Ystral gave a short cry and his back stiffened for a trembling moment before collapsing onto the sweat-dampened breast of the woman under him, his energy spent. Placing a soft hand against the neck of the young noble, Emeri began to stroke the velvet hairs at the base of his neck, soothing him as the two rested from their frenzied coupling amid the perfumed sheets of spidersilk that adored the noble’s bed chamber.
“You should stay with me.” Ystral sighed, finally rising reluctantly from the bed to slide out of the tangled linens and find his clothes. “I will one day be the Merchant Lord of the Guild. I can make it so you would never want again.” Dropping the sheet from her form, the Drow woman moved with unselfconscious nonchalance to where her own clothing, a few wisps of silk that left little to imagination, even for the standards of the Drow, lay in a crumpled heap.
“I prefer to fulfill my own wants.” She commented, moving up behind the noble to wrap a languid arm in an embrace from behind. “Unfortunately,” she sighed as she felt him stiffen in her arms once more. “that involves me not staying.” Emeri relaxed her arm as Ystral’s body slumped to the floor, its weight pulling off of the thin stiletto now dripping with cooling blood. Without another look she turned away and bent to pick up her discarded bodice, slipping the needle thin blade back in its concealed sheath before donning the garment. Moments later the Drow was gone, leaving behind only the faintest waft of her scent in the air.
“It is done?” a voice came seemingly from the shadows of the alleys. Emeri paused in her stride for only a fraction of a second.
“Is it not always?” she commented with a shrug and continued on her way.
Zh’eradii is the blade of a Drow assassin, known only as Lymaress, of No House, The blade, which name translates into The Blissful Dark, is a weapon of longing and despair, capable of transformation and mimicry into an item of small importance that can be worn by it’s wielder without alarm. Currently, the weapon transforms into a hair sleeve for the assassin’s long, snow white locks, which keeps the sides of her hair pulled back from her shapely neck. Within the blade rests the spirit of a Demon lord, who seems to whisper into the ears of the wielder, unknown and unseen. Lymaress is but the last of a line of wielders, all before having been corrupted by the Demon lord’s seduction until now. Allied with the Demon lord, she has banded together a group of female warriors and assassins under her banner and founded an assassin guild of her own to rival that of the Ilbari, the Soulless killers of the Drow race. This shadowy sisterhood takes it name from the blade and are know as the Zh’eradii as well, becoming a devotee of the Demon lord’s cult and servant to Lymaress, their Guildmistress and High Priestess. The Ruling Council of the city have, as yet, found it difficult to uproot and destroy these heretics As the power of this unnamed Demon lord bars even the Akiar’a, the Divine Mages of Lolth herself, from locating them. Striking from the most vulnerable of times, within the arms of a lover, these women have transcended the thought of female dominance within the Drow culture, to enter into contempt for the male gender in entirety.