Ril'iira Kalan'ervs

Portrait

Description
The Qu'el'Yath'tallar of Qu'ellar Kalan'ervs was imposing not only due to her height and status, but her presence. With hips that had a slight, but dangerous sway as she walked, many a gaze might be drawn to her, even when they should not. Alluring and youthful in appearance, she possessed regal and chiseled ebony features, and was capable of presenting a pleasant impression to those around her. But just as the Goddess was capricious, so was she, her personality suiting the occasion; pleasant or domineering, conciliatory or cruel as the situation demanded. She could just as often be found with a smirk that told the onlooker they were nothing but a worm in her presence, as she could lend an almost inviting touch upon some (un)fortunate person. In public, the confident female favored fitted robes or adamantine armor, and helmets expertly crafted by the same material, with traditional styles, webbed details and intricate spider-symbols. In private she often opted for relaxing, rarely modest garments with web-like patterns limned by subtle faerie fire. Her hands were delicate and graceful, with long, sharpened nails, and ornate bracelets in the shape of spiders grappled each of her wrists with their legs. Often in her hand, and if not, always at her belt, was a snake-headed whip where three writhing maroon serpents responded to her mood. ~Dalharen del Lolth~ "Surfacer, I have heard you speak of us, in your patronizing tones, as if you pity. Save your pity! I prefer the scorn. We are cruel, you say, heartless, cold, lacking in emotions. Oh, but you are wrong. We are the most passionate of races. We burn! You say that we do not know love. But we do. I know what it is to love. To desire a male with all my being, to be consumed with lust for his company, his strength, his service. We know love. But it is a stronger love than yours, for it is a love that we master. It does not make us weak, but strong. It does not leave us dependent, but compels us to stand on our own two feet. Though I know the desire to have that one companion and to share my bed and the rest of my days with him, and him alone; and though I love him so fiercely that I would never contemplate sharing him with another; I am never beholden to him to such an extent that I could not, would not, have him killed, should he threaten to weaken me. What you call love is weak. It weakens the individual in its misguided belief that all is for sharing. 'Two hearts beating as one'? My heart beats. That is what counts. It beats to the rhythm of my desires and needs. Should my paramour threaten my dreams it is of no consequence to me whether his heart beats or no. Should he satisfy me? Now that is a different matter. I will pour out my passion upon him in torrents, uninhibited, in the knowledge that he is so committed to me that he dare not, will not, hold anything back. That is love. Conquered and controlled, and used to better us as a people. We take hold of that love with our two hands and we compel it to our service without weakness. You call us dishonest, disloyal, treacherous. What do you know of loyalty? You who will turn your back and flee and leave your wounded in the hope that your enemies will spare and take good care of them. How many of your fathers, mothers, brides, sons and daughters do we have as ornaments in our Houses because you left them behind when you fled? We know the depths of the meaning of loyalty and my loyalty runs deep. Deep enough that I will not hesitate to turn to my sister and run my own blade through her heart to ensure that she will not fall into the hands of my enemies. My loyalty runs deep enough that I will not hesitate to smash my mace in the face of the male incapable of standing his place in the line of fire. My loyalty runs so deep that I will not stop to think but will grind under my heel those too weak to aid me as though they were ants. Drow are not weak. I am drow. We have too many enemies not to know the true meaning of loyalty to House and Goddess. And that loyalty comes before all else. We are drow. We never strike our females. Why? I hear your snide laughter and behind-the-hand remarks as you condescend to mock our males. Mock not. Our males are not weak, nor are they in thrall to us. They are strong and they are free because they know their place and in that lies true freedom. They do not have to ask what they may do or wonder how far they can go. They know their boundaries. They know their limitations. They mate and spill their seed where we will it. They cast their spells and bury their blades where they are directed. They hunt, spy and plot their plots, all within the bounds set by us. And why by us? Because we are females. We carry the child within. We know the burden of bringing another into the life determined for us by our Goddess. We know the pain and the tribulation of the changes in our body as another feeds off our strength while our males have left the couch to continue on their way. It is our strength that kept them; it is our strength that nurtured them before they came silent into this world. It was our breath that was held in expectation when they moved rebelliously in our wombs; it was our breath that was spent between teeth clenched around wads of rothe hide as we forced them from our tortured bodies. It was our blood that was stopped for the long months of their incubation and it was our blood that was spent in copious torrents as they were expelled from the safety of our wombs so that they might be given the opportunity to test themselves in our service. Why, then, should we not lead? Who better to understand the trials of our lives in the darkness that is both our friend and our enemy? Who better to know the pain that is the curse of our existence and yet the spark that inflames us, enlivens us to achieve greater glories? We never strike our females. Our males serve, from the meanest to the greatest, they serve. They owe all to us and they give all to us. But, as easily and as carelessly as they created life, so can they lose it. Their value is equal to the pain and toil that they spend nurturing. It is, in the end, negligible. They are not fit to know the ecstasy of the Goddess' voice in their ears. They are male. We are drow. And we never strike our females. When all is said and done, do you understand us any better? It matters not. I want you to know this: I despise you for what you are. You inspire no fear in me; nor longing for your ways. Are you ready, then, for the final test? Dare you look into my face as you take my life in your self-righteous sense of justice? Or will you slip your hangman's noose over my head and avoid the challenge of my gaze? I would spit on you. But you are not worth even that."
Player:	Hate and Adoration
Gender (Visually):	Female
Race (Visually):	Elf