0
followers
follow

Neria Imat-Rak

A sand assassin from the wastelands from the Raktakash Sand Tribe.

0 · 68 views · located in Pryholt Ruins

a character in “Terra”, as played by Maree

Groups

The followers of Dhaelhel, The Old God of the Sky, and those that seek to prevent Naar rising into absolute power in order to preserve Terra.

Description

Image

So begins...

Neria Imat-Rak's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Grogthal Character Portrait: Neria Imat-Rak

0.00 INK

#, as written by Maree
The storm of sand died. The sand began to move across the ground and gather into a mound. Each and every single piece of sand began building the figure of the woman. When it was complete, Neria was stood in the ruins. When her eyes opened, the sand assassin began to move.

She searched for signs of the daemons, the Ork, and the dragon. It was the Ork that she had found first. The woman stopped and decided upon which path to take. Neria could leave him to his own devices or she could assist the green-skin. The nature of good in her compelled the woman to aid the Ork but the cold-hearted killer inside Neria said to walk away.

Neria's mouth twisted beneath her mask. She sheathed her enchanted blades and reached for the unconscious Ork. Several curses later and kicks to his body, Neria was able to drag him to a crumbling building inside the ruins.

It must have at one time been a cathedral. The skeletons of the building outlined a massive arched roof. There were metallic pews lined up through the middle of the room, some where scattered or overturned, even missing altogether. An altar lay crumbling as the center piece of the entire room. There was a rusted statue of some woman with wings and a robe draped over her body.

Neria dropped Grogthal onto the ground, or the half she had been lugging behind her. She slumped against a wall, and laid her head against it. She closed her eyes for a moment as sweat trickled down her temples.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Grogthal Character Portrait: Neria Imat-Rak

0.00 INK

A few short moments after Neria had dropped him, the Ork had awakened. Not quite in his senses yet, he lumbers up on hands and knees and looks around, taking in his surroundings. He thought for a moment he was in a shrine to Agramak; which, commonly, were little more than shrines to other Gods that were destroyed by war parties.

He slowly became aware of the figure resting against the wall nearby. He didn't recognize her. Certainly not a Legionnaire, judging by her attire. He stares at her for a moment. As an Ork, he was pretty much attracted to anything that looked female, and, in his semi-delirious state, he couldn't keep the wide, lecherous grin off his face.

She wasn't an Ork, of course, which would always be a personal preference. As such he didn't do anything beyond thank Agramak for the salvation and the gift. Blinking himself brighter, somewhat, he realizes he wasn't looking at a gift, but an actual person.

Sitting up, then falling back onto his rump, he grunts a couple Orkish curses before rubbing his head. He became acutely aware of the mass of dried blood around his nose at that point, and he looks at the woman again.

"Who are you, then," he finally says, his voice deep and rough, and surprisingly well-spoken in Common.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Grogthal Character Portrait: Neria Imat-Rak

0.00 INK

#, as written by Maree
"Good," Neria said without opening her eyes. "You are alive. I would have been very disappointed if you had died after I drug you body through the ruins. You could stand to lose some weight, Ork," the assassin said before she opened her eyes. The look Neria gave to the Ork wasn't a pleasing one.

"Who I am is none of your business, green-skin," Neria answered the Ork as she stood up from the debris covered ground. "I am just the person that saved your life and nothing more. I do not need to be thanked," she said, gesturing with her hand to stop him if he wanted to speak.

Neria turned her back to the Ork. An array of strange markings and symbols were tattooed into her skin in red ink. They were transmutation circles. The woman was staring out through a hole in the wall (there were many) and she was scanning for the daemons and the dragon.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Grogthal Character Portrait: Neria Imat-Rak

0.00 INK

Greenskin. She was a prejudiced one, then. Grothal scoffs out a laugh as he stands shakily on his feet. Patting himself down, he was pleased to find all of his armament- and limbs- still attached. Licking his palm, he rubs some of the dry blood from his face while he lumbers his way over to Neria.

His eyes were raking her backside as he approached, for reasons both male and professional. "You could have removed a limb or two, if you've the strength," he jests.

He might have spoken with a loud boom just to amuse himself, but she was clearly on the look-out, and he remembered the Demons, and the Dragon.

And the Paladin.

More serious, he settles himself next to her and also peers through a hole in the stone. "Why save a mere Greenskin like myself," he goads quietly, trying to get his bearings. "If not for thanks, then for some other payment." He flickers his gaze towards her briefly, his eyes red and a smirk twisting his massive mouth.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Grogthal Character Portrait: Neria Imat-Rak

0.00 INK

#, as written by Maree
Neria's eyes looked back at the Ork. It seemed he was offended by her calling him what he was. It was not a word of prejudice to Neria, but a statement of fact.

"Life is precious, all of it is to be preserved," Neria stated. "I called you a green-skin because you skin is green. Do not mark my words for hatred of your kind. I find honor is your race. You Orks are very good fighters and I would rather have a green-skin at my back in battle than a human."

"And I do not have a lust for you. I do not appreciate the grin on your face," Neria snapped at him in a quiet tone. "Remove it," she ordered. Neria walked away from the crumbling wall. She sat down on the ground and began to look at her hand. It was dissolving away into sand.

Neria cursed beneath her breath. She had been away from her Tribe Lands for too long. She drew out a strange and long piece of wood. It almost looked like a wand but the tip was made of a fine blade. Neria started to carve a circle into her arm.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Grogthal Character Portrait: Neria Imat-Rak

0.00 INK

The woman's demands that he remove his grin only made it bigger, in truth. With a dull rumble of a laugh, he too steps away from the wall to watch her walk away.

He noticed her dissolving arm, but didn't question it. Wasn't much of his business, when it boiled down to it. Still, he did feel a kinship with her, as a warrior. Ritualistic carving, simple views of battle. That was all he could ask for.

"Fine," he says eventually, allowing his face to relax. "Then if you demand nothing of me, I have another favor to ask you."

He walks in front of her and crouches, watching her work on her arm. It was a curiosity for him to pay attention to while he spoke. "The Dragon was holding an ally of mine hostage. I need to find her. Do you happen to have any idea where he or she went?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Grogthal Character Portrait: Neria Imat-Rak

0.00 INK

#, as written by Maree
"The paladin headed north," Neria said as she diligently marked herself. The blade did not draw blood from her which was a curious thing. Either it was enchanted to not draw blood or the woman simply did not bleed. The degeneration of her hand stopped when it was completed. Neria was now missing several fingers and part of her palm.

"As for the dragon, I am not too sure. I was too busy saving your life by dumping a rock onto the daemon about to kill you. I do not want your thanks," Neria said to the Ork.

"If you want help in tracking down your friend, I am willing to offer you payment. However, as you can see, I am having difficulties holding myself together. I need to return to the Raktakash Lands," Neria said, showing him her hand. She touched the center of the new circle and the sand that had dripped from her fingers began to return.

"It took a lot of energy to save you life, and if I plan to preserve mine, there will be no other choice but to go back to my people."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Grogthal Character Portrait: Neria Imat-Rak

0.00 INK

Grogthal rubs his chin somewhat. Then he laughs grimly. "You ask nothing in return, and yet remind me of how much you risked by saving my life."

Then he grunts up to a standing position and looks around. He didn't have the best sense of direction, especially not in a new land such as this. "I think my course is clear, then," he rumbles out. "I will accompany you to this Rakatash. Then I will hire you to assist me in finding my Paladin."

He nods at this, then looks back down at her slowly regenerating hand. "Which way is north," he asks then. "And Rakatash, is which way?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Grogthal Character Portrait: Neria Imat-Rak

0.00 INK

#, as written by Maree
"Raktakash," Neria correct the Ork. Her 'r' rolled off the end of her tongue. In fact, her accent was very heavy. Common may not have been her first language, but she spoke it well.

"What business does a Paladin have with an Ork," Neria asked the green-skin. She stood back up and tucked the 'wand' away into her boot. There was little room else where that it could have been kept. For a moment, Neria's intense blue eyes looked at the Ork. It was all that showed on her face. Neria had yet to reveal her full face.

There was a very small chance that the sand assassin would ever reveal her full identity.

"Come," Neria said, leading them toward the southern exit of the ruins.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Grogthal Character Portrait: Neria Imat-Rak

0.00 INK

Grogthal follows, taking another moment to gaze at her backside. He wondered if all the markings were due to her rituals, keeping herself tethered to the realm. Such things were beyond him, in truth.

"We fought in battle as one army," he says in reply, eventually coming up alongside the woman. He kept scanning their surroundings, just in case. "She and I happened to be survivors falling under the same banner." He decided not to speak more on the matter.

It occurred to him that they had not exchanged names. Not that it mattered; he took her to be a professional, as he was. Professionals need not know one another on a name basis. He was Greenskin to her, and she was 'You', 'Lady,' or 'Hey'. Depending on the situation.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Grogthal Character Portrait: Neria Imat-Rak Character Portrait: Jon

0.00 INK

#, as written by Gasmask
The satyr had covered his head in a hood and mask combination, stumbling out of the sand and kicking clumps of sand from his furry legs, kicking his cloven hooves against one of the nearby metallic pillars. "Bloody sand. Enuugh' of the damn stuff already." Jon drawled to himself, pulling himself up a ruined step and patting himself down for his beloved bottle.

The satyr found it, pulled his facemask off, poured water all over his face and drizzling it down his gullet. The sand was atrocious out there, even when it wasn't storming, being a wanderer was harder work than staying in that damn old temple on that mountain with the rest of those hero types.

The satyr had come though the southern exit, at least he thought he had from the distance of the sun in the sky, or maybe that was a bunch of sand in the corner of his eye, the satyr flicked sleep and sand from his eyes and shook his legs a little more. Jon capped his bottle and hung it from his belt, rounding a corner and came upon two figures infront of him.

Jon grinned clumsily and backed up around the corner. An ork and some thiefy' looking type, never a good combo. Jon thought to himself. Bandits? Probably. The satyr rounded the corner once again and held up his hands and gave them a look over his black and yellow eyes.

"Ach. Look, I dun' hae' any gold for you, just a lot of sand, aye?" The satyr made sure his hands didn't wander to the hilt of the claymore perched upon his back, that'd be a bad move with the big tough looking ork and the... Jon's mind went elsewhere when he finally paid attention, the satyr bucked his head upwards and grinned that clumsily nervous smile.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Grogthal Character Portrait: Neria Imat-Rak Character Portrait: Jon

0.00 INK

#, as written by Maree
Neria nodded at the greenskin's explanation. She could understand the need to find a lost battle companion; a Rhakat, she assumed. A Rhakat was a person that was designated to fight with another as a pair. The two trained together, lived together, ate and slept together, and did all things together. Nothing could be done without their Rhakat or without their Rhakat's approval.

Neria explained what a Rhakat was to the Ork and asked if the paladin was his before a strange creature stepped out from behind a corner.

The woman immediately stopped and reached back in preparation of unsheathing her blades. Neria's eyes grew hard as the satyr looked at her in the same lecherous way that all men looked at her.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Grogthal Character Portrait: Neria Imat-Rak Character Portrait: Jon

0.00 INK

"She is not my Racket," Grogthal replies. He would have gone on to explain what she was, before the Satyr showed up.

That was something Grogthal was familiar with. Satyr were a smaller member-state of the Entellen-Tekto Alliance. Grogthal hadn't really seen many in battle, most of them tended towards the arts. During the few Entellen wars he had partaken, they usually stood on the sidelines and watched, running bets occasionally.

They were cowards, in his eyes, and cowards always amused him.

When he had stopped and mentioned his lack of gold, Grogthal had a distinct lack of care on his face as he keeps walking. If the Satyr didn't move, Grogthal would be right on him soon. If he DID move, Grogthal would still be tracking him, a grin on his face. "Hello," he says, in crude-common.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Grogthal Character Portrait: Neria Imat-Rak Character Portrait: Jon

0.00 INK

#, as written by Gasmask
When the woman reached for her blades, he reached for his own, his hand tightening around the hilt of his hand-and-a-half length sword, the sand would've gotten in the sheath, which would be a problem. The satyr was no coward, he'd been in battle more than he could count, still, the ork came off as a bit smug with that look on his face.

Jon held out his gauntlet covered hand in a friendly gesture. Offer friendship with one hand, offer wraith with the other, that was something the satyr had learned from his mother. If it was a fight the ork wanted, it was a fight he'd get.

"You're not here to rob me then, ork?"

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Grogthal Character Portrait: Neria Imat-Rak Character Portrait: Jon

0.00 INK

#, as written by Maree
"He is not here to rob you," Neria said. Her position did not change. She was still wary and distrustful. At another time she would have been more discreet about her stance on the horned-man. He was not a daemon but he was not a human either. Neria was lost on his species.

"The Ork and I are traveling down south. Now if you please, we are on a tight time schedule. Step aside, creature," Neria demanded.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Grogthal Character Portrait: Neria Imat-Rak Character Portrait: Jon

0.00 INK

"Not a robber, Satyr, and you dishonor me by the suggestion," Grogthal replies as he crosses his arms. He might have replied something brutally rude about the Satyr's own origins, but Neria's words beat him to it.

Turning sideways, to make sure he doesn't show his back to the other man, he regards Neria. "He's a Satyr. Usually cowards, this one actually seems to have some balls." He laughs, well meaning but antagonistic all the same. The way of the Entellen Tekto was constant warfare, even among its member states. It was just natural.

Looking back to the man, he nods affirmation. "We are in a hurry, and want no trouble. We'll be going."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Grogthal Character Portrait: Neria Imat-Rak Character Portrait: Jon

0.00 INK

#, as written by Gasmask
The satyr backed up to let them though, gesturing towards the exit with his hands. There was a lazy manner about him as he lifted his hand off the sword and lowered his hand. "Better get goin' then. Yae' don't want to run into a sand storm." The satyr shrugged at them and pressed his back against one of the ruined columns


"You know, with yer' looks, maybe threatenin' and rude isn't the way to go?" The satyr laughed, he could be just as bawdy as the ork, maybe even bawdier if you got him drunk enough. The satyr gestured towards the northern exit, flourishing his arms with a shake of his head.

"It was nice meeting an ork who wasn't stupid enough to hit first and his silent companion but yeh' best get goin' if you're in that much of a rush."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Grogthal Character Portrait: Neria Imat-Rak Character Portrait: Jon

0.00 INK

#, as written by Maree
Neria was not a murderer. She was a honorable fighter and a fierce killer, but she did not murder. It took a great resolve and several years of training to not lose her temper. Neria wanted nothing more than to kill the satyr (as the Ork had explained) right where he stood.

"I would be more mindful of your words, satyr," Neria said with a curious gleam in her eye. "Some may not take so lightly your hidden threats." She placed a hand on the Ork as if to stop him from charging. She did not personally know the green-skin nor how far he could be insulted. Each Ork was different.

They did not need a fight, not yet and not while Neria was literally falling to pieces.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Grogthal Character Portrait: Neria Imat-Rak Character Portrait: Jon

0.00 INK

Grogthal simply laughs at the series of retorts. He was aware of Neria's restraining hand on him, but he pats it off to show he was not going to do anything she might consider brash. "If you're calling me attractive, Satyr, you are crawling into the wrong den." Then, to Neria, he speaks further as he begins to walk past the Satyr.

"Don't mind him. He is not from my land, I think, but he seems only slightly different. They're not much of a threat, even armed with a Warmaster's blade."

"Let's get you home. Maybe we will meet again, Satyr, under more interesting circumstances. May your eagle fly true."