Nevae's Story

Nevae
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All greetings were met in kind, head nodding in acknowledgement. It was an aroma that grabbed her attentions, though, wafting towards her from the fire. Her scenes awoke, renewing the desire for food with ferocious tenacity. The less than subtle hint was met with reward; trophy handed over in the form of barbequed swine. Despite the company of battle-hardened soldiers, the cleric ate the salted meat daintily. Eyes closed, briefly, enjoying the cured pork that reminded her of her home high in the North.

“Thank you.” She murmured, pleasant smile returning youthful features. Her tone hinted at mild approval, curve of lips encouraging. Thick lashes reopened, eyes of pale azure fixing on the drow. Slender fingers were licked clean with meticulous care, removing any residue of the morning snack.

“You flatter, Veilyn.” The cleric’s mind slipped to the obvious game that had developed between the two. While the innuendos and compliments were amusing, her motives were material in origin. She contemplated what the rogue had to offer should she give in to the suggestive undertones, mind quick to fantasize about stolen trinkets and gems. Nevae’s face gave impression of naivety and youth yet it was a carefully cultivated mask to achieve what she desired most: wealth.

Vision glanced down, ankle twisting to give show of the boots. The price tag attached to such a pair was clearly more than the salary of their employment. In fact, they had been acquired in the last town they had past through. A very generous woman had given them in offering to Nevae in honour of Auril upon the cleric’s warnings of a harsh winter to come. Perhaps a little fear spell had aided her intensions. The pale cleric thanked her Goddess. Auril had told her that she would lead a life of privilege through her worshipping, and so far the Frostmaiden had kept her word. “A thank-you gift from a follower of the clergy.”

A musical laughed, genuine in sound, was response to the to the thief’s reason for attachment. “Think of all the future adventures you could have with a new set…”

Attention turned to Caine, a man who peaked her interest in other ways. The man screamed of a chaotic nature that promised entertainment, a neutrality that might be persuaded, and a lucky streak that spoke opportunity. It was with quiet contemplation that the deceptive cleric wondered if she could somehow manipulate the man’s compulsion to gamble. While she held no affinity of games to test strength or match numbers, and no need to bet, the man’s fortune had proven true.

“Good morning, my intrepid friends! I trust you are all ready to depart?” Those words, or more pointedly the voice that spoke them, caused chill to slip across skin. This icy chill held no hint of Icedawn’s sway, but rather a macabre feeling that their employer tended to radiate. Slender body twisted on point to greet her benefactor, smile unwavering despite the inevitable discomfort. The reaction came unbidden and Nevae did best to ignore it. Like all good puzzle there was a certain interest that Zacchaeus raised in her.

Aletrayu was the first response. Pale eyes slide between the two. Her tongue remained stilled, awaiting his response. Nevae’s own belongings were packed, only tent needed to be taken apart. The cleric would be ready to leave at any moment, though wouldn’t turn down an opportunity for more food.

Nevae
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The reply in such a manner that was only fitting to one as cabalistic as he. While slender eyebrow itched to arch in question, porcelain façade remained unmoving. Nevae’s face was always the careful courtier’s mask, un-hinting at any such thoughts that might have brewed beneath and instead maintaining an ever-present pleasant demeanor. The creature, as she was unsure what race he was in particular, turned attentions to her in murmured greeting. While no words replied from bowed lips, a small curtsey was given for show. Head bent in small acknowledgement for the compliment, silence given to his followed words.

Interest piqued as conversation turned to duty. Without waiting for task the word ‘gypsy’ inspired thoughts of coin, full knowledge known of their hording. Corner of rouge lips tugged, threating a wider smile, at the possibilities. It appeared that the lythari was giving her opportunity to kill three birds with one stone: paid task, reward for said task and spreading the fear word of Auril, which was reward in it’s own. How gracious. And if wine was shared perhaps a bed might be as well, a welcomed idea to pass the time.

Pale vision followed gesture, eyes leading to the paladin. Employer named said woman lead and Nevae quietly nodded her understanding. Vision brightened with minor amusement as she watched the warrior woman stiffen at mention of less than favourable memories; a result no doubt intended from the shaded man. The warning of heeding was not lost on the priestess, and she would obey. Thoughts of abeyance of pay were less than acceptable in the heart of one who desire so much more. It was in quiet contemplation that she wondered why the crow-like fiend held so much interest in the statuesque woman, though the curiosity was uncharacteristic and short lived.

And then he was gone.

Person turned, attention given to the new person in charge. All business, no pleasure… Nevae mused, listening as Caleb addressed them. Breakfast concluded the slender Illuskin again thanked Veilyn for the morning snack before retreating to her empty tent. Her trinkets of high importance were stashed about her person, most of which were worn. Weapons were strapped in place, a mace at her side and dagger in her new boot. Shield, pretty and new, was hoisted to back. With tent and bedroll tied together the young priestess returned to place them in the bag of holding.

”Ready on your word.” The statement gave notice that she was set to leave at moment’s notice as well as an agreement to follow the woman as stand-in leader for their shadowy employer. Thoughts drifted to the gypsies and the voyage ahead, bring yet another smile to pretty face. Such wondering was cut short as attention drew to the wood elf who spoke, condescending attitude to materialistic possessions. Whether intended or not it was directed at Nevae, she who held all things of monetary value dear. Words, less than kind, were bit back. Auril's wrath would meet the elf at a time when her job wasn't on the line.

Nevae
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The slim, fae-like woman exercised a patience that did not come naturally to her. Her duties concluded and allegiance pledged, something momentary at best, Nevae waited for the other sellswords to fall in line. It was in this lull between tasks that moments awarded opportunity to better observe her travelling party. Varied was the most polite word thought of to describe the motley bunch, unsurprised by fact that only their benefactor linked them to one another. Coin was more than enough to sway the priestess’s demeanor to pleasantries, but for others she was not so sure.

Continued racial demarcates was already dividing loyalties. While she had no particular love for the human city, as it had been so delicately described, the description of such begged speaker to be ostracized. Truth be told, the Frosttouched femme was not heartbroken at the thought of being at odds with the flora-esque Elvens. Auril did not discriminate her followers, nor whom her wrath could befall, and Nevae had committed life long goal to mirror her. In time, if The Frostmaiden was kind, a snow storm would award ample opportunity to correct the calumnious attitude. Smile widened a little in pleasure at thought.

“Perhaps the monk could teach you meditation, or I could show you a prayer or two. It does wonders for those with no self-restraint. We wouldn’t want any accidents to disrupt the Crowcatcher’s plans.” Words said in earnest, a helpful suggestion to the Druidess. Blue eyes did not deceive careful mask.

Icy vision, in hue not emotion, slid from fire-coloured tresses to the silent figure in their midsts; the assassin. Eyes swept across flickering countenance reminiscent of a man deep in though. Such distinct change reminded her of one deep in thought, or arguing over ones own morality. Dilemma was constantly scrawled across quiet features, an enigmatic and disturbing thought all the same. A puzzle to be solve, for sure… she had yet decided the man’s usefulness to her own private cause.

It was low words, muttered beneath breath and faintly, that draw steady gaze back to the Drow. Attentions had been sifted in time to watch playful bow and mocking smile match with honey-slicked words. While eyes gleamed a little brighter with amusement, her own countenance didn’t shift; the rogue was an endless source of entertainment. While she trusted the elf not, she quickly dubbed him the most likeable of the bunch.

Irony then beset conversations. The fighter teased her favourited drow despite own flattery littering his words. Had he not just called her ‘love’? Amusement deepened. Shallow eyes once-over’d the gruff fighter, marking with ease each muscle clearly define and putting them to use in mind with less than wholesome thoughts. There was another man to be used towards her cause, perhaps. He was quick to defend their human race, throwing like-kind insult towards the forest elves, a man to her own heart. His question, vocalized, was on Nevae’s mind too. Gaze skipped to designated Captain, eager to hear response.

Answer, however, was cut short by timely entrance. A man, before unseen by slender cleric, stood before Caleb. Introduction was sent forth in form of song and violin, announcing himself bard before all. Ah, the replacement has arrived. Nevae had great fondness for music. Her order, the priestesses of Auril, sang songs of praise and worship constantly, though it seemed inappropriate with the lack of cold air at present. Soon, when winters came, she would sing again. Still, a chill air was about and perhaps a praise or two would pass time in travel…

Caleb spoke, departure announced and venture set forth. She moved, disappearing into the tress. Nevae looked to Veilyn and Caine who stood beside her, a small curtsey-as best as could be done with shining and heavy shield on back- given to her comrades. “Gentlemen,” and the term was used loosely to both, “Shall we?”

The night air felt crisp around Uglúk's bare buttocks and his overgrown cock which was lightly swollen. It could have been the Clerics's blaring knee to his groin earlier that evening. Then again could have just been the feel of her itself. So nice and taut. And those buttocks? Yes, it was definitively worth the sharp jabbing pain then, and the yearning to be between her warm thighs now. It gave him a feel of those sinuous legs, right? That smooth, soft skin almost creamy in texture just above her knee as it rose to meet his loosely hanging self beneath his animal hide 'kilt'.

Damn were they solid!

Although the pain was certainly real enough, even HE would think twice about rubbing her ass like it belonged to him in the first place. Perhaps it should...Hmmmm. The Orc was getting side tracked from his purpose. He was hunting. Naked as was his tribe’s traditional rights. Like Druids and Rangers, the Elk tribe was far removed from the bustle of the city. They were nature driven folks, although guided by the Foehammer, Lord of Battles--Tempus. They were war-like and quite savage. Nevertheless, while they took from their indigenous enemies; Orcs, other tribes and goblin-kind they could be civilized enough to enter cities and towns. Mainly to sell their wares.

Uglúk's uncanny sense of smell, and his incredible ability to see in utter darkness both inherited traits of his Orcish father who--after he had raped his Uthgardtian mother in a plunder of one of their villages along the Desserrin River, proved invaluable. He could hunt and track game for miles. With his naked body, he carried a spear, not his infamous long-bearded axe. The slate rock tip, a crude primitive design but nonetheless surprisingly ingenious ploy for an Orc known for his volatile temper, lewdness and lose tongue and little regard for authority.

Perhaps that was why he had been convicted and tried to death. He knew not and cared for as little.

Coated on the edge of the spear, a neurotoxin from a serpent he had snatched up. What he was hunting for the Cleric's approval was quite dangerous. If the playing field wasn't leveled a bit, he would head back with no pelt and plenty of scars to prove he was a worthless shit. He'd show her! He came around the bend slowly stalking his prey. His naked body flexing muscles others only dreamed they had. His biceps were about as large as dwarves’ head and just as stout while his hand could grip a man's skull and him quite still. If not, his thumb might apply pressure and no one but the Orc wanted that.

Before him his prey item: a brown bear. His 'boar' tusks sneered more as his right arm drew back taking with it the spear. The creature would momentarily have no idea what was about to happen. He thrust the spear through the air, lodging it well past the creature's thick hide. I snarled in pain turning to face it, perhaps even remedy it. Seeing the bear try and bite at the heft of the spear, Uglúk himself charged over. He grabbed the shaft and with the shaft driving the spear even further into its innards.

The poison entered the blood stream. Carried towards the heart rather than away--such was the nature of a weapon that 'thrust', 'pierced' or 'stabbed. It created suction with the pressure of the inside cavity. The highly modified saliva of the reptile impacted the bear's coherence as much as the pain. Uglúk had been taught to expect, even garner its effects when used on a creature--or somebody. It warranted an anesthesia like state where struggle was impossible, only inevitability was to ensue.

He couldn't very much say the bear didn't feel it robbing it of its life. That it was painless. But it was easy.
At one point during the bears frenzied growls and his feral grunts, Uglúk placed his bare foot on the creatures hip and snapped the shaft of the weapon making it too short to pull out any longer.

"There! Pull that out you sum bitch! "Uglúk growled and lifted what ordinarily would be a small boulder but in his hands look like just a rock due to their size. Kicking a weakened bear over by forcefully 'snapping' his knee outwardly, the poison also having an effect seizing the bear's muscles involuntarily. Uglúk set to motion, the savage act of smashing the creatures cranial. So lost was he in the violence that it washed him red with blood. His heart was a thunderous one, pounding away with large exhales through his some-what human looking nose in gusts and blasts.

His enormous chest hardly seemed like it were fluctuating at all. Sweat gleaned from his bare naked poise as he tore the head of the spear out. Blood came out in a geyser. A small one but he had severed a major artery that still had pressure built up inside the plexus. The Orc, like his brutish relatives and the savages of the Uthgardt set about the laborious task of cleaning and skinning the animal meticulously. The fiber of flesh and sinew being carved by steady hands--if any one saw how good he was at this it would only promise to prove his intimidation.

By the time he finished, and washed the pelt of blood--it was morning. His Orcish eyes, small but retaining the blue-grey of storm clouds like those of his mother squinted. It wasn't so much the light hurt him in anyway, it was just a nuisance. He ate what he could of the bear, deciding to leave the rest to be carrion and scraps for other wildlife and took the pelt he had sheared off and ambled of towards the group, his nose leading the way. He had hardly missed the crowd--if not for the shrewd woman who teased his thoughts with her supple breasts and taut buttocks--the fighter was surely of the same mind at least when it came concerning battles.

Cain was a stout man--for a human. As stout as any dwarf. He couldn't complain too much...There were...elven folk about. Those scrawny toothed-picked sons of bitches pissed him off. How the hell did they walk on snow anyways? Fucking faeries. They mine as well bee nymphs! He could chuck one if he could catch first. That's another thing. They were sly and arrogant too! Uglúk snarled, walking into camp in the nude showing his well-hung proportions passive-aggressively. About the only thing about the Orc the was the least bit "passive".

Ambling over to the blond seductress, he rolled his enormous shoulder--nearly twice that of Cain's. He wasn't competing in any way, or maybe he was it was hard to tell, he was an Orc of Tempus. He eyed her up and down, making damn sure he knew where her leg was. "There," Uglúk grunted at her, his scarred face in intimidating to any one elses. "That ought to keep you warm till I can." He chuckled, though, with an Orc they looked cocky all the time with their perpetual sneer. His upper body 'rocked' as he laughed before he turned to dawn his own hide armor and lift up an ace that he could uncannily weild with frightful ease. The blade looked bloodstained all the time, and the long-bearded axe head was deliberately chipped as if to take out chunks as it rent flesh.

"Oh, looks like we got ourselves a brand new fop... At least this one can carry a tune," Caine said upon the not-so-subtle arrival of their new bard. Lively and bright, just like one would expect a bard to be. Caine chuckled. At least they had entertainment for the road ahead. "Play me a diddy Johnny!" Caine called out, not hiding his amusement. It seemed though, if he was to get his request, then that request would have to be fulfilled on the road. Their captain began to move out, with them behind her. Caine made she that his sword and shield was secure and that his shortsword was within reach just in case things got nasty on the road. As one would expect with the title of a fighter, he was always wary of a fight. At the bidding of Nevae, Caine shrugged, "Let's," and they were off. Before long, they had entered the forest.

Off to the side, Caine heard something in the brush. His hand went to his sword, and awaited the beast to show itself... And the beast did. In all of it's dangly glory. "That's... One hell of a way to start the mission..." Caine said, quickly shifting his line-of-sight elsewhere, anywhere that didn't inevitably lead to the newly arrived Orc's... Package. Ugluk was a decent enough of a man himself-- if you could call an Orc a man. Loud, boisterous, and always wanting for a good battle. They were alike in many regard... Except this one. Caine didn't like to traipse around in the buff (not that he was ashamed of anything mind, just that... It got chilly). Now the sudden appearance of the orc (all of him) had caught Caine offguard. He stole a glance from Veilyn, who was handling it about as well as he was.

"So the hunt... Went, uh, well then?" Caine asked trying to do anything to get his mind off of the Orc's bit. Noticeably, Caine said this behind a curtain of fingers. Surely he wasn't the only one who found this a might bit awkward. Hah, the fighter, awkward, he didn't he'd ever see the day. Perhaps if Caine hadn't been trying to shield his eyes, he could see the pelt that Ugluk had returned with. Alas. He couldn't imagine what was going through Nevae's mind, and he almost pitied the poor girl... almost.

But like all good things, they must come to an end. Ugluk found his hide armor and Caine gave a prayer to Tymora. "Oh thank Tymora," he muttered, " he found his clothes,". This time, Veilyn was the one to venture a glance at Caine. His only answer was a subdued shrug and a shake of the head. Things were off to a smashing start... As it stood, it would take an entire tavern's worth of alcohol to cleanse the visage from his mind.

With the first of the day's ordeals managed, Caine continued forth.

Nevae
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The small crowd dissipated at leisure, splitting off in singles and pairs and disappearing into the trees. Last words had been dismissal, directive given and direction taken. Slender femme had paused for escort, eager for small chatter to help sands of time slip quicker through the glass. The journey would be long, and no doubt arduous, but promise of fortune helped to grease the way. The drow and fighter combination promised amusement in the lull between tasks. Her smile was pleasant as she waited with false patience, first steps falling behind the bulkier of the three and followed lastly by her favourited companion of recent.

Still, scant few steps were taken as cerulean eyes scanned the tree line ahead. Another member was quick to join the entourage. The figure was swaddled in navy robes, hood drawn to shadow face from view save lips which had just finished moving; was the stranger speaking to himself? Curious. Quick glance slipped from shaded head to clothed toe taking in bow and staff, and settled on glistening trinkets. The slim male had an aura of maliciousness, though not quite as prickling as the recently departed Crowcatcher. From staff to herbed-pouch, and less than battle-worthy attire, Nevae would bet her prized possessions on a magic user, though she’d never been a gambling woman. Her hand rose, lips parting to call out in friendly greeting, but movement was stopped short by a rather more drawing entrance.

It was heavy footfall reminiscent of beast that drew gaze from wayward newcomer. To say new sights were revealing was an understatement at best, figure emerging from trees stark naked in all his morning glory. One fell look was taken before blonde locks turned head in feigned modesty, delicate fingers moved from started wave to block view. The feel of thick, coarse fur and a grunting omission was what drew her gaze back to her, a pelt thrust into her arms with lew remarks punctuating the gift and promise. Or was it a threat? Nevae mused it was dependent on point of view. Azure eyes rose to the hulking half-orc, friendly smile quickly vanishing.

Scarred features were quick to return flashes of the evening before, memories she had buried with a good night’s rest. Still, the violation and depravity of action returned to present mind, and while the hard jolt of her knee slamming into the offender’s package brought forth unending satisfaction, her mood was sobered. Ugluk was barbaric at best, a distaste for less than refined manners clear in Nevae’s drastically altered mood. Dainty nose wrinkled and gaze dropped to the twenty-pound skin that had been thrown into her arms unceremoniously, disposition further marred by innuendo. "That ought to keep you warm till I can."

It was only with practiced patience that she managed to swallow the anger growing within her breast. Warm? She was the Frostmaiden’s priestess, devoted to the cold winds, originally born to the nomadic tribes of the northern frosts, she quietly mused, dry irony still not lightening atmosphere.

“Auril granting, I’ll stay cold until the day I die.” She quipped shrewedly.

For a brief moment she examined the gift, an item of much more value to her than the ‘package’ that delivered it. The pelt was untarnished, expertly skinned and cleaned in a skill that seemed out of place when taking in the brutish hand that carved it. The fur would need to be bleached and dyed to colours appropriate to faith, but it would fetch a pretty penny. Perhaps she’d find use for the orc yet. While her dainty frame gave impression of encumbered on view of shield, mace and monstrous skin, she was stronger than she looked and had an arsenal of spells to aid her. Regardless, the idea of traipsing through thicket with arms full was foolish and something less than ladylike.

Vision, once more, shifted to the large half-being (who had just returned, slightly more decent) with expression softening. Eyelashes batted in manipulative exhibition, lips softening to pull at a smile—though whether to lighten mood or in response to Caine’s relief it wasn’t clear. ”Carry this, please? I hardly have the strength to carry around this carcass all day, and the Captain has disappeared with that bag of holding. ”

A pause, before she threw in her own innuendo just for good measure; ”And well, you’re just so large, I’m sure this little thing is nothing for you to throw around.”

Smile pulled a little wider, amused again at the play of words. Head tilted to her companions, urging them to continue. Nevae let the skin fall to the ground before starting after Veilyn again, there was still a ways to go before the caravan and something told her that the walk just got a little longer. The cleric sighed softly to herself.