Tenno's initial lamentation. "Flux state-- coming back-- It's not about the once-was, but the will-be. Chin up, omae." She dazzled a smile as the atmosphere seemed to grow more comfortable, and her posture shifted into a demure lounging on the table. She looked down and placed a finger on a playing card, flicking it with her middle finger to spin it in place. The Johnson had risen, it was time for biz. And yet, her attention wasn't on the Johnson. Not solely. Her meatspace eyes may be lingering in the J's direction, but Whetstone's augmented view was blessed by the corpse-bride Living Persona manifesting itself overtop CAPTCHA's physical space, a spectral being of digitized presence that superimposed itself atop her. As her meatspace gaze and ears heeded the briefing, her Resonant senses had faded from the visual Trid feeds and focused on Whetstone for these few passing moments.
As Tenno began to speak, CAPTCHA sent a message into Whetstone's display;
Hoi chummer, this going to be a friendly matrix relationship or are we both showoffs?
Her digitized distraction and seeming curiosity with a smudge on the bottom of her glass means that Tenno's initial subtle spellcasting washes over her without notice. She sits up more fully as the atmosphere becomes more serious, a look passing over her face that obviously lamented moving away from the comforts of alcohol and jokes and flirting with the troll. Her eyes slid to Tenno and her smile became less coy; instead a relaxed, easy-going, stress-free calmness claimed her lips as she let him ramble onwards.
"Omae, you're a chatty one for a youngling. Most kids these days go for the dark and the brooding and the mystery, but you're refreshing [Truth]. I may remind you of a little brother, but I promise you that it's seriously likely that I'm older than your mother [Truth]. Relax, I can take care of myself [Truth]- but I doubt I'll even need to. Look at this absolute beast of a woman over here!"
CAPTCHA swings an arm out to Frost, gesturing broadly to her...entire existence.
"Nothing can go wrong with muscle like this on the team [Lie]. I haven't seen a crew as confidence-instilling as this in some time [Lie]." Her lips twisted into an amused grin as she spoke. "Besides, we all know the rules..."
She wriggles her eyebrows provocatively as she surveys the team.
"Watch your back, shoot straight, conserve ammo, and never, ever, cut a deal with a dragon. Let's keep this simple, Tenno; I've enough eyes for all of us, myself included [Truth]. You're a peach, though."
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