#sinbyrn
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“Not quite,” Nyloth smiled, something cunning and evasive; the Devout was a nurturing presence lorded above each house as the absolute Mother before, formerly Ayi’ig, and Lloth. Lloth’s favor was not an infinite thread to rely on for even those the Weaver proposed favoritism towards could quickly be revoked upon; sometimes, the Dark Mother merely vied to catch her followers in a telling trap, a ruse which would lead to a weaker one’s death. Sinbyrn had promise, but her promise was not an absolute that could be immeasurable towards her faith of Lloth; even the most Devout could be deterred and that was where Nyloth came into play for her Priestess. If one was to deflect or falter, she would be there to weed them out as Lloth’s web continued to filter out to the realms here and beyond. “Though you’re right that you did develop foresight unlike your Mother, it will fare you well in your continued studies. Lloth’s favor does not rely solely on your pietism, but you would be wise to continue it.” Blind devotion was this fallible structure, something that Nyloth had maneuvered within her own vespers to Lloth over the millenia.
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Contentment was the bane of existence in the Underdark. Sinbyrn knew this well. To be satisfied with her position and want for nothing more would be akin to believing she was entitled to Lloth's favor. She strived for greatness because it was the minimum of what the Weaver expected of her. "My own Mother was quite comfortable. A minor house lording over even lower houses, I suppose the coveting of a spec is what kept her blind to potential threats. When her legacy was devoured in the shadows, she was quite shocked." Sinbyrn remembered her former Mother's expression well and reveled in the anguish she had wrought on her childhood home. Now the Priestess stood above it all with all the freedom to claim more for herself than her Mother dared to dream of. "I did not inherit her shortcomings and won't be made a victim like her. But I am merely a humble servant. I only take what She whispers for me to take as she always has. If the Weaver disapproved of my path she'd undoubtedly ignore my prayers, yes?"
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who?: @corvinxs where?: uh the dark stable where the beasties are tied up idk
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Sinbyrn stands before one of the dark creatures, admiring the wild way it bucks against its bindings due to her presence. She'd prefer one that had an unruly spirit with enough strength to slaughter foes on its own, one that only bent its head for her. Of course, she had practiced no particular taming skill during her years being trained by the priesthood and still saw no real value in the practice. However, she was also not going to entirely remove herself from the selection process of her mount. "You responded so promptly to my summons. I'm impressed," she patronizes, viewing Amadeus' talent for beasts and his very presence was beneath her. "I do believe a dedicated mount will suit me, and I want to not only make the best selection but bring them to heal myself." This time when the nearby beast lunges again, Sinbyrn is quick to cast a sharp web of shadows, lashing the beast cruelly until pulls from her. Only then does she approach, petting it now that it understands that it should only look upon her in fear. "This one is no good, but you'll work with me to find one of suitable status for me. I want to look regal as I lead my unit into the Otherwilds."
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who?: @faerinaal where?: the warrior academy
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Sinbyrn knew the best way to demonstrate her worship was to use the strength the Weaver graced her with. She refused to let her battle sense grow dull, which meant giving equal attention to her devotions and her swordplay. Her dark sister hissed in delight as she stood amongst the warriors she'd wounded while sparring. Sinbyrn hoped they'd provide at least a little challenge, but even as tens of them charged her like she commanded, she barely expended any effort when she struck each of them down. "I do hope these were of the newer regiments you're training. Because if they represent your acadamy's standards, I weep for the future of the Court," she says, turning her attention to the direction of the steady footsteps. Sinbyrn stands proudly amongst her devastation, hoping he caught at least a portion of the bout. She wanted the entire Triumvirate to know that she was a cut above. "There must be someone available who has suitable power to train with me. I would hate for my blade to dull from constantly clashing with inferiority. I require a higher caliber of partner."
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who?: @evanurisx where?: somewhere the people are, just want sin to see auntie being auntie ok?
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Sinbyrn had seen members of a house cut down, in fact she'd participated in doing so herself. But she knew that she'd never achieved the same level of grace that was on display for her now. How one could be so vicious and so beautiful was beyond her, but Sinbyrn aspired to reach the level of the drider one day. It was an incredible honor to bear witness to Lloth's will in action like that. "My Lady, that was an impeccable display. I'm quite honored to have seen this message delivered firsthand. Thank you." Sinbyrn knew it wasn't for her, but for anyone who's loyalties wavered. The society they were heading towards had no room for weakness, and she too believed that rot was best cut out before it had a chance to spread. Hearing the pleading of her inferiors cut off by the retribution of a true devotee was a thrill Sinbyrn hoped she'd get to experience more. "To be at your level is a goal I shall achieve for myself. My devotions have always returned potent blessings, but I know that I must stretch my web even further still. Removing dissenters from our ranks is an important step, so I hope I get the chance to do so with your efficiency and skill. I am truly in awe."
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"Dear, sweet, daughter of the night, power belongs to those who take it." Evanuris could understand a young devotee's desire to walk along the path of Night, but there were many roads through the Dark. "Lloth cares little for your ascension, so long as you remember to praise her name while you climb; continue to do so and she'll allow you to ascend and ascend." Talks of devotion were all well and good but among the Priesthood they were surface level and Evanuris did wish to delve a little deeper into the breadth of this one's workings. "How much of the mortal realm have you seen?"
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The depths of her cravings would only ever be known to the dark where they have dwelled since she was young, yet her ambitious sentiments seemed to be on display for all to see. Was it something about the way she spoke or did the shadow of her devotions truly glow more intensely than others? Sinbyrn didn't know, nor did it matter because regardless, her rise would only continue so long as her ear was bent towards the Weaver. "There have always been many standing ahead of me, that has been my reality for as long as I remember. Yet in spite of this, more stand behind me than before me now." Or beneath her, but it was in poor taste to speak ill on those she's crushed underfoot. Sinbyrn, for all her viciousness, still had manners. "Lofty ideals do not burden me for my lot is easy. All I need to do is keep faith and follow the path spun before me as I always have. I act in accordance to Lloth's will, and if it is her desire to see me step over others once more then I shall."
#sinbyrn#evanuris says a prayer to Lloth every night that Creature finds her way home#she leaves raw bull penis out on the stoop because she knows those are his favourite things to gargle
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who?: @nyloth where?: the court, somewhere sacred where the baddies hang, i don't have a map
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Fresh from her devotions, Sinbryn wears the robes of a priestess instead of the armor of a general. She felt at ease after prayer, always finding great comfort in the Weaver's whispers. As she stepped from the darkened worship chamber and removed the hood of her cloak, Sinbyrn fell to her knees before a priestess who'd earned her reverence. As far as she was concerned, Nyloth was the soul individual at the helm of their society. A Queen in her own right, the two fools who shared her title would never receive an ounce of the respect Sinbyrn showed her. "Mother, I do hope you remain pleased with all my efforts at Court. It is through your instruction that I remain my best and feel empowered to strive for further perfection." Sinbyrn would never place the comfort of Lloth's web beneath another's, but the one Nyloth cast was its own comfort here at Court. She endeavored to remain worthy of the Matron's shadow. "My prayers have been much more potent now that our worship spaces have been purified. I'm so incredibly grateful that the subpar priests have been expelled from our ranks."
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who?: @shadowseveron where?: the court of drow somewhere
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There was a time when Sinbyrn's felt envy of the former priest. How embarrassing, how foolish, though not entirely surprising given the backward decisions that led to his ascent. Favored by the Queen, Sinbyrn had watched Severon benefit in ways she knew he was undeserving of, and now? The Queen was dead and cast down like the useless elve he was. Now the true devotions of Lloth could be carried out and Sinbyrn had a jester to laugh at whenever their paths crossed. "It is good to see you keeping busy. At least, you appear to be so. I've always found your toys to be so amusing, but are you sure you possess the capacity for instruction?" She never thought so. During their brief shared time in the clergy, Sinbryn can't recall a single time she sought out Severon for instruction. She doubted there was anything of value he could offer her, but she was quite good at forcing anyone to be useful one way or another. Even the lowest in their society. "You should consider working at my personal behest. You'd be well cared for and well used. A few decades performing under my instruction and all memory of your shortcomings will be erased. I can even petition the Triumvirate to make it official."
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who?: @felandcris where?: court of drow
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Some may have thought the savage work of fighting the Otherworld was beneath a priestess, but Sinbyrn enjoyed the work. A sword went dull and impotent without fresh blood, and she understood the sentiment. She refused to become like the elders of the priesthood, content to play with shadows behind closed doors. Sinbyrn would always accept opportunities to lead a unit of warriors into the dark, however she'd continuously long for footsoldiers who were more of her caliber. "It was a successful campaign. Beasts nearest the Underdark were all dispatched. I was thorough and expect that our borders will have a short time of reprieve before more beasts return," Sinbyrn reports to the triumvir with measured tact instead of true reverence. In her eyes, she had nothing to answer to him for but maintained a respectful demeanor as well. "Once I again, I insist only capable warriors to be assigned to the units I lead. I have no patience for weak links." Unsurprisingly, the only casualties she had to report were males just as the last three times she ventured out. She had nothing to say on this burgeoning trend of hers.
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Enforcing the boundaries was a simple task, besides, only mindless creatures took to coming too close to the Court, the rest had learned. "Is there a reason you're reporting this to me and not your Matron?" Felandaris asked as he raised a brow at the priestess, "I'd hate for Nyloth to take this insult personally when she finds out. Besides, I don't dispatch warriors, but sorcerers." Fools played with toys, priestesses asked for power, and sorcerers took it. From what the Architect had gathered, Nyloth's prized was useful and ambitious, young, but every drow had started somewhere. That she'd risen so quickly in such a short period was a point to remark upon. "Besides, Somniar or Amadeus would have use for these creatures you're dispatching." Felandaris thought about the disgraced inventor, but only for a moment. "Perhaps Severon as well; if any tissue remains, he might make use of it." Plus, it would be amusing.
who?: @felandcris where?: court of drow
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Some may have thought the savage work of fighting the Otherworld was beneath a priestess, but Sinbyrn enjoyed the work. A sword went dull and impotent without fresh blood, and she understood the sentiment. She refused to become like the elders of the priesthood, content to play with shadows behind closed doors. Sinbyrn would always accept opportunities to lead a unit of warriors into the dark, however she'd continuously long for footsoldiers who were more of her caliber. "It was a successful campaign. Beasts nearest the Underdark were all dispatched. I was thorough and expect that our borders will have a short time of reprieve before more beasts return," Sinbyrn reports to the triumvir with measured tact instead of true reverence. In her eyes, she had nothing to answer to him for but maintained a respectful demeanor as well. "Once I again, I insist only capable warriors to be assigned to the units I lead. I have no patience for weak links." Unsurprisingly, the only casualties she had to report were males just as the last three times she ventured out. She had nothing to say on this burgeoning trend of hers.
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"Vel'uss zhaun alur taga lil quarval-sharess," he replied almost mechanically. Who knows better than our Goddess? As a former priest, the words spilled out like an old habit. But, once more, Severon's gaze remained set firmly on the work in front of him, the purple flame bathing the little silver orb. Silly trinkets. The way his hand stilled and his eyes flit up, someone might have just told him that is every breath was a affront to the Dark Seldarine. Had any fellow male said such a thing, Severon would have dispatched them that at that very moment and hung their corpse atop the spikes of his front yard fence. Before the Priestess, he bravely held his tongue.
In fact, Severon summoned up enough bravery to pause his work and turn fully to her, fabricating his own smile and becoming the very picture of subtle patience and humility. "It would be an honor to fabricate a new mount worthy of the Priesthood, Priestess Sinbyrn. Or are you requesting a more personal one, one customized to your own liking?" He tried to ignore the idea of one of his wonderful, exalted creations ever having to lick her boots. The horror.
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Sinbyrn's ascent was singular, almost appearing predestined in its ease. She'd acquired much in such a short time, all while being surrounded by what could only be perceived as tragedies. The only one left in her clergy class to ascend to the priesthood, the fall of her house, and the reorganization of the power structures of the Underdark would normally be hindrances, yet she continued to rise with each step. Ambition was a a natural component, but she was simply acting in accordance with her prayers. At least, that will always be her claim despite the fact her serpentine blade rarely hissed with hunger even when she dwelt in the shadows of Court.
"May Lloth continue to lead me down her woven path. My ambitions are merely a vessel for Her to fill. I am but a humble servant, of course," she responds with folded hands. Though not an ounce of humility reached her eyes when she looked at Severon. Sinbyrn would never forget how insignificant his vast expertise made her feel. Her feelings about every perceived slight each of her seniors cast were tucked away specifically for moments like these. She relished in her ability to look down her nose at Severon because she was in fact above him. "I actually do not know at the present moment. I could never spend the time fiddling with silly trinkets that you do, but I have ideas that are well-suited for your skill level," Sinbyrn says sweetly, the sincerity of her smile entirely fabricated. "I desire a mount and a toy to clean up its make automatically would be beneficial, or even something to lick the blood off my boots. Either would be right at your skill level, hardly a mental strain I'm sure." Though she keeps to herself how she believed his tongue would be suitable enough for either job.
#interaction ➹ (never greet a stranger in the night.)#& sinbyrn#& sinbyrn 001#// this is quickly becoming one of my favorite threads ngl#// im wheezing
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Through the web Lloth had conceived, Nyloth was ever willing. Her dark sacrament had been interrupted, a wretched sign from the Fates, as time reverted and Nyloth was given new prayer to instill upon the dark elves before her true ascent. Nyloth had begun her most faithful act towards the Weaver yet, scouring the Underdark and the Drow Court in search of one who could bear the brunt of the udadrow. Guided with Lloth, chosen through fruitful prayers from the Devout, Nyloth had discovered Sinbyrn and had demanded she be reared within her piety directly under the Devout. "You have earned your right to stand amongst this clergy," a smile like a knife, "But do not grow comfortable in your talents, there's always room to grow." Sinbyrn did not yet know of Nyloth's own web, to weave the Priestess in her imagery, to hone an ample replacement as the Devout stepped towards serving Lloth directly. Her promise would not be out of ambition to serve as replacement, Sinbyrn's ambition would strengthen merely because she wished to be an absolute amongst the udadrow.
who?: @nyloth where?: the court, somewhere sacred where the baddies hang, i don't have a map
♝
Fresh from her devotions, Sinbryn wears the robes of a priestess instead of the armor of a general. She felt at ease after prayer, always finding great comfort in the Weaver's whispers. As she stepped from the darkened worship chamber and removed the hood of her cloak, Sinbyrn fell to her knees before a priestess who'd earned her reverence. As far as she was concerned, Nyloth was the soul individual at the helm of their society. A Queen in her own right, the two fools who shared her title would never receive an ounce of the respect Sinbyrn showed her. "Mother, I do hope you remain pleased with all my efforts at Court. It is through your instruction that I remain my best and feel empowered to strive for further perfection." Sinbyrn would never place the comfort of Lloth's web beneath another's, but the one Nyloth cast was its own comfort here at Court. She endeavored to remain worthy of the Matron's shadow. "My prayers have been much more potent now that our worship spaces have been purified. I'm so incredibly grateful that the subpar priests have been expelled from our ranks."
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The Artificer was forbidden from ever working with or around souls and advanced sentience again and, to make matters worse, he was thrown from the Priesthood along with every other male. While this all greatly limited his vast potential, the newly minted dark elf supposed that being the unwitting reason for entire universe annihilations was an understandable enough reason not to go around contesting the punishment. On the contrary, the Artificer sought to only hold his head high. He'd been raised to hold himself to ambition and excellence and Severon had proven both of those things were in his very blood and brain many times over. While being stifled greatly soured his mood, the elf tended to his wounded ego with silence and aloofness and doing what he did best: throwing himself into his work.
When it came to high ranking women among the elves, Severon had been raised beneath the very highest. He knew better than to not curb his tongue in female presense, no matter the fact this one was hardly an adult. An infant, really. A being of lesser intellect. Yet intellect did not mean status, unfortunately, and his Mother and mother was particularly fond of this one. "May Lloth look favorably on your wild ambitions, Sinbyrn," he mused diplomatically. The only indication of Severon's bad mood was in the way he failed to meet her eyes, his focus set on the little silver orb suspended by magic in front of him. Severon worked to temper it with a tiny purple flame from his instrument while speaking. "I'm almost curious as to what your behests would involve but... I'm not sure you yourself even know." No one understood him and his work - such was the tragic fate of genius.
who?: @shadowseveron where?: the court of drow somewhere
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There was a time when Sinbyrn's felt envy of the former priest. How embarrassing, how foolish, though not entirely surprising given the backward decisions that led to his ascent. Favored by the Queen, Sinbyrn had watched Severon benefit in ways she knew he was undeserving of, and now? The Queen was dead and cast down like the useless elve he was. Now the true devotions of Lloth could be carried out and Sinbyrn had a jester to laugh at whenever their paths crossed. "It is good to see you keeping busy. At least, you appear to be so. I've always found your toys to be so amusing, but are you sure you possess the capacity for instruction?" She never thought so. During their brief shared time in the clergy, Sinbryn can't recall a single time she sought out Severon for instruction. She doubted there was anything of value he could offer her, but she was quite good at forcing anyone to be useful one way or another. Even the lowest in their society. "You should consider working at my personal behest. You'd be well cared for and well used. A few decades performing under my instruction and all memory of your shortcomings will be erased. I can even petition the Triumvirate to make it official."
#// i hope you read the last line like a dejected teenager#interaction ➹ (never greet a stranger in the night.)#& sinbyrn#& sinbyrn 001
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Contentment was the bane of existence in the Underdark. Sinbyrn knew this well. To be satisfied with her position and want for nothing more would be akin to believing she was entitled to Lloth's favor. She strived for greatness because it was the minimum of what the Weaver expected of her. "My own Mother was quite comfortable. A minor house lording over even lower houses, I suppose the coveting of a spec is what kept her blind to potential threats. When her legacy was devoured in the shadows, she was quite shocked." Sinbyrn remembered her former Mother's expression well and reveled in the anguish she had wrought on her childhood home. Now the Priestess stood above it all with all the freedom to claim more for herself than her Mother dared to dream of. "I did not inherit her shortcomings and won't be made a victim like her. But I am merely a humble servant. I only take what She whispers for me to take as she always has. If the Weaver disapproved of my path she'd undoubtedly ignore my prayers, yes?"
Through the web Lloth had conceived, Nyloth was ever willing. Her dark sacrament had been interrupted, a wretched sign from the Fates, as time reverted and Nyloth was given new prayer to instill upon the dark elves before her true ascent. Nyloth had begun her most faithful act towards the Weaver yet, scouring the Underdark and the Drow Court in search of one who could bear the brunt of the udadrow. Guided with Lloth, chosen through fruitful prayers from the Devout, Nyloth had discovered Sinbyrn and had demanded she be reared within her piety directly under the Devout. "You have earned your right to stand amongst this clergy," a smile like a knife, "But do not grow comfortable in your talents, there's always room to grow." Sinbyrn did not yet know of Nyloth's own web, to weave the Priestess in her imagery, to hone an ample replacement as the Devout stepped towards serving Lloth directly. Her promise would not be out of ambition to serve as replacement, Sinbyrn's ambition would strengthen merely because she wished to be an absolute amongst the udadrow.
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♝
The depths of her cravings would only ever be known to the dark where they have dwelled since she was young, yet her ambitious sentiments seemed to be on display for all to see. Was it something about the way she spoke or did the shadow of her devotions truly glow more intensely than others? Sinbyrn didn't know, nor did it matter because regardless, her rise would only continue so long as her ear was bent towards the Weaver. "There have always been many standing ahead of me, that has been my reality for as long as I remember. Yet in spite of this, more stand behind me than before me now." Or beneath her, but it was in poor taste to speak ill on those she's crushed underfoot. Sinbyrn, for all her viciousness, still had manners. "Lofty ideals do not burden me for my lot is easy. All I need to do is keep faith and follow the path spun before me as I always have. I act in accordance to Lloth's will, and if it is her desire to see me step over others once more then I shall."
In the catacombs below Rome, a new temple to Lloth had been dedicated as Evanuris silently wove her Weaver's will into the foundation beneath the ancient city. It was here that Lloth's foothold would take root in previously unconquered territory, and it was here that the Goddess of spiders' influence over the mortal realm could begin. Naturally, some players needed to be removed; the elves had ostracized themselves from this realm, and the false Gods who previously held dominion over the creatures here had been scattered. The Great Old Ones had been foiled, and in the absence of faith came the vacuum for worship, a need for ambition, and a desire for certainty. Gloriously calculated chaos, it was a privilege to stand amidst it all. The Handmaiden cared very little for platitudes; worship was for the Weaver. "Ambitious," Evanuris remarked, "but many stand in line ahead of you." Order and hierarchy were there for a reason, if Sinbyrn truly wished to ascend she'd have to do so by crawling over the bodies of those who were presently her betters.
#gonna have gael start pulling webs out of his ass and talking about how he feels like he's missing something XD#evanurisx#evanuris ☸ 001
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♝
Sinbyrn's ascent was singular, almost appearing predestined in its ease. She'd acquired much in such a short time, all while being surrounded by what could only be perceived as tragedies. The only one left in her clergy class to ascend to the priesthood, the fall of her house, and the reorganization of the power structures of the Underdark would normally be hindrances, yet she continued to rise with each step. Ambition was a a natural component, but she was simply acting in accordance with her prayers. At least, that will always be her claim despite the fact her serpentine blade rarely hissed with hunger even when she dwelt in the shadows of Court.
"May Lloth continue to lead me down her woven path. My ambitions are merely a vessel for Her to fill. I am but a humble servant, of course," she responds with folded hands. Though not an ounce of humility reached her eyes when she looked at Severon. Sinbyrn would never forget how insignificant his vast expertise made her feel. Her feelings about every perceived slight each of her seniors cast were tucked away specifically for moments like these. She relished in her ability to look down her nose at Severon because she was in fact above him. "I actually do not know at the present moment. I could never spend the time fiddling with silly trinkets that you do, but I have ideas that are well-suited for your skill level," Sinbyrn says sweetly, the sincerity of her smile entirely fabricated. "I desire a mount and a toy to clean up its make automatically would be beneficial, or even something to lick the blood off my boots. Either would be right at your skill level, hardly a mental strain I'm sure." Though she keeps to herself how she believed his tongue would be suitable enough for either job.
The Artificer was forbidden from ever working with or around souls and advanced sentience again and, to make matters worse, he was thrown from the Priesthood along with every other male. While this all greatly limited his vast potential, the newly minted dark elf supposed that being the unwitting reason for entire universe annihilations was an understandable enough reason not to go around contesting the punishment. On the contrary, the Artificer sought to only hold his head high. He'd been raised to hold himself to ambition and excellence and Severon had proven both of those things were in his very blood and brain many times over. While being stifled greatly soured his mood, the elf tended to his wounded ego with silence and aloofness and doing what he did best: throwing himself into his work.
When it came to high ranking women among the elves, Severon had been raised beneath the very highest. He knew better than to not curb his tongue in female presense, no matter the fact this one was hardly an adult. An infant, really. A being of lesser intellect. Yet intellect did not mean status, unfortunately, and his Mother and mother was particularly fond of this one. "May Lloth look favorably on your wild ambitions, Sinbyrn," he mused diplomatically. The only indication of Severon's bad mood was in the way he failed to meet her eyes, his focus set on the little silver orb suspended by magic in front of him. Severon worked to temper it with a tiny purple flame from his instrument while speaking. "I'm almost curious as to what your behests would involve but... I'm not sure you yourself even know." No one understood him and his work - such was the tragic fate of genius.
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The Founder tilted his head with a small smile, watching Sinbyrn for a moment. It had been centuries since he'd been in the Court, since he'd built this place with his bare hands, until Ayi'ig requested that he'd return home. He'd seen monstrosities beyond Sinbyrn's imagination, and like a child, she stood there. "Then perhaps you should've brought it up with Ayi'ig if you truly had something worthwhile to add." But she hadn't, and still, the Founder remained at the top. The general was weary, but not too weary to hold a fight. He enjoyed all drow who could fight, who showed a minuscule of talent, "You stand above many, but don't think above all."
who?: @faerinaal where?: the warrior academy
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Sinbyrn knew the best way to demonstrate her worship was to use the strength the Weaver graced her with. She refused to let her battle sense grow dull, which meant giving equal attention to her devotions and her swordplay. Her dark sister hissed in delight as she stood amongst the warriors she'd wounded while sparring. Sinbyrn hoped they'd provide at least a little challenge, but even as tens of them charged her like she commanded, she barely expended any effort when she struck each of them down. "I do hope these were of the newer regiments you're training. Because if they represent your acadamy's standards, I weep for the future of the Court," she says, turning her attention to the direction of the steady footsteps. Sinbyrn stands proudly amongst her devastation, hoping he caught at least a portion of the bout. She wanted the entire Triumvirate to know that she was a cut above. "There must be someone available who has suitable power to train with me. I would hate for my blade to dull from constantly clashing with inferiority. I require a higher caliber of partner."
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