Naloviir: Philosopher of Coin

A heavy, ornate wooden frame surrounds the portrait, a small brass plaque at the bottom listing the piece's title.

Naloviir "[Undercommon]: Philosopher of Coin"

Brushwork, line, shading, and coloration are all adequate to the task of depicting the subject, though not inspired. The stylized pose in this portrait is reminiscent of Menzoberranzan Matron portraits from 85–97 A.R., before more naturalistic portraits came into fashion. The model, however, veers deeply, almost irreverently, from that motif by his very nature.

A male drow is seated on an imposing stone throne. A paired set of Eldritch Foci are crossed behind it; three gleaming red stones circling the cool blue of a bejurl in each. His elbows are grounded on the armrests, hands held out to the sides, each holding a symbolic object.

On the left, a skull rests in his palm, base down, gold coins filling its hollow and spilling out of the eye-sockets and over the edge of the upper jaw. This heap appears unending, mounding up on the floor beneath in a sparkling pile, the reflection of each coin tinged with a faint green hue.

On the right, a brain floats above his upturned palm, lobes parted like a moth’s wings, its veins and arteries highlighted in magenta and lime, almost seeming to glow. Blood drips down from the back of his hand, staining the ground.

His feet are braced apart, one firmly on the ground, the other resting atop, and laying claim to, a small pile of lumber. Each log is of a different type of wood, the color and grain showcasing their qualities.

A grey robe with olive and gold accents covers his frame, formal, with a simple elegance. His thick, squat neck blends with equally thick shoulders, making the collar of the garment ride awkwardly. Silky white hair is pulled back in a short, high ponytail.

His visage is of remarkable ugliness, like someone inked a simple face onto their thumb. While one might easily attribute the flattened, unlovely features to the artist’s lack of skill, or perhaps some type of malice, anyone familiar with Naloviir would simply recognize it as an accurate depiction of his face.

The long lines of his wide, frog-like mouth make him look grim. A scattering of fine wrinkles gathers near the skin on his jaw; the rest, smoothed, are remnant of his scowl. His gaze is forward, turned toward the viewer with focus and intensity.

Tinged with warm red-toned colors, the simplified background behind him almost resembles a sunset. Dimly seen, the barren landscape is filled with various scenes of slaughter, violence and enslavement. If you peer closely at the faint renderings you find Elves led away in chains, lamenting; others fall to the ground, futilely clutching their heads; even demons cannot seem to escape, suffering on the sands, when they’re not shown doing their own tormenting.

The wood grain on one of the logs conceals a maker’s mark: the outline of an anatomical heart with the word “Araj” inside.

If the back of the painting is examined, painted in careful calligraphy, the following statement, almost a poem, is centered:

"[Undercommon]:***

I love killing

I love looking at all the pantless matrons in the Hub.

I love these seasoned nuts.

I love crafting in the lava-light.

I love the sound of water as it drips from the cavern ceiling in the Ice Road.

I love the chittering noises of a spider as it captures its meal.

I love the way real, true maple feels under my fingertips, not this castoff zurkhwood drek.

I know beauty.

I know love.

I kill because I am.

Not because I hate.

– Naloviir

***"

Upon further examination, small and cramped, written on the inner side of the wooden frame supporting the canvas: 1/2 & 7/8 186 A.R.