Climbing the Ladder

[Schorse]

This will be a collection of stories revolving around Daedre Seregon's attempt at climbing the ladder of power in his family and society. Some may come from actual role-play, some from imaginative excerpts.


The streets of Silvermoon were bathed in darkness and the smell of perfume. Daedre Seregon sat on a chaise lounge next to Sylro, in the tavern on Murder Row. The atmosphere was exuberant; filled with a mixture of genuine and false friendship. Sylro had just finished telling one of his forced jokes when Daedre took the opportunity to move closer to the Elf. He slowly moved his right arm around Sylro's waist while filling Sylro's near-empty glass with his left hand.

"My dear Sylro, you do have a gift for humor." Daedre said, squeezing Sylro with his right hand.

Sylro jumped at the action, causing some wine to spill on his shirt "And you have a gift for getting me dirty."

"Oh come now, do not pretend that you dislike getting dirty." Daedre replied, while taking a swig of wine from the bottle.

“I said nothing of disliking it,” Sylro replied, moving closer while beginning to nibble on Daedre’s ear.

Could not stifle his laughter at the biting. “Is that so? Then come, I have something I must show you!”


Daedre grabbed Sylro out of the chaise lounge and led him out of the tavern, placing the wine bottle and two silver coins on his way out. He dragged Sylro to a nearby, dimly lit alley way and stopped infront of two crates. Sylro’s expression turned to worry and disappointment at the sudden change of scenery.


“What did you bring me out here for, Gael? Why did you give up the wine!”

“Because you can get wine on any night. Tonight you will be drinking the fruits that come from great accomplishment!” Daedre wrapped his arm around the man’s shoulder. Sylro was anything but convinced, his forehead curling in worry.

“Great accomplishment? What are you getting at, Gael? You’re sounding like some Magi-fool.”

Daedre let out a playful scoff, removing his arm from around Sylro with a caressing motion and lifting the crates. To Sylro’s surprise, the crates were cut at the bottom to conceal three pails. One pail was glowing with reddish pink ichor, the other two bluish purple.

Sylro moved closer to the three pails. “What is it? I’ve never seen anything like it!”

Daedre gave Sylro a friendly smack on the back as he cautiously looked around the alley. “It is paint, you fool!” He let out a quick laugh. “It glows because it has been imbued with some magic. A conjurors’ trick which makes the paint quite a pain to clean up… so do be careful not to knock any of it over.” Daedre gently pulled Sylro back from the pails.

“Well, what do you need with magic-paint? You’re still not making any sense, Gael.”

Daedre shook his head, as a mentor would to a child who had just gone against some important lesson. “It is not I who needs this, but Silvermoon! My dear friend, this city has become a prison ever since the Third War.” He motioned down to the pails. “This is just one rung on a very long ladder to Silvermoon’s liberation.”

The patriotic words mixed with the wine had Sylro grinning widely and nodding like a bobble-head. "Of course it has, I can barely bring a drink outside without on of those golems harassing me." He looked up to Daedre with eager eyes. "What are we painting?!"

Daedre looked at the enthusiastic, child-like elf. “You will be painting the city in knowledge, my sweet.” As Daedre kissed Sylro, a sly smile crawled up his face.