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Charisma Kane, pt 1

Nov 03, 2019

In the olde days, before the War of Arrallon and the Drovik Revolution, there were two Drow kingdoms.  They knew absolutely nothing of each other.  Lolth kept it that way.  Why is easy to see.  She wished to keep one as a safeguard against Her inevitable overthrow and death.  She knew that Her mortal descendants, the royal line of Mellikan, would fail.  She knew that Her half-brother, Treallar, would eventually rise up and assume control of the one kingdom known as The Drowlands.  And the other Kingdom, the Splinter Kingdom, would be hidden away, safe from His purges, steeped in Her ways and worship, and that they would someday be the catalyst of Her resurrection.  She was right, of course.

 

But in those heady days before star travel and airships, before planar rifts and off-world bases, before paratech marvels of communication and transportation, the world was much different, much more,… primitive.  In this world of awakening, everything was new and unexpected.  The surface world barely knew of the existence of Drow Elves, let alone the politics and suffering they would bring to the world in the coming century and a half.  It was against this tableau that a new color was painted, the color of the Half-Drow.

 

In his heyday, Vorhing the Necromancer orchestrated many vile deeds.  Amongst his achievements were the Condors of Beotharn.  These dragon aeries were underground halls built to surround a central shaft from which dragons would enter and leave the complex.  Those dragons, mostly of the Red Clan, served as heavy artillery and mass transport for his Drow raiders.  Vorhing's Drow Red Dragon Riders became famed for their lighting raids, vicious cruelty, and fighting prowess.  Until they were finally defeated by The Liberators at the outset of the Drovik Revolution, they were a scourge on the western coast of Beotharn.  However, so long as they stayed away from the FreeRanger port city of Taipai, they were mostly ignored by any force capable of defeating them.  And so they carried out their slaving raids, their torturous murders and pillaging of anything of value in the remote villages of the Cebu, Magani and Stygians.

 

But more acts of cruelty and barbarism were manifested on the peoples of the west coast of the Dark Continent than were ever recorded in the histories of the heroes who eventually defeated Vorhing.  To the list of murder and savagery, add domination and rape.  The male Drow of Mellikan's regime were repressed, abused and belittled by the female dominated society.  Under Vorhing's command on the surface, they were free to vent their frustrations and hatred of their own females.  In so doing, the human women of the western coast were a prime target for abuse.  Yet those few Drow that made their way as far south as Taipai managed to find the women oddly willing to accommodate their desires.  In time, it became a secret amongst the Red Dragon Riders, to sneak away from a mission to frequent the many whorehouses in the port city.  In that strange shift of reality for the Drow males, the concept of having a  romantic, mutually agreeable relationship with a female emerged.  And thus, for a variety of reasons, a number of Half-Drow were conceived.

 

In that time and place, there was a busty, lusty, overly gregarious prostitute that worked the higher class gentlemen's clubs along the north shore.  Sarabeth Kane was her name, though none knew if that was her given name or one she had made up.  She had skills in Erotic magic, something odd and rare at that time, and so her clientele were those with money and power; sea captains and rich merchants, wealthy explorers and traveling nobles from Callona and Hesterland.  She did quite well for herself.  That is, until she found herself unexpectedly pregnant.  She had taken all the precautions.  She had the magic to prevent such things and the erotic training to control her hormonal balance.  Had she somehow forgotten to cast those spells and focus her control of mind over body?  A visit to the local temple of Aphrodite gave her an answer, though perhaps not the answer she had wanted.  The pregnancy was fated to happen, and the child must be carried to term.  Her daughter had a destiny, and Sarabeth would not be allowed to interfere with that fate.

 

Rather than rail against the will of the Gods, Sarabeth took it as a blessing.  She had amassed considerable wealth of her own, so retired from the life of a courtesan to a stately country mansion in the hills overlooking Taipai.  There she gave birth to a shocking revelation.  Her daughter was half Elf, but not just any Half-Elf.  The thing she had carried for almost a year was the spawn of those black skinned terrors that had been rampaging up and down the coasts for some years, some called them Dark Elves, Dokkalfar,… but they claimed to be Drow.  She had no recollection of having coupled with a Drow, and certainly would have remembered such a rarity.  The shock very nearly drove her mad with worry and regret; worry as to what dark fate this chocolate skinned bundle would find, and regret for having given birth at all.  But the face that looked up at her, so innocent, so beautiful, so mesmerizing, could not be the face of a monster.  So, Sarabeth buried her concerns in a dark pocket inside her subconscious and preceded to raise her daughter the best ways she knew.

 

The child had a strange, magnetic appeal to all who managed to see her, though that audience was limited.  Sarabeth was not so awe struck by her daughter that she didn't see the threat such a pairing might bring to the world.  The stories of the Dark Necromancer, Vorhing, were still popular fare for parents to frighten children into behaving.  Vorhing, as they all knew, was Half-Drow as well.  And then there was the Deathstalker, Talon the GreenElf.  He was rumored to be Half-Sylvisan and Half-Drow.  The presence of Drow blood, mixed with that of less hateful races, never bode well.  So Sarabeth would hide her daughter's ears and claim her parentage was Stygian or Sahuni, that her father had been a rich and powerful tribal sheik from the inland deserts of Beotharn, a master of many gold laden caravans.  And that assuaged the curiosity of her few visitors over the years.  The child's uncanny ability to draw the eye and charm all who heard her infantile mutterings did the rest.

 

Charisma's early years were spent in a haze of servants and teaching, learning a more high brow form of magic than her mother's.  She began to understand how she was different than all the other children that visited their estate.  Her playmates may have been as mesmerized by her as their parents, but their eyes were hollow and their minds vacuous.  Their skin was pale and those who were dark of skin as she were slaves of a most lowly sort and even duller on mind that the children brought around to keep her entertained.  She began to understand that she was a possession more than a daughter, a thing that had to be kept covered up less the guests uncover it and screech in disbelief.

 

But Charism's path away from the light was as much nature as it was nurture.  Her being caged like a andulasite figurine in a display case was but part of her growing darkness.  On her first full day in the sun after her fifteenth birthday, her headache pounded like hammers smashing her skull.  Each day after, being forced to go forth into the light of day was a torturous punishment for some unknown sin she must surely have committed.  Her mother wouldn't hear of it.  Any sign of weakness in her was immediately chastised.  Any attempt at slinking away from a challenge or quitting in the face of adversity was admonished severely.  Mother would constantly remind her that she had a destiny to fulfill, and weaklings are never legends.

 

As is the case with most of mixed race, the child aged far slower than her poor mother.  With no further income and aging past her ability to draw clientele, Sarabeth and Charisma were soon without servants, and thereafter, without residence.  Charisma might have become a prostitute as well, given her unnatural beauty and seductive ways, but by the age of fifty, she was still little more than a teenager to human eyes.  Penniless and homeless, Sarabeth died of some wasting disease with no one but her defiant daughter to see her buried in an unmarked pauper's grave.  Small, but wiry and fast, Charisma was left to her own devices on the streets of one of the roughest cities on the globe.

 

Untold years of hardship ensued, daunting young Charisma Kane not a wit.  By the end of it, she'd become strong, tough, and streetwise.  Skilled in the martial arts of the western thieves' guilds and unnaturally quick to heal, she managed to stay alive long enough to learn how to survive on the street.  But a haze of years merely surviving quickly became depressing.  She knew she was destined for more.  At least that's what her human mother had always told her.  As her adolescent years slowly turned her into a young woman, she drew more and more attention.  Her exceptional build and enchanting looks had to be hidden away, lest the more amorous gang scum seek to take advantage of the young rogue warrior.  After fighting off one too many unwanted advances, she decided to turn her disadvantage into a profession.

 

She knew of her mother's art, despite Sarabeth's attempts at hiding her whorish past.  And though Charisma wasn't completely sold on the idea of renting out her cunt to every filthy sailor that pulled into port, she didn't mind letting them watch her writhe upon the stage.  Combining her already exceptional skills as a fighter with some basic erotic dance instruction, she soon had a well paying engagement at the Crystal Palace in Taipai.  Months later she'd squirreled away enough gold to purchase an apprenticeship with one of the spellcasting Erotics that were now all the rage in the FreeRanger port.  In a matter of months she'd managed to master the basics, adding her new magical talents to those of a full fledged WarMage.

 

It was 18,474 on the Gailen Calendar.  The world had settled into a long period of peace following so many devastating wars.  The War of Arrallon, the forging of the Second Holy Symballan Empire, the Drovik Revolution, the Second Orc Wars, and the Second Elfkin Wars; all left the planet tired of fighting and killing.  Through her youth and inexperience, despite her long years, Charisma had managed to miss them all.  Geography clearly played a part in her exclusion from the action, as none of the wars saw much action on the Dark Continent.  But where there is barbarism, primitives and uncharted lands, there will always be adventure.  Charisma set sail with the first ship that would take her.  By then her training included not just her thuggish fighting on the streets of Taipai and her Erotic magic, but the commanding skills of a Dominatrix and the subtle killing arts of the Assassin.  To the Shipping Guild, she would become a prime trouble shooter, someone to call when they needed a problem eliminated, quickly, quietly, and absolutely.

 

She had her own considerable wealth now, but her interest was not in buying estates and slaves to serve her hand and foot.  She saw money only as a means to an end, and that end was more personal power, power such that she would never be beholding to anyone, never be afraid of anything, and never have concern of losing a fight, ever.  To that end she spent copious mounds of gold on the finest swords, the best armors, and magical trinkets to enhance her already exceptional magical talents.  When the seas above no longer held her interest, she sought adventure, booty and wild orgies in the caverns below. 

 

Finding a desire to seek out the truth of her father, whoever he might have been, she entered the Drowlands, now known as the Drovikallum.  But it was nothing like the world from which her father had emerged.  It was orderly and neat.  Law controlled the streets of Alkhelm and Gust.  The Avatar of Treallar Himself sat amongst the lords of the Drovikallum and administered the government.  There was no law breaking, no adventure, no place for one as wild and uncontrollable as she.  Yet, even in fascist order there is opportunity.  The Drovikallum was going to war against a newly discovered land of Drow on the other side of the world, a place called the Splinter Kingdom and it lay within the deep tunnels and scattered caverns of the Western UnderDark.  Charisma had heard of these other Drow, as she had heard of the Night of Demons and the Resurrection of their dark Goddess, Lolth.  It seemed like the perfect chance to put her assassin's skill to the test, as an advanced agent for this Drovikallum.

 

Through the long dark of the Drowlands, down winding passages and through underground rivers, she traveled for many weeks, reaching caverns that emerged underneath the eastern side of the continent of Callona.  It was 18,525, and another series of wars ravaged the lands of men.  Here, Charisma lingered perhaps too long.  The War with the Wolf Hordes gave her cause to join the human nation of Carellon to battle against the invading Gnolls and Tarkanians from the north.  In exchange for her services in the war, she was admitted to the Carellonian College of Mystics in Pawldur, where she spent several more years, graduating, but hardly with honors, as her innate rowdiness made disciplined study unlikely.  Inland, she gained passage into the depth of that legendary adventurer's graveyard known as Old Calladon.  To one such as she, the paltry humanoids, undead and monsters were of little consequence.  Allying herself with the Splinter Kingdom Drow in Skullport, she used her not inconsiderable reputation as a mercenary assassin to breach contact with the Crimson Sisterhood.  So her years of deep cover work began.

 

During her tenure as an agent of the Dorvikallum, she gained more and more power, as her experiences in the far dark of Maesek Aerthinor, Galathmortak, Veldrysheen, and Elg'Gahnyr Che'el doubled and redoubled her magics and fighting prowess.  She gained a familiar, which she named Tokarov Do'ar for a Drow lover she had lost in the many wars.  He probably wouldn't have appreciated it, though.  The familiar was a Giant Tarantula, though the familiar spirit made it a strange beast indeed.  It possessed a twisted sense of humor and made every effort to pull pranks on everyone Charisma met.  Its jokes were rarely received in the spirit they were intended.

 

When the Drow Wars finally came to the Western UnderDark, and the third incarnation of Lolth had assumed material form and taken to the stars to spread Her rule across the galaxy, Charisma returned to Old Calladon and took up residence in Skullport for a time.  Returning to her earlier sea voyaging life, she became first mate on a steamer that plied the Blacksea, the Oceans Below.  But when the War was over, she decided to see if she could carve out a part of Old Calladon for herself.  What she got was trapped in Tadilva's twisted Orgy level, where she was modified and enhanced.  It probably was not the new Demon Goddess' desire to create even more powerful Erotics, or to spread the Hermaphrodite gene any further, but who can really tell with creatures of pure chaos.  Charisma welcomed the change, gaining significantly more power than before.  She had often used her own Erotic spells to bedeck herself with a cock or three.  Now, she needed waste no magius on the effort.  And the shapechanging was imminently useful in infiltrating enemy strongholds in disguise.

 

But The Nine soon left Old Calladon, and the wars and threats of wars died down once again.  There was little need for her services in such times.  She returned to the surface, allowed herself some distractions in New Calladon, and headed down the coast in search of excitement.  There was scarce little to be found.  There was a rumor of a War in Hell, but this interested Charisma none at all.  For the first time since her confinement in her mother's estate two centuries before, she was growing bored.  Sunning on a beach on the Sylvan Coast, something that was both strange and uncharacteristic of a Half-Drow, she overheard two busty lasses discussing a recent journey to the wild and untamed Symballan Sea, that newly formed pocket of planar rifts, quantum fluctuations and time paradoxes created by the planet cracking apocalypse the world had barely escaped.  Thoroughly fucking both to borderline hysterical nymphomania, she took their maps and journals and stole away on the first ship heading north.

 

Her first stop was in Carellon, the capitol, whereupon she caught a flight on one of the new passenger aircraft heading for Dragaard.  From there it was a somewhat uneventful week or two trek by horse over the Western Barriers to Ravangaard, sitting on the eastern outlook of the mountains.  From the cliffs one could see the vast Western Erg of the Symballan Empire stretching out to the rising sun.  A few days later, she was in Maruk on the far western desert road, the new border between the Symballan Empire and Skycliff Realm, the home of the birdmen.  And a few days after that, she was in Han'ra, on the southern coast of that mysterious new sea.

 

Her tale becomes vast and sometimes confusing afterwards, as the time rifts within the Symballan Sea can have odd effects on those who ply its waters.  But her strength (in part thanks to a Girdle of Greater Giant Strength she had long since fashioned by her own magics), her beauty and charm, her Hermaphrodite Love Aura, and all her powers of magic and ki combined, wrote her many adventures across the scattered isles of the Symballan Sea for years to come.  Some say she is out there still, forging the waters from one mysterious shore to another; slaying, stealing, loving, and never once thinking that any of her life is fated by a prophecy pronounced by some whore priestess a half a world away and two centuries dead.

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