D'verin-t'soss

[*Ceremorph]

The soft chuckle sounded again within her mind, along with a powerful feeling of approval.

"You truly wish to know of my sister's use of me? The glories she performed in the service of Lolth? Your heart must truly be harder than I gave you credit for. In pain I had been forged as a tool of the Demonweb's designs. And for such glorious and proper uses I was put."

(The story of D'verin-T'soss is being included here as OOC information simply to prevent a massive break within the narrative)

The mind within the dagger spun a tale of a Prime world, one in which the Drow, who here called themselves the Kult'ressen, achieved their "rightful" place at the pinnacle of society. The light-skinned elves were millenia gone, their bloodlines either extinct or subsumed into the dark elf race. Humans and halflings were either savages or slaves, while dwarves had never known this reality. Theirs was a mighty society, strong in the worship of the spider queen. Until all this was shattered, as a portal opened from another world, and eventually a great decades-long war was waged with the invading surface elves, or Uln'hyrr, of that other world. Early in the conflict, D'verin-T'soss, a powerful drow champion, erred in his service, showing mercy to a female Uln'hyrr who he found himself desiring, an error that eventually lead to a battlefield defeat of the Klut'ressen forces. On many worlds, such an error would lead to sacrifice or an eternity of torment as a Drider; upon Oirna Kultr, a means of repentance existed. Via a magical rite horrid in its specifics (all of which, of course, were conveyed in exquisite detail to Ixia in the telling), his soul was bound into a dagger, his own strength infusing the blade with magical might, then carried into battle by his sister, a powerful Lolthite priestess. With these weapons in hand, the clergy turned the course of the war, destroying the portal. But in this climactic final battle, one of the clerics was slain, her weapon knocked from her hand and through the portal, into that other world. That weapon was D'verin-T'soss.

[*CheeseWedge]

Ixia ended up in her room finally, sprawled out ontop the small pile of various stuffed animals that laid on her bed. Her fingertips remained brushing the pommel of the blade as she lounged and listen to him retelling the story of his creation and the loss of his first wielder.

She did grimace at some of the gruesome details he supplied about the ritual that bound his soul to that dagger, but even so, she would be lying if she said she did not hold some interest for the subject, gory bits aside. And so she was an attentive listener, taking in information and formulating questions in her mind, and then storing them away for later.

"So your sister was slain in battle, and you were lost to your world..." She spoke once he had finished. "And no one since has been properly able to wield you? Did they give up and give you away, those previous failures, or did you do something to them, T'soss?"

[*Ceremorph]

"Six sets of hands. The first saw my form, and tossed the blade away. Quite surprising, how little ambition some have. The second, there was some fun, yes. But his strong will masked a weak intellect, and he was slain trying to be more than he was capable of being. The other four, I call the "wael", or fools. Probing and examining, thinking to quantify what I am. I have no interest in being wielded by glorified clerks, and eventually made that apparent to them."

That low chuckle sounded again, wicked as ever.

"I'm so glad that I will not have to force you to tear your own throat out. It's so... messy that way."

[*CheeseWedge]

A very strange conversation to be had on top a fluffy pile of adorable stuffed animals, no?

Ixia's nose wrinkled slightly at the mention of throats being ripped out, but, really, the girl had seen worse. And been threatened with worse. Hells, she had probably made worse threats, herself. D'verin-t'soss' statement, at least, did not hold the sounds of a threat. Just a statement. Which was good, because the redhead never responded well to threats.

"I don't think you could force me to, T'soss," her tone was slightly amused. "But I'm glad you don't feel the need to."

She plucked up a stuffed animal. It appeared to be a very fluffy white rabbit, with tufts of white fur sticking every which way. Pulling the blade free from her belt, she ran its shiny cerulean surface against the fluff, the dark and glimmering color contrasting against the bright white.

"Tell me about your powers, T'soss. I have seen some of it, but I would like to know more..."

( T'soss gets the fluffy treatment! )

[*Ceremorph]

The chuckling returned almost as the question was being asked, quickly swelling into the impression of full-throated laughter.

"You think you're ready to know more? Ahh, sweet Ixia. In order to receive, one must be ready to give."

The mage felt a sudden sensation within her mind. Were it of the flesh, it would have been akin to tearing, to burrowing, almost violation. Lesser minds may have been unable to handle this sensation, but the ceaseless study of magic, the willing subsumation of self before the onslaught of arcane power required, left her only slightly annoyed. But even so, images began flashing through her mind, vivid snapshots of her life and those things she had done in it, the good and the bad. Her thoughts were still her own... but the actions of her life were laid bare before the mind linked with hers. Of course, it would have been far worse if not for the feeling of deep satisfaction emanating from the weapon as it plundered her memories.


>>Cheese, expect a PM from me or in-game interaction at this point. I intend to let you decide how much of the upcoming communication of the blade is made public here.

[*The_Tarot]

"Sucha fokin' wonderful day."

Ixia was still tainted in his eyes, he had thought she held the wisdom not to associate herself with clearly wicked
entities in the pursuit of knowledge and power. The only redeeming part of it all was the end result of a discussion
turned intervention, Ixia had relinquished the sentient blade over to him, albiet reluctantly.

The irony of it all was in all his efforts to leave Ixia to her own devices, trusting her to be careful and
remaining indifferent (If not apathetic) to the whole situation regarding the blade. Here he now was left to
determine it's fate.

"Feed it ta rust monsters."

"Mage's Disjunction and a big hammer."

"Use it as a fancy bread knife."

It's fate was indeed being decided as Dom paced in a circle around the blade, the pacing held a purpose, where he walked he left powdered silver, the material component for an abjuration known as Magic Circle against Evil, So often utilized in a spellcaster's career to keep evil influences out, but there was a variant of keeping evil in, contained, imprisoned. Cautious, perhaps too cautious.

Dom's muttering was interrupted by his "pet", Though, the creature in question was a cat, which left Dom wondering who actually was the master in their relationship.

A talking cat, no less.

"You could give it to me."

"No." Dom hastily responded with. "and do not break tha circle, Do not cross it, an' do not touch it. I'm sick o' babysitting."

"I think I'm returnin' it ta it's owner. Seethe - Tha last thing I need ta 'ave appen is fer someone with a whole bunch o' powerful trinkets ta be pissed with me."

The premise of powerful magical trinkets intrigued the cat, Fiona like Dom, held more vices than virtues. In this case: Greed.

[*Ceremorph]

Another night's passage, and Seethe rises from her blankets. Dark circles beneath her eyes tell of a night spent with too little sleep, but she cannot concern herself with such minor inconveniences as mere insomnia. The anklet hidden beneath her boot more than takes care of that, and the price to be paid when finally giving in to mortal needs such as sleep is a problem for the future. For now, there are too many things to take care of.

A low, rumbling voice is heard as the massive Chaos-smith steps through the open doorway. "This is not right, mistress. Letting this be handled through legal channels will only risk more hands touching your gem. You should have let me hunt him down as I wished."

Shaking her head slowly, she responds, "Far too likely that doing so would have played right into the hardhead's hands, my dear. I warned him there would be consequences beyond my control, and now he will take the blame for whatever befalls. Now... don't you have some crafting to do?"

The Chaos-smith's eyes stay on the merchant for a silent moment, then broad shoulders shrug and he steps back outside. Before long, the sound of hammer on anvil echoes through the suite, discordant music to nicely counterpoint Seethe's musings as her gaze turns to the stasis box tucked in the chamber's corner. The magus had seemed to be overprotective of the Larkspur girl, and she would not be surprised to find him going back on his word and neglecting to tell her of his actions and her own request the night before. "Taint"... his words would almost be laughable were they not interfering with her own plans.

Two had died, and two other were left mindless, drooling bits of human furniture from trying to wrest the blade's secrets forth. But the Larkspur girl? The thing had actually seemed to accept her, a first, and there was even supposedly a report forthcoming. The other three like it still sat within one of the secure warehouses, and could potentially be worth fortunes if Ixia could uncover those things hidden from even the best investigators. If the girl did not return to her... then perhaps she would need to do some seeking of her own.

[*CheeseWedge]

And so once again, DÂ’verin-tÂ’soss was in IxiaÂ’s hands.

It was frustrating, that Dom had been upset and wanted her to get rid of the bladeÂ… and when she finally relinquished it, he returned to her claiming he didnÂ’t want to have that power over someone and that it should be her choice. Part of it felt oddly like bullshit, but she wasnÂ’t going to play that game. The weight she put on his opinion morphed into wondering what sort of respect she could command from someone, when she bent to their will whenever they made a displeased face.

She would just have to prove that she knew what she was doing. And that she had the power and the ability to handle this without issue.

It was only a blade possessed by the very wicked and evil soul of a Drow, afterallÂ…

As she held the blade in hand, sitting at her desk with thoughts and notes scrawled on parchment before her, she pondered the next steps she would have to take to continue her research. The possible risk, and the moral dilemma. As Dom had said - risk versus gain.

“You’re a bothersome thing…” She murmured.