Kadaav The Warlock
"Trust me. I'm an attorney."
“Do you ever wonder if this is all an elaborate illusion orchestrated by our illithid masters to lull us into a false sense of security only to reveal it for what it truly is so they can experience the horror on our faces before they eat our brains?
Must be nice.” ~Kadaav
“The surface world isn’t safe for a drow, especially a puny, little white one. There is a lot of hate going around for his kind but I soon learned that Kadaav’s worst enemies were those in his head. The elf would, on occasion, trance out and start weeping or go into seizures. The drow’s eyes would go pitch black and he would start muttering in an alien language then say he had a communion with The Wyrd, an Elder God he made a pact with to escape his life of slavery. The elf is so small and seems so frail, I can only imagine what kind of metal fortitude it takes to keep him from going batshit insane from what he’s been through. I have tremendous respect for the little, lean elf who has become my trusted friend and partner. "
~Sir Francis Castle, The Punishing Paladin
“Once in a while, he would get noticed for what he was and I would have to diffuse the situation. He also had a “personal space issue” as he put it and didn’t like to be hugged or touched too much, nor did he like dwarfs much and he hated spiders. He seemed to take a wicked satisfaction in crushing the poor things. He also engaged in menacing bullies with his telepathy or insults. He enjoyed their distress a little too much for my comfort. It was times like this I had to remind myself that he IS a drow. Just because the tiger is rolling around letting you pet it’s tummy, it’s still a tiger and can rip your throat out. So just as he was absolutely devoted to his friends he had the capacity to be completely wicked to his enemies. There seemed to be no middle ground with him, you were a friend or an enemy and he liked to hurt his enemies."
~ Tobin Redfeather , Bard and Vuvuzuela Virtuoso
A former slave now warlock engaged in a pact with an Elder God, Kadaav has some… issues. For starters he a white drow, an albino. An oddity which got him 70 years of enslavement in the underdark. He also likes to dye his hair distracting colors and is very protective of his “personal space”. Besides reading and writing one of his favorite hobbies is to slowly pull the legs off spiders. His favorite foods are squid, cuddle fish or octopus and he dislikes dwarves.
For all his problems, he is devoted to his friends and and has no problem expressing his love. No hugging though. Verbal or acts of kindness only please. He is the type of man who is in touch with his sensitive side. He has a great appreciation for beauty and has openly wept at the majesty of a mountain sunrise. Sure, it burned his eyes something fierce, but was no less a thing of beauty.
“The man stared at me, sizing me up, like they always do and he smiled because he was bigger than me. He moved as though to rush me but as always I had my spell ready and I held him in place via telekinisis. He struggled against me, like a little, dirty spider in my grasp, spitting insults at me. He called me a ashen little coward for not fighting him like a man, a worm and faggot, nothing I haven’t heard before. Then I asked him how it made him feel to violate another person? He then made lewd remarks about Miss Louisa’s womanly parts, so I thrashed him against the wall until I broke his nose. "
~ Excerpt from the journal of Kadaav regarding the punishment of a rapist
Happy Day traveling clothes.
You can call me, Kadaav. No, it is not my name but it’s as close as anyone not speaking the tongue of the Underdark can get to it’s pronunciation. Roughly translated it means “pale worm” and it is a name given to the shamed, cursed, low birth or slaves. In my case, all four. I was born to a drow mother. To what family in what city I could not tell you, much less care. I was born with pale, ashen skin not the handsome, ebony flesh of the drow. It was probably my “deformity” that saved me from being sacrificed to their spider goddess. I was sold as a baby to slave traders. I assume my family needed gold more badly than a deformed, dead infant.
My first memories were as a slave in service to dark dwarf’s mistress. I was her pet, more or less. An oddity, a white drow child to dress and teach tricks and perform for her and her friends amusement. She called me her “Little Opal” and lavished me with treats when I pleased her. If I displeased her or she was angry she beat me with a rod. I hated her. I hated everyone.
When I grew into adolescence she sold me to a trader. He was the one who named me Pale Worm. I was to be his bookkeeper. A tedious job for most dwellers of the Underdark but simple enough for me. I was, of course, still a curiosity and he would take payment for those who would wish to inspect me. It amazed many to see how clearly drow bruise when the skin is so pale.
I had little choice but to stomach the treatment, but serving him had benefits also. As a trader he came across artifacts and treasures from the surface. Books and tombs describing the world and cities above. Illustrations of forest, mountains, the sky and the sun. A giant flaming ball above you, lighting and warming the entire world! I was both frightened and amazed by it. Daydreams of the surface became my escape.
I served him for several years. Hard ones, but not as hard as some. Those were coming. While traversing an Underdark trade route we were ambushed by Mind Flayers and their monstrous slaves. I had never been so terrified. I was captured and separated from the others. I never saw them again. No doubt, they were killed shortly after, their brains consumed. Better them than me.
My albinism saved me from being devoured. A curiosity, I was auctioned and purchased by a high ranking Flayer called Mo’Roloth. I was his thrall for years. He commanded my loyalty and love with mind controlling magic and I did as he wished. At least until I saw the painting. He studied the many realms of existence and collected relics and artifacts. He had obtained a large canvas from the surface world. It was a painting of a glade, with flowers and trees and nymphs dancing, their scant gowns flowing around them. And in the distance what had to be mountains with clouds and a blue sky. It was amazing and I wept. I wanted to be there so bad. So free and open under the sky. So free. I wanted to be free. It was then that I realized I had broken the spell I had been under. I will escape. I will find a way.
My behavior did not change in Mo’Roloth’s presence. I remained dutiful to him but pilfered his library in his absence searching for a means to flee. After some time I found it, an ancient tablet of perfect black stone complete with my master’s notes! I though it was a wish spell. My plan was to simply wish for freedom, to be teleported to the surface world. How simple and naive I was.
When my master was away for a lengthy meeting with the hive mind, I set my plan into motion. I readied the ritual and spoke the words. They felt dark and heavy on my tongue. I felt dizzy, then nauseous and the world was gone. It wasn’t dark, there was no darkness or light or shadow. It was nothing. A consciousness enter my mind, huge and painful it asked, “You have called. I have answered.” The voice in my mind was my own, but monstrous and frightening. “Who are you?” I asked. “I am The Watcher of Worlds. The Devourer of Time and Creator of Existence. I … am The Wyrd.” I was terrified. It was an Elder God! An Old One! I was a fool! Surely it will consume me body and soul!
The Wyrd spoke again, “You wish for The Pact. You spoke the words. I am The Watcher of Worlds. You will be my senses to your realm. Your experiences will belong to me. Your knowledge will belong to me. You will be part of The Wyrd. Do you accept?” A pact? Is that what’s happening? What does that mean? I couldn’t ponder too much longer. My mind felt as though it was being ripped apart. “Yes! Yes I accept! I accept!!” I screamed in pain. The reply floated gently into my mind dulling and easing the pain, “Excellent.” Then true darkness found it’s way into my mind.
I awoke to a searing pain all over my face and eyes. It was blinding for me to open them. I felt warmth and was surrounded by strange sounds and smells. I calmed myself and slowly, shielding them with my hands, opened my eyes. I was in a glade not unlike the one in the painting. I could only stand to have my eyes open for so long even under my hands. I covered myself with my cloak until the sun went away. I never thought the sun would be so painful, but the word in the half-light of dusk was the most beautiful thing I had ever beheld. I wept and wondered, “Am I free? Am I really free?”