Blood of Dragons

My turn assholes!

The shadows swarmed around me, and I occasionally spotted a scuttling spider leg or a snake’s tail. The monstrosity hissed behind me, and I prepared myself for the eventual strike… I prepared myself for pain. The beast struck suddenly, for no matter how much I prepared, it always surprised me. Searing pain erupted in my left shoulder, its fangs digging deep into my flesh. Next came the venom, feeling like acid burning through my veins. With the last of my strength, I turn to face the monster, this murderous beast of my nightmares. Envision a giant serpent if you would, then add some well-placed legs, replace the tail with a spider stinger and then multiply the eyes by five. All that combined and you still cannot imagine how terrifying it was, this demon. I know how the dream goes, I know what comes next… my death. And as its massive jaws engulfed me, I awakened from my dream.
My name is Dareskilith Del'Tharen, and I am the bastard child of cleric. Doesn’t sound interesting eh? Well let’s paint a bit of light on the subject. My father was an adventurer, and a scummy human at that. He and a few of his compatriots decided to go down below for a bit of fun, maybe a little glory, but most of all, loot. Boy, were they in for a surprise. Only a few hundred yards down and they were taken out by some slaves of house Del'Tharen.
There were two survivors, my father, and their guide, a stupid dwarf who’s name I cannot be bothered remembering (if I could anyways). They were taken to the matron mother and her daughters to be tested, to see where they would fit in is the slave chain, or maybe if they would go into the arena if they were lucky. Unfortunately, luck was not with the dwarf that… well at that time. We had no concept of time down in the Underdark. I have no clue what happened to him, but my father was another story altogether.
He was hauled in chains to the arena, nothing on him except his breeches and his trusty falchion. He was thrown onto the stony grounds, and the beast approached. Just a panther, or so he was thought to believe. He threw himself at the beast, but is just faded, as if nothing was there. He was struck from behind, then from the left, next the right. The beast toyed with him, as if he were nothing but a rag puppet. But as the beast went to finish off the ragged man, but that is when things turned interesting. The beast towered over the man, ready to tear his head off. But instead the man wrapped his arms around the monster’s neck. The creature reared back in surprise, unused to being grappled. It tried as it could to shake the man off, but it was too much… the beast was tiring, and as it came to a slow, the man once more picked up his falchion, and cut off the beast's' head, showing it to the crowd of stunned Drow. It was a few months later that he was house Deltharen’s prime arena champion.
My mother watched him with interest one time, as he faced off against a basilisk, his breeches tied around his head, his blade in his hands and nothing else on him at all, leaving nothing to the imagination. He waited for the lizard like creatures attack, then as it reared back and hissed, he struck towards the sound with his falchion, driving it through the creature's skull and into its’ brain. She smiled as she saw the warrior hold up one of the basilisk's’ fangs in triumph, and smiled more as she saw something else…  He was escorted to the main house, and there, laying wait for him, was my mother, High priestess of Lolth, Delphine Del'Tharen. I don’t think you need to know what happened from there, but I will leave it up to your imagination.
Now it takes about a whole year in human time for a full drow to cook up within his mother, and about three quarter of that for a human, so I took somewhere in between, ‘bout 10 to 11 months. Now, I sometimes wish that I was born a girl, but Lolth had it in for me it seems, and a little male me popped out, with extremely dark grey skin and a dark reddish brown eyes, but still the 'classic' white hair. I may or may not have been a disappointment to her, but whatever happened, happened. And with classic drow customs, my father was sacrificed to Lolth, his heart ripped from his chest and fed to the spiders. They showed it to me once, through this spell that allowed you to see memories of others. It was pretty gruesome, especially when they had him kept alive just to see his own heart eaten. I loved every bit of it.
Well, the first 14 years ish of my life was pretty by drow standards, just harsh and brutal training and being forced to the peak of physical and mental ability. By the time I was fifteen I was larger and more agile than any of my peers, and by the gods did they hate me in every way. I trumped them in melee combat at the school of fighters, Melee Magthere, my speed and finesse trumping over their clumsy movements and brute force, although a little force is always needed in combat hehehe. The arcane school of the city, Sorcere, was slightly easy, for evocation and transmutation and abjuration was all just stuff and nonsense to me, illusion on the other hand, was fun, playing tricks on the mind to make others think something that never happened, happened. I went well there, for no-one else but myself. Then the teachings of Lolth came, and they went on and on, boring me for hours upon hours. I couldn’t stand it, doing chaos and mayhem for some all-powerful spider bitch. I wanted chaos, for no-ones enjoyment but my own. Chaos in its purest form. It was a few years later I managed to make my escape.
I had finally made it on to a patrol, and we ran in to a group of Duergar (Who I paid off in advance). We had battle, and with a few drow against a large group of greedy duergar... it was magnificent, limbs flying, the sound of metal clashing and weapon hitting flesh, the cries of the dead and dying made me feel like I was writing a symphony. During the battle, I faked my death.
It was quite spectacular if I say so myself, fake blood sprayed all over me in the chaos of battle, I had just finished fighting the duergar caster then I feel the point of a sword slip between my arm and my chest, the blood sack spraying everywhere on me. I fell where I was, telling my companions to flee while they could... The drow retreated, being only fresh out of the academies and with a large and experienced group of Duergar facing them. I stood, my piwafwi and armour coloured red.  I smiled at them, thanking them for their service. Trading my house attire for a simple chain shirt and a scimitar, I thank the Duergar… then murdered the bastards where they stood. With the loot, I traveled as far away as possible. Causing all the chaos possible along the way… I am pretty sure I am wanted across half the world.
Now, at the age of good old 24, I’ve been recruited into some ‘elite forces’ boggart crap, and feel completely surrounded by fools… Who knows? I might get to kill one or two. But I can guarantee this, there will be chaos.