Yamon looked towards his young high-born nephew and regarded him with species of pity and bitterness. Although small statured in comparison to other drow males, he was overtly vane and overly reliant on his charm to get what he wanted. He was some kind of sorcerous prodigy in the family; why else would the Matron Coven spare him, bringing him to Skullport?
The warden allowed his perceptions a quick sweep of the dark streets of Waterdeep; the way seemed open but empty human city streets poised a bad omen to Yamon Auvryndar. Communicating with hand gestures to his ward, Yamon saw how the young drow seemed to drink up the city skyline; his communication fell on wandering eyes.
There was little doubt his talented ward used his charms to secure this detail to the surface, the night sky seemed to intoxicate Yamon’s young nephew.
Suddenly the drow sorcerer was spell casting rising suddenly in the air. Yamon pulled Silent Fang as six skeletons charged from nearby city ruins but lost their footing in the wake of the levitating sorcerer. The skeleton’s innards writhed and squirmed as if alive. Dropping an area of darkness between himself and his foes, Yamon preferred blind melee, and waded into the flailing off-balance undead.
Above, the purple-eyed sorcerer hurled viscous orbs on unattended enemies giving his uncle time to destroy near-by skeletons with his magical blade. Getting a quick look for the necromancer or some other undead controller, he spotted a black-robed individual who wore a death-mask over his features. The unsettling figure wore billowing black robes that possessed writhing red runes along the cuffs, collar, and belt.
The drow sorcerer turned his focus on this new individual and let go his most powerful spell….
“Your spell surged and ended your levitation.” Yamon explained. “You fell, knocked yourself out. I am charged with your protection and that includes protecting you from yourself.”
The young drow looked around and explained the death masked one, there was no sign; silence had returned to the night.
Taking extra precaution against further undead and vermin alike the two drow proceeded north to what was called Spire of Fea the Tor of Flames and habitation of human wizards who recently made an amicable offering to House Auvryndar towards a no-hostility pact. This eventually led to a short-term trade agreement with the house supplying the human wizards with rare meta magic components for their alchemy and wizardry.
It took the two drow an hour to reach the Spire at the Tor unseen; arriving that the appointed location, a trio of humans came upon the two drow. Two of them family wizards but the other, the sorcerer wondered, a cleric of a human god!
“I am Yamon Auvryndar and this is my ward…” his words were cut off before he could finish introductions.
“We know who you are,” said the cleric addressing Yamon’s nephew. “I am Rhodhan priestess of Mystra, and this is Thaddeus and Arctor Eltorchul,” Rhodhan motioned in a grandiose style bowing low to the drow nobles. “The Eltorchul family welcomes the noble house Auvryndar.” She cleric finished.
The young sorcerer herd none of it, he was too enthralled with the symbol of Mystra that hung from the beautiful Rhodhan’s neck. It immediately held purpose for him and inspired a curiosity he never felt before.