Played by Epiril
If Vier'idil isn't wearing attires that hide her skin and makes an actual attempt at hiding her heritage, it is obvious that she is drow. She is averagely high for a female member of her race, and she is of lithe build. Her movements are quick and well-placed most of the time, and she is not prone to clumsiness. Her attire is most often luxurious, yet classic and comfortable and on her belt (or on her thighs) rests two large knives in their respective sheaths.
Her ebon skin is almost always covered and her face is hidden behind a mask. Often, she shields her eyes from the light with a pair of thick goggles, making her look rather unappealing, but this doesn’t seem to concern her. Vier’idil’s entire form is spattered in pockets, hidden or obvious, with trinkets, vials and a multitude of sharp objects, making it rather obvious that she is prepared for just about any situation.
Her head is covered in silvery white locks which end slightly below her shoulders in a layered fashion. While in safe places she usually wears it down, but in the wild it is bound into a tight knot on top of her head as to not get in her way. It is rare that anyone sees her in a relaxed state, though. Her composure most often seems overly formal and proud more than anything, but she doesn't let her arrogance leak into every aspect of life.
If one were to get a glimpse of her skin, it would be apparent that she bears no tattoos or marks suggesting ownership of any kind. Her skin does however witness of a violent past, as is usual for most of her kin.
All air left her as the boot was planted squarely against her lower ribs. Behind the female drow waited a swirling vortex from which a strange mixture of fluctuating light and shadow was emitted, but this didn't concern Vier'idil very much. There was no way of escaping the wrath of the superior officer standing before her with a mad frown seemingly plastered onto his rigid face. She readily fell backwards into the rift with a low grunt..
"Ussta velveli!" she thought, making sure to rest her hands on the protective sheaths where her twin knives rested. The gut-wrenching emotion of inter-planar teleportation was over soon enough, replaced with a void of thought and sensation as she blacked out completely.
The grass smelled the same and the air could actually be inhaled without harm, to her great surprise. The hunter's senses went frantic as soon as she regained consciousness, face down in the grass somewhere on the isle. There was no telling where she might be, but wherever it was, it was a place where life was possible.
The banishment had been merciful then, she reckoned. Like a wounded animal she dragged herself towards what she thought was safety, and found Blackwater soon enough. "Rul'selozan," was all she managed to emit over cracked lips before she collapsed in a rented room, escaping into reverie.
Life on Styss
She was not quick to lust for power, although others would automatically describe her as the "typical dhaerow" who would climb over anything or anyone to get what she wanted. For a long time, the relatively young ilythiiri female listened and watched, walked in the safe shadow of the Lolthite matron called Lililolathami Drusia, and she learned the ways of the lands, which held seemingly endless potensial for someone like her.
Before too long, she was walking, talking, and fighting under the banner of the Red City , and they asked her to be the Warden of their dungeons. She took to her duties as such with vigor, although it was a methodical and painful process for her visitors, and perhaps not the lust-filled torture they were used to or expecting. This soon made her a target for the enemy, and she spent many a "cycle" in the jails of both Anamchara and Elzigard , where they thought they taught her that she had sinned against humanity. It seemed they did not understand the creature, and neither did her own kin for that matter.
It was in this period that she seemed most aggressive toward those close to her, her enemies, and those she would collect as her slaves. It seemed that she developed a taste for pale elves of woodland origins, perhaps logically enough for someone of her background, and there was no limit to the misery she could put Tuldor and especially Korak through (the latter of which escaped her grasp more than once, and remains a free and breathing elf to this day for some reason that seems to annoy the sombre drow rather endlessly).
Distrust was what awaited when she entered her first political campaign with a tall-standing Baatezu by her side, but their respective allies and their respective silver tongues earned them victory. Azazel and Vier'idil named themselves Tyrants, and attempted utter and devastating domination of the entire isle of Styss, with varying success. The devil attracted trouble and was lost to the Hells (more specifically Dis), so the drow chose to ask an old king for help, having Brocard ascend once again to share the thrones with her.
Her second term was somehow more peaceful, and at the same time not at all so, when she with her co-ruler Brocard waged war on the very city of Anamchara . Walls crumbled, buildings were almost leveled with the ground, and lives were lost... but the ultimate goal was not reached, to the Anamcharan citizens' relief. Weakened, the city of Tens returned much to the same as it had been, and the King and Lady Tyrant served their term without further incident.
Since then, Vier'idil held several stations in the city's hierarchy, including the position of Vizier, Commissar, and Queen once more, but her achievements were less significant. What was noteworthy was perhaps that she calmed considerably, and no longer behaved like the Warden that she used to be.
Vier'idil resembles most drow who have been raised as assassins. She is somewhat detached, non-empathic, analytical, patient and cautious border-lining paranoia.