The schedule is the same. Reviere, a visit to the bar for a drink or two, then out into the dark hammer in hand. Some hours later a return, possibly with something to sell to N'bril, but most of the time only a hammer head coated in blood. Then back to the bar for a few, then off to reviere. The trek is always the same. To L'Obsul, then a visit to the Ogres. Shortly there after, to the drider caves to pay a visit to the heretics within. No other foe matters to him. When he goes to their encampment, there is no house unentered, no corner unsearched, no room unvisited. Every cycle, the goal is the same. For his lord to notice him. He cries out with each blow SELVETARM ULTRIN. Every kill is made in his lord's name, in the hope that his lord would see that he still serves the Spider who Waits. And every day when he comes back, his hammer is not blessed and his armor does not radiate with divine energy... He is not shrouded in prayers, only sweat and blood. His hair unkempt, his armor unpolished, but his hammer more worked than ever before.

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Slander [Zanthair Akarupa of the Horsemen of the Apcalypse] - Sorcerer 'Mediocreare'
Isendu't'tar Ussen'd'Vhid d'My'ana'd'Xull'd'Vharcan - possibly the longest name in Amia
Tiffany Seagrass - weak and fragile weaver of words

Often, sitting in the bar of L'Obsul, he might notice a lovely young female, bearing no marks of house, faith, or rank of any kind. Violet eyes seem to remain half-lidded and fixed on her drink, and she rarely if ever speaks.

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Aly'dra Zau'ana: Priestessish Of Eilistraee
Danika Nefzen: Druid of the Earthmother
Delia Am'Anodel: Paladin of Torm

Whenever they cross paths either in Edonil or L'obsul, a female drow in spiked armour takes notice of the male drow bearing a hammer. She usually just watches him intently, perhaps taking note of the absence of divine magic upon him. Occasionally, she touches the symbol of Selvetarm around her neck, whispering a short, inaudible phrase.

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@Thanatopsis#6293

The air is heavy, and Isendu't'tar can hardly breathe. Slime drips from the ceiling and his boots pull at every step. It is disgusting in here, but Isen doesn't care, he is here for one reason and one alone. And there she was, a priestess of the slimelord. She was as gross as he thought she would be, but it didnt matter. Her guard was disbatched and she was subdued, some bones broken but alive. He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her kicking and screaming to her own altar and threw her atop it, tying her down with rough hemp rope. He then kneels at the foot of the altar..

"Lord Selvetarm, I make this offering up to you. I have entered the heretic stronghold to make a formal offer to you and the queen. This jalil here is a priestess of the Slimelord, and she is now yours."

With that, he draws an intricate dagger, saved from the temple of Ultrinnan before the city's fall, and stabs it into her chest, cutting up towards the heart. Carving it out, he drops it into a bag and leaves the body tied to the altar. His duty done, Isendu't'tar heads back to Edonil and walks to the temple of Lolth, to the central chamber, and leaves the heart atop the altar.

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Slander [Zanthair Akarupa of the Horsemen of the Apcalypse] - Sorcerer 'Mediocreare'
Isendu't'tar Ussen'd'Vhid d'My'ana'd'Xull'd'Vharcan - possibly the longest name in Amia
Tiffany Seagrass - weak and fragile weaver of words

Nizzre’tyne entered the Temple Alter Room after hours in her office across from the jail cell for prayer. She bowed deeply her thoughts only for her Dread Queen as her scarlet eyes ventured to the alter and they narrowed. There was something there.

She approached and as she neared she saw it was a heart. Her cobras stirred as her emotions woke them and they too came forth to look and flick their tongues. Nizzre’tyne took out Spider, a lovely and deadly dagger, and used it to move the heart. It seemed fairly fresh.

She backed up several steps and brought out a fine silk cloth to clean her blade. She put the dagger away, tossed the cloth onto the stones in front of the alter and then called upon the power of her Valsharess. Fierce flame dropped from on high and roaring hungrily as it cleaned the alter with fire and divine energies.

Then Yathrin Nizzre’tyne made a tribute to her Valsharess in blood and in prayer. Afterwards she slowly exited the Valsharesses alter room taking the time to search for clues as to whom might have left the heart. Perhaps they hadn’t bothered to clean their boots, she thought as she looked.

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Ari'aerath Dlues'athsha ~ Silver Singer with the Bow of the Sun
Clarette Feohn ~ Magic is Art.
Victoria Marrs ~ "I have an herb for that."