Viscardi Blackwood

Drow Dark Cardinal


From his demeanour to his stature he screams arrogance and superiority. Dark haired and crimson eyed, there is no doubt he is of Blackwood blood. Glad in armour he moves with practised grace and brings his mace crashing down with no remorse.

But once out from under the gaze of his parents he is much quieter and humble a person than would be expected of one of his ilk. Studious and co-operative rather than boisterous and demanding.

But extremely self-isolating and constantly following his own strange idiosyncrasies he has few friends and seems to have no intentions of improving this situation.


Born unto two anti-paladins and with drow blood there was little doubt of Viscardi’s fate. Follow his parents teachings and join the ranks of the anti-paladins. But quickly they found him to be wrong in some way. While his siblings rebelled and screamed and fought. He simply obeyed. Did as he was told and then some. While if they found a servant or neighbour acting this way they would be thrilled to dominate a persons will so thoroughly. But this was their child! His purpose was not to obey but to grow strong, resist the order set down by his parents as clearly insane as it was.

His father would easily lose his temper and lash out but it was nothing that could not be endured. His mother was a whole other situation. She would calmly observe his behaviour and let the rage and wrath build up deep within her. At some point she had to let it lose. One night while trying to get to sleep, Viscardi found it was getting increasingly cold in the room. Constantly shifting and trying to get comfortable, he finally heard it, the skittering, the movement, the clicking. Rising from his bed he slowly went to grab for a weapon when his hand was pinned down. One by one his limbs were slammed into the ground by something, hairy. For some reason he couldn’t see. He should have been able to see. Why couldn’t he see?!

At once everything was visible. His room was swarming with spiders with one particularly large one on top of him. From behind came a crisp and clearly furious voice, his mother. She explained to him in great detail why he was her greatest failure. To have spawned such a useless whelp. He was weak, submissive, co-operative and nice. It sickened her. But it was finally going to be made right because she’d thought of a way he’d be of use.

Carving intricate runes into him she began an incantation. He didn’t cry or scream out but took it while glaring at his mother. She didn’t know if this resolve was admirable or inaction infuriating and dug deeper into him to find the breaking point. When he eventually became aware of the exact nature of this punishment he finally began to fight back but instantly the spider atop him bit into him and paralysed him. His fortitude was being given to Lolth as an offering and proof of dedication.

Once the deed was done the gaping wounds had been sealed but the scars were now a strange green and sealed well. Then the exhaustion set in and he simply collapsed onto his floor finally able to sleep. The following morning it was clear to his siblings what had happened. He had yet to clean himself and was still covered in his own blood and limping in pain. However, after only 10 minutes of suffering their idiocy Viscarti fought back. Taken by surprise his siblings screamed out in pain and fled.

Mildly concerned his father eventually walked in to find Viscarti alone and eating breakfast. Unaware as to where the blood had come from or the previous nights events his father finally talked to him and they both joked at his siblings stupidity and cowardice. It was the first time he and his dad had seen eye to eye on something. It was nice. He finally understood that to please his parents he had to act up, he had to be loud, he had to fight. Well at least in a way that his parents would notice. Otherwise it was pointless and would garner him unnecessary enemies.

He still didn’t understand his parents but he finally knew how to avoid their ire and get their affection if such a thing existed. It wouldn’t be until formal schooling that he would develop any traits beyond placating his parents and keeping as to himself as possible.

Viscardi Blackwood

Kalaeny's School for Gifted Young Children Nat1 Christian1771