m: Just so y'all know, updates are most likely going be extremely slow. Mostly due to lack of inspiration and interest.
fine and dandy: Yes, I admit I loved writing the ending scene in particular. It makes me wish I were a better artist. That way I could make a poster of Dilafae's desecrated body hanging from her own limbs, put the caption "Stay in school." underneath, then hang it up in some elementary school…
CoeurDeFurie: Thank you. I admit I came up with the system by piecing together bits and pieces of Pai Mei's methods, things I elearned from Nat's dialogs, imagination, sith training methods, and my old middle school gym class. Just kidding about that last part. ;)
Chapter Nine
The black mask fit perfectly on her dark face. A smile that was as dark as her skin curled Ilivarra's lips as she approached the fortress. The assassin felt confident. A year had passed since her graduation from the academy, and all of her missions had been extremely successful. This one would be no different.
Ili whispered a spell. Her fingertips glowed with violet light for a split second before returning to normal. She placed her hands on the wall and began to scale it, her spelled fingers allowing her to climb without true support.
Several hours later, the drow stopped at a window, bars preventing anyone from entering and exiting. Ili whispered another spell and took a deep breath. The assassin slowly exhaled on the bars, grinning slightly as the iron melted. She carefully slid through the makeshift entrance, taking care to be as silent as possible.
Ilivarra crept through the halls, scanning the corridors for possible threats. Her keen ears picked up the sounds of swords clashing ahead. She cast an invisibility spell as a precaution and walked into the next room.
Two drow males fought against each other. It was a spar, the older trying to teach the younger a new style of fighting. A memory flashed before Ili's eyes.
The young Ili let out a frustrated snarl as she left her right arm exposed again. "Gods dammit!" she cursed, lowering the sword. "What am I doing wrong!"
The drow male sheathed his sword as well. "Generally, the mistake seems to lie in the way you keep accidentally dropping your sword. Maybe it's just me, but I've always thought that actually having...you know...a sword...when sword-fighting is a big help." He teased gently.
The male's young sister glared at him.
He smiled. "Don't worry, you'll get the hang of it, Little Amethyst." He assured her.
Ili rolled her eyes. "Easy for you to say. You've been a weapon master for over a century, Jyserin." She glared at him again. "And stop calling me that nickname. I grew out of it."
Jyserin shook his head at his younger sister. "Do you want to learn or not?"
"Would I risk the wrath of our slutty mother for something I didn't care about?" Ili asked bitterly, remembering how her mother had forcefully declared that Ili was to learn only one style of fighting. The Sargh'elgg style was custom for most wizards, but Ili wanted to know more ways of defending herself besides her magic.When she informed her mother of this, the matron had refused, going so far as to strike Ili to reinforce her decision.
"You should not speak of Guliara that way." Jyserin warned.
"If the bitch could hear us then we wouldn't be here, now would we?" Ili shot back.
Jyserin frowned. He understood why his little sister wanted to protect herself. After all, it was he that found her after the event that took place when she was four years of age. The incident had scarred the young child, leaving her with a hate for Guliara so powerful that it frightened the weapon master. He cared about her, even though drow society would allow him to have any sort of family bond with his young sister. Not openly anyway.
Ili stood up. "Let's continue."
Jyserin smiled. "Of course." Little Amethyst, Jyserin thought to himself.
Ilivarra skillfully moved through the room, but the memories continued. It wasn't until after he died that Ili realized how close she was to him. He looked after her when she was young, secretly training her in everything he knew as a weapon master. It was because of his training that Ili went into the red sister order with an already excellent weapon lore.
Jyserin was not the only sibling she cared about. Ilivarra had been the wean-mother to her young sister, Adintal. She was a charming and mildly innocent child, but lost her innocence when she went on to become a sorceress. Another memory formed in Ili's mind.
A violet-eyed female drow stood before a crimson-eyes female drow. The second could have passed for the first's twin, were her eyes not scarlet and her hair not straighter. A young girl--no more than 5 years old--stood in the corner of the room. Her green eyes watched with curious interest as the crimson-eyed began to speak. "Patron Neeraufein is dead. His life was taken from him in the previous raid of the surface. I thought it necessary to inform the two of you."
She narrowed her eyes at the purple-eyed female. "I wish it had been you." she hissed.
The violet-eyed drow clenched her fist behind her back. "Is there anything else you wish for, Matron Guliara?"
Guliara glared at her. "Take Adintal and get out." She growled.
As the two drow females walked down the hall, the child began to speak. "So our father is dead?"
"He's not our father." The violet-eyed drow declared. She knew perfectly well that her little sister was the incestuous product of her mother and older brother. She was also aware that her brother had not participated willingly.
"But he's Mother's husband."
"That doesn't make him our father. And don't call her mother."
"But she gave birth to us, Ili."
"That doesn't make her our mother, Adin." The amethyst-eyed drow said bitterly.
The child was silent for a minute before saying, "Why did she say such mean things to you?"
"She hates me."
"Why? Is it because she's not your mother?"
The older chuckled. "Perhaps so."
The child remained quiet as they continued to walk. She reached up and held her older sister's hand as they took their steps. Though she knew that she should have broken this hold, the older did not. A rare smile crossed her face as she gazed upon her younger sister. Sometimes I wish I could be the mother that neither one of us had..., the young woman thought.
Ili cautiously and quietly slipped into the room. The matron slept peacefully in her bed, the promise of peaceful dreams clear on her features. Ili made sure that her cloak hid her features and took out a knife. The weapon was a fine piece of steel, expensive and elaborate. A symbol rested on the hilt. It was the symbol of House Yzasf, a rival of House Barri'tar and Matron Sinvyl.
The assassin slashed the matron's throat so quickly that she did not have a chance to scream. Ili made several more injuries on the matron's body, ensuring her death. The wizard was well-aware of the quivering goblin slave hiding in the far corner. A cunning and vicious smile curled Ili's lips. She would not kill him, for he was the witness she needed to frame House Yzasf.
Ili slipped out of the room, as quiet leaving as she was entering.
---
The assassin stealthily scaled the tall building. She removed the magical locks on one of the windows of the thirtieth floor and entered the room. The small apartment was bare of any real decoration, for the owner had not had the time or the patience to decorate the place.
The tired Ili removed her armor and hung it up in the closet. She trudged towards the bed, intending to rest after her wearisome mission. As she slid under the covers, more memories of her family formed in her mind. Jyserin had died when she was nearing her third century of life. He had been slain in a drow raid. All of her other siblings had perished with Matron Guliara in the fall of House Barrindar. She had not cared too much. Except for perhaps Adin. But in a way, Adin had been dead to her for a long time.
The image of her mother formed. Matron Guliara was a beautiful woman. Incredible crimson eyes, a face that could have been carved from marble, sensuous lips, hair like spun silver. Yet, she was as twisted on the inside as she was gorgeous on the outside.
Ili narrowed her eyes. She had loathed her mother intensely. Guliara was abusive, hateful, and manipulative. She cared for no one but herself, and thought nothing of using her children in her games of power.
Another memory flashed before Ili's eyes. It was one of her first six kills.
A young girl--approximately four years old—held a bloody knife in one hand. Her eyes held wonder, fear, and distress. Wonder for the violet flames that danced between her fingers, distress at the bloody corpses in front of her, and fear for what would happen next.
A woman entered the room. She looked almost exactly like the young girl, only her eyes were scarlet and her hair was straighter. Her crimson gaze went from imperious and arrogant to surprised to furious all in the same second. "What did you do!" she screamed at the girl.
The girl's amethyst eyes went wide with fear. The panic and terror was clear in her voice as she cried, "Please, mo--matron! I...I had no choice! They were-"
The woman cut her off by grabbing her throat. "I don't want to hear it, ilbith! What in the world makes you think that your life is worth more than those of six slaves! You stupid little bitch!"
She grabbed the girl's wrist tightly enough to draw blood, ignoring the girl's protests of pain as she dragged her into another room. Sadism glittered in the woman's eyes as she pushed the girl against the wall. "I should have crushed your skull the day you were born, my daughter." the matron hissed.
The woman continued to restrain the girl and took a hammer off of one of the tables. The young girl screamed in pain as her mother nailed her hands to the wall. The mother let her daughter go, sure that she was helpless to escape. The matron took a whip off of the table. One head burned with flames. The other was shaped like the head of a snake.
The woman slit the back of the girl's shirt open, exposing her dark back. The girl had stopped crying by then, deciding to take her punishment with silence. Her mother raised the whip and strucks the girl, smiling with malicious pleasure at every wound she created.
The girl continued to shut her eyes, refusing to give her mother the satisfaction of hearing her cry out once more.
Ili shut her eyes tightly. She's dead, Ilivarra. She's dead.
