Thread: The Overdue Destruction of House Vorn

The way his master had looked coming in showed Jarikk what had to be done, yet he felt like a fool. Instead of taking his young master to the cleansing chambers immediately, he had prepared a bath. Now that he had returned, well, how foolish of him. Sir Vorn, I understand. Do not worry. Hs words were clipped and concise elven, taught to him by his own mother before he slew her for trying to take away his favorite stuffed spider. He often pretended he did not know the nuances of the language, as it befit one of his status. The drow hated the way their lighter skinned brethren spoke the elvish tongue, better not show off his skill being just a disgusting goblin servant. The benefit of being the servant to a drow male became apparent when the goblin was able to lift the upper part of Ryltar and drag him to the cleansing room. He severed the robes, the delicate cotton parting to the knife he had on his person. As Ryltar lay naked before him the goblin got out a healing kit he had, one that had seen years of use, and began his work. Next to him was a bucket of warm water that he dipped a light sponge into and took over the drow's body, cleansing the wounds and apologizing for the pain it cause his master. He glared at the cuts and shivered slightly, very angry at whomever would do this to his poor, sweet master. After the wounds were cleaned out he pushed Ryltar into the low bathing apparatus he had, the water soon becoming a sick pink from the wounds. He dug around and found a scroll of healing that he often filched from the sisters, having long spent time working their rivalries into making them think that one another stole the scrolls the others made to look better in front of the matron. It was one of the privileges of being a goblin they never suspected him to be smart, much less able to USE the magic gifted to them by the fetid Lolth. Healing webs, commence your knitting to this your spawn. The was he spoke tricked the scroll, as he had learned before, and the magic took, the wounds on Ryltar knitting themselves closed. Yet, it was not enough to heal his broken finger the entire way, leaving it with a sprain. Yet he would be able to be up and back in the saddle in fewer than two days. Jarikk took the hand and placed a specialized spider silk bandage on it with a splint made from bone, one of the things he had kept from that traitorous Valshee, his second oldest sister before she got implemented in a crime she actually didn't commit. It was one of his revenge schemes, seeing as she had the audacity to use Ryltar as a training dummy the days before she was 'found out.' Small, tender hands washed the blood out of Ryltar's hair, leaving him a sore, but clean drow. Stay here, sir Vorn. I will return shortly. His little legs moved quickly as he found a soft, delicate robe to cover the drow. He helped Ryltar out of the water and into a chair where he dried him off, his face lowered as he touched the delicate areas of his beloved master. After he was done he wrapped the robe around him and helped him to bed, wrapping the covers around his dark colored man. He watched him, his face not changing but his heart bumping slightly, as it always did after he helped Ryltar. He didn't show it, and he would never say it, but he deeply loved his ward. Not the love of a servant and a master, that was unheard of in drow culture, but the unrequited love that was written about in sagas great and long above ground. Jarikk knew he could never tell his master, and that he would probably die with the secret, probably die protecting his master. Yet, it was enough knowing that even though Ryltar didn't love him, he TRUSTED him, and that was probably closer than anyone of his race had ever come to with a drow. Sir Vorn, would you like a story? Some food? Or shall I retire and leave you be, sir?