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hh_mirror((Spoilers for the first book of the Lady Penitent trilogy, and some mild ones for War of the Spider Queen))
The not-quite-funny thing about dying was that during the fact, one tended to want not to. Enough of his ostensible followers had panicked at their last stand, their self-preservation instinct kicking in, for Selvetarm to learn that.
The really funny thing was that when his neck snapped and his head went thud against the sava board, when he knew Lolth knew what he’d been up to, going behind her back trying to break free, and he knew it was over want it or not… that was when it wasn’t.
He didn’t figure it out for a while. Then he realized that his head was resting on a stone floor, inches from his body. And it was quiet. There was so much taken-for-granted mental clamor of prayers and battle cries and so on that was… not there anymore, and Selvetarm didn’t want to think about what that meant.
He pulled his head back to reconnect with his neck - his face had taken on an ashen gray hue with the blood gone out of it, but when given more it gradually returned to black. Three of his eight legs were broken, and he took care of that by assuming his old drow form, dark elven some called it, which had only two legs to be broken (he made sure that neither was). His sword and mace weren’t too far away, and once he’d reclaimed them he finally took a proper look around, blinking as his red eyes adjusted to the unaccustomed light. There were others in the room, so he had better stay in this shape for now. They all looked like surfacers from here, so they would probably react badly to a bloodied drow, especially as they couldn’t be expected to tell it was his own blood, but they’d react even worse to a giant black spider with or without drow features (no running or screaming, so he supposed they hadn’t noticed that, and he didn’t intend to give them more time to notice). The thing to do now was watch and wait and not cause a panic before he found out where he was.
The papers nearby looked like they might provide something to that end.
1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?
“Cheese,” he muttered. A nearby quill jumped over and scrawled out the word, which he thought was all well and good given that he didn’t feel like letting go of his weapons just to write.
The next question down looked somewhat more interesting, given that it involved killing. But this one? He wasn’t mortal to concern himself with food and he wasn’t a god the likes of Chauntea. Cheese was not his portfolio.
“There was this one time.” The words spilled out of him. “Meeting with Eilistraee. She brought some with her. It was from milking celestial rothé or some such thing and I liked it because… I liked that time. I… liked her then. I haven’t liked any - any cheese better than that one. So that one.”
2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?
Selvetarm’s initial interest in a question involving killing diminished when he saw the unfamiliar names, but not by that much. Once it would have been whichever one Lolth told me to, but now he said, “Whichever comes close enough first.”
That thought entertained him until he felt the ambient spell. Back in Toril he could sense certain things involving drow at war, usually large-scale things, and now he could sense the weight of the magic that meant that the single drow godling present at the moment would find it quite difficult to wage any kind of war. Well, any kind of lethal war, but so far as Selvetarm was concerned there was no other kind.
He expressed his displeasure in a stream of Abyssal invective that continued long enough to empty his lungs. He’d kept spider’s fangs in his mouth, and the venom dripping from them left several sizzling holes in the paper. When it was over, he breathed deeply and told himself that at least nobody would be killing him again anytime soon.
3. What time is it where you are?
“They called it… the Year of Risen Elfkin. What risen elfkin those are, I couldn’t say.” He considered it further. “Near the end of the year. The rotting month. Uktar, yes, that’s it.”
4. If you were Albus Dumbledore returned from the dead, which member of the Order of the Phoenix would you sexually harass? How would you harass them? If you are Albus Dumbledore, please answer as if you were Sirius Black.
“Sexually harass.” He pronounced the words like they were in an unknown language. “I’d… if there’s someone who fights, I’d fight her.” He paused and added, “Or we could play sava.”
He wondered if that particular game was such a good idea, but he didn’t think he was so bad at it. Matched up against Lolth, anyone would look bad at it. Except for Eilistraee… but he wasn’t going to think about that, about her. Truly. He wasn’t. Any moment now.
5. If you are pushing to be in:
A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.
“Venomire,” he decided. “For the Lord of the Venomire. That was Zanassu, once, but now it’s…” Selvetarm fell silent, glancing around the room with an expression of belated paranoia before opening his mouth again. “Now it’s me.”
B. Gryffindor – Debate whether Harry should ultimately end up married to Fred or George. Use examples from a variety of world mythologies to bolster your argument.
“Married.” He pronounced it in the same fumbling manner as “sexual harassment,” searching for the nearest equivalent. “Who? … They could fight to the death,” he said at last, then amended, “or what's closest to death here. The survivor would get Harry’s favor, whatever good that does him… mythology? That’s my mythology. Or ritual. Whichever. At least it is now.”
C. Ravenclaw – You guys are supposed to be smart. Explain why my desk is inundated with paperwork at all times, even though I’m constantly disposing of it.
“I’m not supposed to be smart. Lolth didn’t think so, the Masked One didn’t think so, Eilistraee didn’t say so but I know she had to have thought it…”
He stopped, hissing, and shook his head as if trying to shake something out of it, or else shake it back off his shoulders. All it did was send a shock of his bloodstained white hair tumbling over his face; he snarled and knocked most of it clear with his forearm, without releasing the mace in that hand - for a moment, he looked fairly close to braining himself with it, but his arm settled back at his side and he moved on to the next section.
D. Hufflepuff – Prove you are not useless.
“I cut the Masked One’s hand off. Lolth bound me to her, but I almost got away anyway.” He looked around again. Maybe he had gotten away after all. At what cost? “I killed the Abyssal lord Zanassu,” he added, though it could be said that that little victory only indicated how much others could use him. “I’m the only one Garagos pays any mind to.”
6. Offer a bribe to the members of this community so that they will not squib you. Items used in bribery do not necessarily have to belong to the person offering the bribe. Do not threaten us rather than offering a bribe. A threat indicates you either don't really want to be here, or don't have enough sense to answer the question properly. The hat will automatically squib you, regardless of other votes, if you do.
He didn’t want to be here. There were plenty of places he would rather be than someplace where nobody could be killed and they were so concerned about cheese. Plenty of places. It was just that right now he couldn’t think of a one.
Maybe he could offer the possibility of priesthood, and the corresponding granting of clerical spells, but Selvetarm wasn’t entirely sure he still could. In any case, who in this lot of surfacers would want to be his priest? For all he knew, they were all of them fellow dead gods.
“… if anything’s required with spiders, I could do something about that. I… I can still fight.” Selvetarm’s hands tightened on the hilts of his two weapons. He was not giving up those. “Even if I can’t kill. Even if they can’t die, they’ll stay down a while, won’t they? Sometimes that’s enough.”
He thought on it a bit more and eventually produced an expression caught between a grimace and a grin. “I’m very good at listening. I… used to listen to Eilistraee all the time and I think I could do that again.” Without the blind admiration part, of course. “I’m not as treacherous as some.” Lolth had called him traitor at the last, but that didn’t count. “Not when I’m not tricked.”
Selvetarm reread the statement. Members, plural… that would be a problem in future if there ended up being multiple claims on his loyalty, working at cross-purposes, but he was sure he could figure it out when the time came. There would probably be someone calling him treacherous at the end of it, truth be told, but Selvetarm assured himself that he’d never truly get to that. Real treachery was for those likehis father the Masked One.
So that would be everything except…
"I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG.Of course crazy. Cheese. ___Selvetarm___
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. ___Selvetarm___.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. ___Selvetarm___.
One day, marmalade will rule the world.Marmalade as in jelly? That should make Ghaunadaur happy ___Selvetarm___"
He glanced around once more and waited. He was well used to that.
The not-quite-funny thing about dying was that during the fact, one tended to want not to. Enough of his ostensible followers had panicked at their last stand, their self-preservation instinct kicking in, for Selvetarm to learn that.
The really funny thing was that when his neck snapped and his head went thud against the sava board, when he knew Lolth knew what he’d been up to, going behind her back trying to break free, and he knew it was over want it or not… that was when it wasn’t.
He didn’t figure it out for a while. Then he realized that his head was resting on a stone floor, inches from his body. And it was quiet. There was so much taken-for-granted mental clamor of prayers and battle cries and so on that was… not there anymore, and Selvetarm didn’t want to think about what that meant.
He pulled his head back to reconnect with his neck - his face had taken on an ashen gray hue with the blood gone out of it, but when given more it gradually returned to black. Three of his eight legs were broken, and he took care of that by assuming his old drow form, dark elven some called it, which had only two legs to be broken (he made sure that neither was). His sword and mace weren’t too far away, and once he’d reclaimed them he finally took a proper look around, blinking as his red eyes adjusted to the unaccustomed light. There were others in the room, so he had better stay in this shape for now. They all looked like surfacers from here, so they would probably react badly to a bloodied drow, especially as they couldn’t be expected to tell it was his own blood, but they’d react even worse to a giant black spider with or without drow features (no running or screaming, so he supposed they hadn’t noticed that, and he didn’t intend to give them more time to notice). The thing to do now was watch and wait and not cause a panic before he found out where he was.
The papers nearby looked like they might provide something to that end.
1. What is your favorite cheese? Why is it your favorite?
“Cheese,” he muttered. A nearby quill jumped over and scrawled out the word, which he thought was all well and good given that he didn’t feel like letting go of his weapons just to write.
The next question down looked somewhat more interesting, given that it involved killing. But this one? He wasn’t mortal to concern himself with food and he wasn’t a god the likes of Chauntea. Cheese was not his portfolio.
“There was this one time.” The words spilled out of him. “Meeting with Eilistraee. She brought some with her. It was from milking celestial rothé or some such thing and I liked it because… I liked that time. I… liked her then. I haven’t liked any - any cheese better than that one. So that one.”
2. Who would you kill first, Barney or Carrottop?
Selvetarm’s initial interest in a question involving killing diminished when he saw the unfamiliar names, but not by that much. Once it would have been whichever one Lolth told me to, but now he said, “Whichever comes close enough first.”
That thought entertained him until he felt the ambient spell. Back in Toril he could sense certain things involving drow at war, usually large-scale things, and now he could sense the weight of the magic that meant that the single drow godling present at the moment would find it quite difficult to wage any kind of war. Well, any kind of lethal war, but so far as Selvetarm was concerned there was no other kind.
He expressed his displeasure in a stream of Abyssal invective that continued long enough to empty his lungs. He’d kept spider’s fangs in his mouth, and the venom dripping from them left several sizzling holes in the paper. When it was over, he breathed deeply and told himself that at least nobody would be killing him again anytime soon.
3. What time is it where you are?
“They called it… the Year of Risen Elfkin. What risen elfkin those are, I couldn’t say.” He considered it further. “Near the end of the year. The rotting month. Uktar, yes, that’s it.”
4. If you were Albus Dumbledore returned from the dead, which member of the Order of the Phoenix would you sexually harass? How would you harass them? If you are Albus Dumbledore, please answer as if you were Sirius Black.
“Sexually harass.” He pronounced the words like they were in an unknown language. “I’d… if there’s someone who fights, I’d fight her.” He paused and added, “Or we could play sava.”
He wondered if that particular game was such a good idea, but he didn’t think he was so bad at it. Matched up against Lolth, anyone would look bad at it. Except for Eilistraee… but he wasn’t going to think about that, about her. Truly. He wasn’t. Any moment now.
5. If you are pushing to be in:
A. Slytherin - please state the clever, witty name of the bar in which you bartend, in the dark.
“Venomire,” he decided. “For the Lord of the Venomire. That was Zanassu, once, but now it’s…” Selvetarm fell silent, glancing around the room with an expression of belated paranoia before opening his mouth again. “Now it’s me.”
B. Gryffindor – Debate whether Harry should ultimately end up married to Fred or George. Use examples from a variety of world mythologies to bolster your argument.
“Married.” He pronounced it in the same fumbling manner as “sexual harassment,” searching for the nearest equivalent. “Who? … They could fight to the death,” he said at last, then amended, “or what's closest to death here. The survivor would get Harry’s favor, whatever good that does him… mythology? That’s my mythology. Or ritual. Whichever. At least it is now.”
C. Ravenclaw – You guys are supposed to be smart. Explain why my desk is inundated with paperwork at all times, even though I’m constantly disposing of it.
“I’m not supposed to be smart. Lolth didn’t think so, the Masked One didn’t think so, Eilistraee didn’t say so but I know she had to have thought it…”
He stopped, hissing, and shook his head as if trying to shake something out of it, or else shake it back off his shoulders. All it did was send a shock of his bloodstained white hair tumbling over his face; he snarled and knocked most of it clear with his forearm, without releasing the mace in that hand - for a moment, he looked fairly close to braining himself with it, but his arm settled back at his side and he moved on to the next section.
D. Hufflepuff – Prove you are not useless.
“I cut the Masked One’s hand off. Lolth bound me to her, but I almost got away anyway.” He looked around again. Maybe he had gotten away after all. At what cost? “I killed the Abyssal lord Zanassu,” he added, though it could be said that that little victory only indicated how much others could use him. “I’m the only one Garagos pays any mind to.”
6. Offer a bribe to the members of this community so that they will not squib you. Items used in bribery do not necessarily have to belong to the person offering the bribe. Do not threaten us rather than offering a bribe. A threat indicates you either don't really want to be here, or don't have enough sense to answer the question properly. The hat will automatically squib you, regardless of other votes, if you do.
He didn’t want to be here. There were plenty of places he would rather be than someplace where nobody could be killed and they were so concerned about cheese. Plenty of places. It was just that right now he couldn’t think of a one.
Maybe he could offer the possibility of priesthood, and the corresponding granting of clerical spells, but Selvetarm wasn’t entirely sure he still could. In any case, who in this lot of surfacers would want to be his priest? For all he knew, they were all of them fellow dead gods.
“… if anything’s required with spiders, I could do something about that. I… I can still fight.” Selvetarm’s hands tightened on the hilts of his two weapons. He was not giving up those. “Even if I can’t kill. Even if they can’t die, they’ll stay down a while, won’t they? Sometimes that’s enough.”
He thought on it a bit more and eventually produced an expression caught between a grimace and a grin. “I’m very good at listening. I… used to listen to Eilistraee all the time and I think I could do that again.” Without the blind admiration part, of course. “I’m not as treacherous as some.” Lolth had called him traitor at the last, but that didn’t count. “Not when I’m not tricked.”
Selvetarm reread the statement. Members, plural… that would be a problem in future if there ended up being multiple claims on his loyalty, working at cross-purposes, but he was sure he could figure it out when the time came. There would probably be someone calling him treacherous at the end of it, truth be told, but Selvetarm assured himself that he’d never truly get to that. Real treachery was for those like
So that would be everything except…
"I have read the hogwarts_hocus faq, and understand it is a crazy, cracktastic sorting community and RPG.
I have read the hogwarts_hocus rules and agree to abide by each and every one of them. ___Selvetarm___.
I agree to be a good sport and not get my knickers in a bunch. ___Selvetarm___.
One day, marmalade will rule the world.
He glanced around once more and waited. He was well used to that.
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