Description

Name
Dreador (Drey-ah-dor)

Archetype
Drow Assassin

Age
113

Bbcode
#1E2452

Theme
Attack on Vah Naboris (Legend of Zelda, Breath of the Wild)

Appearance
Dreador can be described most simply as a sliver of midnight. Her features disappear amidst her dark skin just as easily as she does in shadows, and the deep blues and blacks of her attire practically melt into her limber figure. Her black hair is streaked with silver and sprawling across her skin is a smattering of bright white freckles that could be mistaken for stars. But what is most startling about her appearance are her eyes. Unlike most drow, they are sky blue - and set into a permanent glare. Whether that is considered like most drow depends on who you ask.

Personality
For those who take the chance to brave past Dreador's glare, and attempt to make contact with the sweetheart beneath... your efforts will, undoubtedly, go unrewarded. Hot-tempered, foul-mouthed Dreador does not want to be your friend. On the contrary, she wants to seek out your insecurities and exploit them at every turn, which one can only assume is for no other reason than her own enjoyment. She holds a particularly venomous distaste for orcs, elves and The Order of The Sacred Flame. Sometimes you may catch a glimpse of sadness and maturity in her gaze as she watches the sky, but whatever there is to be uncovered is buried under a heavy layer of vitriol.

Skills

Dual Wielding - Hilgur keeps two strangely shaped swords in his possession that he never uses. One is silver, the other ebony black and crafted from unknown materials. You're pretty sure they must have belonged to Dreador.
Stealth - You have never heard her footsteps.
REDACTED

History
Imprisoned by The Order of The Sacred Flame for the brutal murder of the head of a Beaucourtisan noble house, and charged with other homicides since, Dreador was deemed too dangerous for involuntary servitude and was set for execution. She was saved by Hilgur Black-Mane, who bought her not-so-legally to be his own personal attendant. She now spends her days in chains 'humbling' herself by tending to the expedition party's chores - all but for anything involving their food.

She refuses to talk about her past. The only give-away is her accent... she did not spend her past century in Zoltia.

So begins...

Dreador's Story

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#2020-09-15 09:21:05, as written by druidquest

Anaïs pulled her hand against her stomach when Hilgur released it, rubbing her fingers together in an attempt to will away to intense desire to wash her hands. "I don't know about the one human scholar," she said with a slight titter. "Gala-Dor's just… I mean, we get claims like that at least once every couple of- we just aren't really afforded the budget to go chasing after every groundless rumor, and the nobility isn't exactly the most academically minded, so..."

Anaïs's voice trailed off again, and she cleared her throat to try and get herself back on track. "An-anyway, rather than funding, I was actually hoping to, um." Her eyes lingered on the "necklace" for the briefest of moments, tracing its length from Hilgur's hand to the drow woman's throat. "Sign on."

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#2020-09-19 08:34:01, as written by CabbageAngel

Lio gave the group a flat look with burning red eyes. "You sorted?" He snapped, sniffed, then shook his head. "...Sorry. Here, let me get it."

He gripped the door handle and pulled, the ice cracking against his strength - then it flung open, and he ducked out the way with it, and Ashera's bowstring sprang back as the arrow flew through the doorway.

Though Dreador looked still, beneath her hood, her eyes were darting about in sync with her rush of thoughts. She followed the twitch of Anais's fingers, the hand on her chain, the woman's glances at it. Her chin lifted, just enough to raise her sky-blue eyes to meet hers with a wary expression. She lifted a dark, slender finger and wound the silver chain around it. And tugged.

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#2020-09-21 05:45:34, as written by druidquest

Anaïs caught sight of a thin dark finger curl around the silver chain and tug it loosely in the drow woman’s direction. Her eyes shot to the bare glimpse of a sharp chin beneath the hood, then to Hilgur, then to the bridge they were standing on. Her eyes trailed something only she could see - the path of a guard patrol which had been across the bridge some twenty minutes earlier. If they kept to the usual schedule…

”I’m so sorry, I didn’t catch your name.” Anaïs turned to face the drow more fully, her elbow angling ever so slightly between her and the dwarf she was bound to. Not enough to be suspicious, but enough to act, even a little, as a divider between them. She was speaking ever so slightly louder as well - just enough to make sure they were noticed, without being conspicuous. ”Are you a member of the expedition, or- he’s looking for funding, right? Are you a representative of a possible financier?”

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#2020-09-26 04:19:59, as written by CrossKnight35

Hilgur's thick, sausage-like fingers caressed his beard as he listened to Anais. His bushy mustache and beard hid it well, but his bunched cheeks and squinted eyes were filled with glee, her contempt for him flown way over his head. "Oho! Another one joins the expedition. And you sought me outside of the Jackalope, too. I approve of your enthusiasm!"

As they talked, Anais slid between Hilgur and his drow, talking to the latter. The dwarf's brows furrowed, and his black eyes glinted sharply. The drow hesitated to speak and looked to Hilgur, as if asking for permission. "She's my assistant." His smile returned, but this time it didn't reach his eyes. "You need not concern yourself with her, lass. She's with us for cleaning. Only the cleaning." She bowed her head, flicking her big eyes up to Anais like a wounded animal.

Just then, two Sacred Flame guards emerged on the centre of the bridge, their chain suit crinkled, their armour plates scraped together, and their bucket-like helms bore fire-coloured feathers arranged in an arc. They slowed their steps, and turned their attention towards Anais, Dreador, and Hilgur.

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#2020-09-26 11:24:17, as written by druidquest

Anaïs turned her head ever so slightly to look at Hilgur over her shoulder, a frigid contempt in her pale blue eye that hadn't been there before. "It's rude to answer for other people."

The clank of metal sabatons at the end of the bridge was a clocktower bong alerting her to the limits of subtlety. Slavery might be illegal in Beaucourt, but Anaïs knew well enough that the guards wouldn't look twice at a drow unless they were forced to, and without the weight of noble status behind her words public declarations would just be handwaved away with false promises of an "investigation". No, the knights would need either an explicit acknowledgement of the crime from Hilgur, or they would need to arrive to that conclusion themselves before their oaths would compel them to act. But how to go about doing that? Hmm hmm hmm???

"I love your necklace!" Anaïs declared loudly, stepping closer to the drow and framing the silver collar around her neck with splayed fingers. Their noses were mere inches apart; Anaïs had no doubt the drow's first instinct would be to step back, and Hilgur's would be to pull her back into place. "You simply must tell me where you got it!"

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#2020-09-26 19:39:40, as written by CrossKnight35

"It's rude to answer for other people."

Hilgur’s face scrunched up in response.

"I love your necklace! You simply must tell me where you got it!"

The drow acted just as Anais had predicted - she jerked back defensively as the scholar intruded into her space. Her bare foot slid across the stone road and her knees bent into a position to either lunge or run. Hilgur tugged the chain, something she flinched against. Then came the clanging of sabatons, and she froze. The visage of a frightened, abused animal dropped. The drow glanced over her shoulder at the guards calling for her master’s attention, then looked back to Anais, her chin lifted.

“The Sacred Flame,” the drow answered, unusually accented, with something that could be construed as pride.

“Hold there!” One to the guards commanded. Hilgur straightened up, passing a dirty look to Anais on the way. ”Yes, guard. What can I help ya with?” His growl barely coming through gritted teeth.

The other guard glanced at the dwarf’s ‘companion’. His body stiffened up at the sight of the chained drow. “Sir, I need to see the papers for your servant,” he demanded, his voice calm yet wary. The drow stared Anais down through it all with open resentment for the situation.

Hilgur rolled his eyes. ”Hmph! Is it cause I’m a dwarf? You think I’m not respecting your laws, son?” He muttered and fumbled into his pockets. And fumbled some more. And a little more. His brows furrowed, and the colour left his face. ”Err, I must have misplaced it back in the Jackalope. I… didn’t expect the need to lug the blasted things around, you see.”

The guards seemed unimpressed. One of them rested his palm upon the hilt of his arming sword. The drow blinked. She glanced from Anais between Hilgur and the guards, mind alert behind those bright blue eyes. Doubt. There couldn’t be -

The dwarf cleared his throat and shrugged. ”Look, I acquired her lawfully from one of your Captains. Jean-Pierre-something-or-other. Take it up with him if you don’t trust me, aye?”

The guards eyed him for a moment. Their helmets obscured all emotions, but their guarded posture showed no evidence of trust. “Stand aside, citizens. We need to inspect the property.” One guard drew his blade, keeping an eye on the latter as he approached the drow. She drew back and up to her full height, eyes fixed on the blade, Her chest rose and fell quicker as he came closer. The lines on her neck tightened. She didn’t dare move her feet. A thick leather glove reached for her hood and pulled it down.

Hilgur breathed a sigh of relief. The drow shut her eyes, with futility and embarrassment.

There, upon the nape of her neck, seared into the flesh. The ring-shaped scar like an eclipse against her dark skin. A mark reserved only for the worst of transgressors. The mark of a murderer. Her eyes flashed open at the guard with his hands on her, and bared her teeth at him, canines flashing. A warning growl omitted from her chest, ending in a sharp click, click, click of her tongue. Sounding more like the purr of a beast and chatter of an insect than a person. He backed off immediately.

“Whoa, there,” he hushed her, then gave Hilgur a concerned look, “You have a lot of faith in that chain considering the severity of that mark. What was she branded for?”

Hilgur glanced towards Anais and answered.

”The Ducard family.”

The guards recoiled, in the exact same instant that the drow dashed into action. Her hand gripped the chain as she darted to Anais faster than Hilgur could pull her back. The chain spun around the scholar’s neck and pressed against her back, her pointed chin digging into Anais’s shoulder.

“Ri’gat uns’aa alu!” The drow shouted, over the clamour of drawing swords. She tugged at her hostage, trying to ease them both out of Hilgur’s grasp. The chains around Anais’s neck were uncomfortable, but not biting. Her furious glare fell on Hilgur. “Dos orn ri'gat uns'aa alu, gorra'h, xor usstan orn nau'thal dos ulu straek. To death!” Steel flashed in her peripherals, and she spun, hissing at the approaching guard and pulling the chain. With restraint. Anais felt it. The drow was being careful with her.

The pedestrians, once content to ignore the private dispute, instantly scrambled and screamed for the guards. The Order’s clerics and knights emerged on either side of the bridge and brandished their maces, swords, and shields, closing off any avenues for escape.

The two guards closest to Drei and Anais raised their shields and assumed defensive postures. One of them raised his voice. “Drow! Let the woman go, or you won’t have a neck to be branded tomorrow!”

Hilgur had remained utterly calm through all this. He stared down the drow, with pitch-black eyes that sucked in all light. ”Keep yer britches on.” His shoulders shook up and down as he chuckled. ”She ain’t gonna hurt anybody.”

The other guard glanced at Hilgur from his peripherals. “This is not the time to peddle your nonsense, dwarf.”

Hilgur folded his arms, turned towards Anais, and quirked one brow.

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#2020-09-27 00:10:12, as written by druidquest

Anaïs put her hands up in a placating gesture, eye studying the knights and Hilgur in quick succession. Not quite what she had intended… but not necessarily a loss. If there was one thing the daughter of a noble house knew how to do well, it was spin. Flohlu un'saa," she whispered, her voice barely a breath.

"I'm okay!" Anaïs said as the guards circled with swords drawn. "I'm okay, really! She won't hurt me. Funny how desperate slaves will act sometimes, isn't it, Mr. Black-Mane?" She tittered slightly and gave a small, nervous grin as she spoke, though she leveled a sharply devious gaze at Hilgur.

"Ducard, though. There's a name, isn't it?" Anaïs continued, turning her eye back to the leader on the knights gathering on the bridge. "You know, the records at the archive-" She gestured with one hand to the golden sun stitched into the bottom of her robe. "-state the assassin in that crime was already lawfully executed. I know some people say all drow look the same, but to think someone would twist such a tragedy to their benefit! Though I suppose slandering the good name of a Sacred Flame paladin by suggesting he would engage in the illegal slave trade isn't too far beneath a man who'd falsify one of the order's brands to legitimize his crime, is it?"

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#2020-09-27 16:43:21, as written by CabbageAngel

The drow’s quick breaths slowed against Anais’s ear when she heard those words, Flohlu un'saa. Her dying language, on the tongue of the Beaucourtisan upper class. Butchered by that accent, but in these circumstances, the most beautiful melody she had ever heard. She looked to Hilgur, looking back at her with that calm, firm look he wore when he knew he was in control - and returned it.

“Funny how desperate slaves will act sometimes, isn't it, Mr. Black-Mane?"

Hilgur narrowed his eyes. The crowd watching from a safe distance whispered amongst each other. Anais had quickly turned this into a scene. Somehow, this soft-gutted, long-legged bint made him feel... threatened. His blood boiled at the thought.

One of the guards turned his head towards Hilgur. He scrutinised the dwarf for a moment, considering both his and Anais’ words. “Dwarf, you’re coming with us. We have some questions we’d like you to answer.”

The black-bearded dwarf clenched his fists and barked, ”This is NONSENSE! She’s not a slave, she’s a legally sanctioned-” The guard directed his sword towards Hilgur’s neck. The dwarf recoiled and tossed his hands up, peering at the cold steel which poked at his vulnerable flesh. Close, far too close for comfort. Several drops of sweat beaded upon his temple. He had an expedition to run, he couldn’t risk a harebrained outburst. Not here, not now.

The drow’s chain crumpled to the ground, curled yet still, like the image of a slithering snake. Her gaze followed it down.

The other guard kept his blade trained upon the blue-eyed drow. “You, Drow. We will detain you until we finish this investigation.” The first guard bound Hilgur’s arms behind his back and confiscated his axe. “Cooperate, and the truth may exonerate you. Resist, and your death will be all that matters.”

Hilgur glared the drow and Anais’ way, and raised one brow. The chain hissed as it trailed across the ground. The drow tugged Anais along, not forsaking her grip on the chain nor her newly gained “freedom.” The tip of the guard’s blade followed after her. Her eyes darted from each blocked exit, to the edge of the bridge. She gnashed her teeth as a guard took a step too close and backed them both to the bridge’s edge to glance over her shoulder. Ten feet above the water. Easy. Slowly, she undid the winding around Anais’s neck.

Without a word, she shoved Anais forward, right towards the sword that was targeted their way. The guard shouted and drew his blade back as the drow effortlessly perched on top the railing and moved to swan dive over the edge -

When she was jerked back. In the last second, a fraction from falling, being jerked, and snapping her neck. She rolled across the bridge and regained control of her momentum in a crouch, hissing at the guard who had run up to snatch her chain. She whipped her head between the sight of his sword and the hand that restrained her then dashed towards him, her hand curled like a cat’s paw and nails glinting. Her face stretched back into a threatening snarl.

BZZZZZZZT.

The drow’s body tensed up, freezing her in place. She grunted, straining against something… the buzzing, coming from the dainty silver collar tightening by itself around her neck. Spittle sprayed out from between her gritted teeth. Her gaze moved from the guard, to glare at Hilgur. The buzzing cut off, and her knees went weak, toppling her. The guards closed in to make their arrest.

Hilgur’s expression had relaxed once more. He was in control. If not of the situation, then at least of her. ”I told you. She ain’t hurting anybody.” His cheeks bunched up with a smirk. ”Couldn’t even think about it.”

The collar zapped her unmoving body once more.

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Zoltia

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#2020-10-01 06:20:26, as written by CrossKnight35

The southern Arc-en-Lume watchtower. One of the capital’s many holding cells laid here, beneath the floors upon floors of barracks. Here, under the dim, crackling torchlights and the incessant rattle of chains and shackles, the city’s many thieves, thugs, and other miscreants remained. Some awaited trial. Others hoped for bail or pardon. All, however, longed for freedom. Freedom from the rusted, blood-scented chains. From the stale, dusty air. From the possibility of a worse fate within the Siren’s Epitaph, Beaucourt’s most fortified prison, secluded deep within the western mountain range.

The sound of footsteps drew Iz’Hana’s ears. The bright yellow glow of a lantern peered down the spiral staircase just across his cell. His keen huntsman’s senses recognised these sounds. The familiar, metallic clink and clank of the guards’ steel sabatons, followed by the pitter-patter of footsteps, one with shorter, slower strides than the other.

The faceless armet of one guard looked straight at Iz’Hana. “Hey, Darkie. We’ve got a friend for ya.” The other guard cackled and dragged the bound form of a drow woman down the stairs, across the cobblestone floor, and in front of Iz’Hana’s cell. The first guard unlocked the door, and the second tossed the woman inside.

Thud!

Her lanky body rolled over the dust thrice over. The guards shut the door, and began to move along with their second prisoner - a stout dwarf, dressed in tattered rags, with beard and eyes as black as ink. “Guards, wait!” He shouted. The guards humoured him. The dwarf shuffled towards the drow woman, his arms bound behind his back and secured by the second guard. ”Don’t celebrate just yet,” he spoke, his voice a calm, low warning. ”The Sacred Flame are lookin’ through my room in the Jackalope this very moment. It’s only a matter of time.”

She spat through the bars, spraying it through her teeth and over his face like a snake spitting venom. “Inbau aturr ulu l’maerch, gorra’h,” she hissed, unable to hold back the laugh in her voice.

Hilgur bared his wide, block-like teeth, his face contorted with layers of wrinkles set by rage. ”NOBODY CAN STOP MY EXPEDITION!” “Alright, that’s enough,” The first guard decided, and dragged a screaming, squirming, incensed Hilgur away, deeper into the dungeons.

A flash of white darted across her dark face. As she turned around, she disposed of her grin, flicking her gaze over to the shadow in the corner. They were hers, with ashen skin and pale eyes more fitting of their kind. A short rolling of her tongue left her lips instinctively, ending on an inflection. A question. Then she frowned, remembering something, and tossed her head without waiting for an answer, slinking towards the other corner.

Zoltian drow. They weren’t hers.

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#2020-10-01 06:44:05, as written by StorminJericho

It was the hissing spit that really drew Iz’Hana’s focus; his head rolling upward in a languid, almost bored sort of fashion. His eyes narrowed on reflex as the Drow woman was shoved in with him, and he twitched as if to move towards her when she spat on the dwarf.

“Inbau aturr ulu l’maerch, gorra’h.” Hissed the woman, her words driving Iz’Hana’s eyebrows high. His body twitched as if to move forward, to protect this… This kindred, this one like him, like so many others. But no.

No instead, he sat calmly, holding his breath and his body as still as the grave. As still as an animal watching for an opening. The guards held one eye on him, one on the woman, and one on the now raging dwarf.

He got no such opening. They left, and locked him in with someone… Interesting.

His focus turned to the woman as he stood to his full height, his arms creaking the entire way up. His eyes, far darker than hers, locked on the woman’s form as she curled away.
The trill she gave before she did though…

Iz’Hana returned the trill, a deeper, somewhat guttural thing, with an inflection on the end as well.
Then his hands moved, one coming up and resting over his eye, the palm facing out towards the woman.
Then they both came down, facing up towards the ceiling, as close to under his ribs as he could get them.
Then he repeated. Over and over until the woman looked, and responded.

The boredom faded quickly for Iz’Hana, and instead, exhilarated focus overtook him. He dared not speak, dared not to breathe until he was sure that she was what he thought she might be.

A comrade.

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Zoltia

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#2020-10-01 07:32:22, as written by CabbageAngel

Dreador looked at her captive companion like she couldn't believe him. She slowly raised from the seat she had condemned herself to, eyes flicking between the movement of his hands. Trust. Help. Trust. Help. Over and over. She lifted a hand, pressed the back of it lightly against her eye, then prowled forward.

"Inbal dos tlus iff'brut quin?" she began, testing the stranger for the Gaurrean old tongues, then continued in her heavy accent, "Have you been marked?"

She knelt by him and gestured to the back of her neck.

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#2020-10-02 02:20:02, as written by StorminJericho

Oh.
Iz’Hana sighed a breath that was tinted with relief and recognition alike. Another drow, who spoke the same way Ilharn did! The same words, the same … Well, almost the same everything. A shock from long ago. A male’s voice murmuring in that familiar, soothing tongue. The language like a balm over the scrapes and burns from the hunt. The damn lizard hadn’t won yet, they would succeed thrice-dammit—

His breathing sped up as he smiled at the other occupant, a bright, if quiet, laugh leaping from his throat as he whispered back to her.

“P'obonus? Nau. T'neus, handerr lu'nug'ri? Siyo.” He rolled his head about before slumping once again against the wall, his eyes peering at the now empty hall beyond the cell. Iz’Hana was tired, sleep begged for his attention.
Alas sleep would wait! A change of pace, some exhilarating new situation!

“Lu'oh xunus dos inbau ghil? Vel'klar tlun Usstan? Usstan xun naut zhaun nindol che'el, xor nindolen thac'zilen, ves al jalamzild.” Rushed whispers, excitement almost overpowering, before…
“Usstan tlun Iz’Hana” Hissed out of him, the bubbling excitement fading and cooling down to a mere smile that had still yet to leave his lips.

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#2020-10-02 05:52:17, as written by CabbageAngel

"Jalamzild..." she repeated to herself, skepticism colouring the word. He claimed to be unfamiliar with these lands, but she didn't believe him, not entirely. It wasn't because of a liar's tongue. But she refrained from trading her name with this Iz'Hana regardless.

"Ol zhah natha sief ulu thalra dos, Iz'Hana," she greeted. And a relief it was. It was a joy to use her tongue again, after using it so sparingly whilst in the company of those bright-eyed fools. "F'sarn ghil p'wal natha rivvil paken brou pholor uns'aa." Her hands moved up to tug on the silver collar around her neck. "Natha rivvil paken brou pholor uns'aa p'wal natha dwen'del sers uns'aa pholor natha sluda." Her lips twisted into a scornful smile. "Usstan brorn ka il orn'la plynnet brou pholor uns'aa ka usstan zhahus ulu l'chath zil High Paladin quarthen."

She crawled closer. The chains, the jewelry, all of the delicate metals on her person clinked softly as she did. "Dosst kyrom?" she asked in a whisper.

Back down in the sewers, Lio raised his fists in preparation to charge into combat, threw up, and accidentally stumbled out of the way of a killing blow.

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#2020-10-05 13:51:52, as written by StorminJericho

Another laugh crackled out of Iz’Hana’s parched throat. He slowly slumped back against the wall, moving closer to the other drow as best he could without drawing attention.
He took note that she did not name herself, and accepted that. He didn’t blame her.

But he was telling the truth, as best he felt he was at least. The lands had changed in a way he could not describe, and cities were… labyrinthine hellscapes. Too many bodies, too much paranoia. Elves and humans and dwarves and prejudice. No proper trees to climb, no proper space to breathe that wasn’t filthy with the stench of society. Customs and beliefs that were as alien as his appearance. Disgust. The Clerics of flame.
Oh well.

Iz’Hana felt more isolated in a city full of people, than in the wilds where to see another person was to see a unicorn. Or a god.

“Opi theft, ‘sil'in’ j'nesst ssiggrin il “kyor uns'aa stealing dal natha tragr! Ukt rahi ph'suspicious!” He took a breath, an indignant anger rising for a moment before fading as he continued.
“L'kyorle trital ilta. Naut uns'aa. Nind telanth Usstan tlun ulu kyorl whol ussta bail, xor ‘ussta sponsor’, xor whol ussta draeval ulu tlu phor. Uss hal'luthi.”
His head tossed upward, frustration coloring his tone. He sighed then, switching back to ‘understandable tongue’ as Father had put it. His accent was not nearly as thick as hers, though it was creeping close to similar.
“This hall was empty, just me, before you and your gorra’h arrived.”

He chuckled at the word, a baleful sort of smile spreading on his lips as he tilted his head at the woman. “You did not kill him yet? I think I would have tried to, what with the pompous attitude. Cannot stand ‘nobility.’ No respect given to others.”

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#2020-10-05 14:19:30, as written by CabbageAngel

"Whol nindel, dos orn naut tlu iff'brut," she murmured under her breath in response to his story. His language was slipping now, mixing with Zoltian as he lost it to emotion. Then it fell away completely. She rested back in a crouch, her face deadly serious at his little jests.

"I cannot."

She leaned forward, eyes scanning up his lean musculature, to the callouses on his hands. She made direct eye contact as she whispered, in a voice that sounded like a dragon slivering through its hoard,

"Ph'dos natha elggur?"

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#2020-10-06 02:02:46, as written by StorminJericho

Oh! What an interesting question, as abrupt as it was.
The response was difficult, the words coming out of Iz’Hana in a manner that belied the thought put into each syllable.
“Mm… Natha elggur? Mayoe. Usstan elgg fuer'yonii, lu'nesstren vel'drav Usstan inbal ulu.”
He shifted, stretching his bones and joints with a racket of cracks and pops.
“Telanth mzild ka udos rin'ov inbau doeb.”

Iz’Hana smiled at her then, keeping his lips closed to avoid showing his teeth. Eventually, he relaxed again, letting himself ‘hang’ as it were. He spoke up soon after. “Ori'gato udossa telanth bauth folbol dkinoss, xal? Gumash dos tesso uns'aa vel'klar Usstan tlun? L'kaas d'nindol... klythmenvis?”

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#2020-10-06 03:57:12, as written by CabbageAngel

Back to the old tongues. Good. She needed nobody outside of this cage to understand what she was about to propose.

"Arc en Lume," she answered. "Wun natha tlarnia'l'en usstan shlu'ta xxizz inbau dos doeb del."

The corner of her mouth twitched up at the expression he held as those words sunk in. She crawled over, coming to rest her shoulder against the wall right beside him. She leaned in close, until he felt her breath tickling his pointed ear.

"L'gorra'h orn tlu doeb ulnin, lu'plynn uns'aa xuil ukta." She whispered, "Dos shlu'ta doer xuil udossa... Ka dos valm l'z'hind ulu l'noamuth dwen'del varash d'Gala-Dor. Nindyn ph'UKT tu'ix. Usst... ph'endar."

She pulled back, locking her sharp gaze with his. "Ditronw nin, uk ekkt ukt krug'ut ulu fuun nindol z'hind. Dos orn ssrig'luin ukta. Jhal h'uena udos ph'doeb d'nindol cha'kohkev che'el..."

Her lips drew back in snarl, revealing her pointed teeth, bright as a full moon against the night sky painted on her skin. Her silver collar crackled.

"Elgg l'gorrah. Elgg ukta, lu'usstan orn nau'thal dos ulu l'iiyola uk lac'na!" The anger in her eyes softened, until Iz'Hana saw something akin to helplessness reflected in those big, wet eyes. "Qualla."

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Zoltia

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#2020-10-16 13:56:13, as written by StorminJericho

The visible eyebrow on Iz’Hana’s face skyrocketed, his mouth opening to reply with a firm negative to the drow before him.
He did not know her name! Nor her motives! He knew… Nothing, almost, about her!

But the look in her eyes. The panic. Desperation.

A moment of uncomfortable thinking and silence later, with the roaring thrumming and drumming of his heart in his ears to his fingertips; he sighed an answer, smiling brightly at the woman before him. “Usstan shlu'ta naut telanth nau. Ravv orn'la Usstan daewl ulu. Usstan nym'uer dos. Usstan zhal xun nindol.”

His face scrunched up with a grunt, nose wrinkled into an ugly expression. “Naut natha y'haerr d'rothe ehmtua's nayhako.”
His words snarled, the growl underlied them a belly deep thing. His gaze slipped past her, the unnamed woman, and out to the hall beyond their shared cell.

She had mentioned a map, and that the dwarf would be gaining funding from connections in the city. Interesting.

She promised him treasure. A snort leapt from Iz’Hana. “Xun naut yaith uns'aa whol nindol. Usstan tlun naut biu velg'larn, jhal Usstan tlun yor'in. Ol orn tlu nau endar dal tah'entil natha fuer'yon.”

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Zoltia

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#2020-10-25 17:29:38, as written by CrossKnight35

Georgina’s struggling halted. Her nose twitched, catching a familiar scent. Light, with the fragrance of exotic spices. Her pink tail whipped left and right, her red eyes were round and glossy, and she leapt up to snatch Orcimedes’ treat. “Roooooo…!” She bent low and rapidly shook her head, tearing into the jerky with a maw full of knife-like teeth.

The Bandit Leader looked up at Maria. The due she gave at the dead did not escape his notice… and neither did her mercy. She took his breath away, and he collapsed to his knees and palms, his head bowed low as he proclaimed, “P-Praise be to you and the Sacred Flame, my fair lady!”

He spent a moment there and offered his own silent prayer. Still, Esther’s request did not go unnoticed. The Bandit Leader stood to his feet, turned towards the raven, and pressed a fist against his chest with a nod. “Yes... Follow me.”

A firm hand clenched around his ankle and fixed him in place. He looked down to see a huge phantom of a man that had dragged himself across the sewer floor. “If she’s so much as missing a pinkie finger I will throw up all my blood on you,” Lio threatened, blood bubbling up over his lips, “Then I’ll take your head, grind your face in it, and if you’re so lucky that your skull doesn’t crack under my boot, you can fucking drown, you rancid, corpse breathed molerat.” The Bandit Leader froze in place. It was hard to discern his expression behind that bucket on his head, but Lio didn’t need to look to taste his fear. “Y..yes, that’s…” The Bandit Leader whipped away and struggled to find the right word. “...Motivating.”

The Bandit Leader led the way. Lio tried to flag down somebody to help him up, but he had no such luck and was stuck staggering after them thirty feet behind around the chasm, towards an iron door at the end of this long journey. It was unlike any other door they’d seen here, round and nine foot tall, forged from steel that had not rusted, even after so long at the dregs at the bottom of Arc-en-Lume. A massive wheel protruded from the centre of the door, not unlike those of a ship’s. The Bandit Leader slowed to a stop, grabbed the wheel, and began turning.

“Hrrkh!”

Metal grinded and ratcheted as he tugged at the wheel. Every inch drew the strength from his body. Finally, there was a booming thud, and the Bandit Leader motioned everybody to step back. The door dragged against the floor. A deep, grating noise followed its motions, it slowly swung open, and revealed...

A dark, wide room. The walls, floors, and ceiling were a grey, smooth colour, made of broad stone tiles wider and taller than the bricks they’d seen throughout the sewer. There were crates, barrels, and an assortment of junk strewn about the vault, but what stood out amongst the rest were the cages. Massive, rusted boxes of iron, scattered all around, filled with bodies upon bodies - some dressed in the blood-stained whites of the Sacred Flame, but most wore the crude leather and spiked iron of the Red Hatchets. Even within the dark, they could tell, the bodies were long cold.

Cough.

...Most of them, anyway.

At one end of the room, a silhouette stirred. The Bandit Leader stepped back. The group moved closer, and the shadow was brought into their light. Wavy black locks. A vermilion coat. Giant, puffed-up orange sleeves, adorned by strips of teal. Mud and cuts stained her dress, but its rich colours shined amidst the grime. She sat there, cross-legged, her wrists bound together in irons. Her almond-shaped eyes perused them. A smile graced her lips.

“Well, well, well! You don’t look raggedy enough to be Hatchets,” she remarked. “And none of you bear the cloth, save for…” Her gaze darted over to Maria, and she raised one brow curiously. “Hmm… white dress, freshly-burnt ash, and that ever-present air of lethargy…” The young woman scooted closer. Her face lit up. “Sister Maria, it is you! Darling, it’s been ages!”

It was difficult for Maria to forget her - Hortensia Hecate Halifax, granddaughter of Arc-en-Lume’s High Paladin. Always getting into trouble, even when Maria was an apprentice, and Hortensia, a teenager. Some things never changed. “Pardon me. It’s a right mess I’m caught up in.“ She shifted and tucked her chin onto her shoulder as her smile curled into a sheepish grin. “At least this time I’m not stuffing bugs into anyone’s breeches!”

Hortensia’s attention turned towards another, who had just stumbled into the room. Tall, handsomely built, and covered from head to toe in sewer dregs. Even with all that filth, Hortensia recognised him right away. She brought her hands to her nose and furrowed her brows. “O-oh! Lio, darling, that’s... not a good look for you.” The noblewoman waved away in a futile attempt to ward the stench. “Might I recommend a bath? Or several. Probably a massage, as well.”

Lio looked less than impressed. He let out the strained laugh of a man barely disguising his displeasure as he squatted in front of her. His dazzling grin, the only thing clean on him, dropped. “On the contrary, Horty, this cage is a great fit on you. Slimming. Maybe we should keep you in for another day or two.”

Hortensia’s hands crossed over her stomach, and her brows knit together. “Excuse you! Any slimmer and I won’t be much fun to hug!” The noblewoman turned away with a huff. “And then you’ll be in trouble with our mutual friend.” The tiniest hint of a grin remained on the corner of her mouth. Lio reached through the bars, pinched her nose between the knuckles of his middle and index finger, and that smile vanished.

“You’ve never had much fun hugging each other anyway. Don’t just say ‘take a bath’ to the person who crawled through a sewer to save you from your mistakes.” He glanced behind him at the party. He hadn’t done much of the actual saving part. He released her nose and wiped the grime from his fingers onto his singlet as an afterthought. “Well, that's why I'm here, but the master told me to make it explicit that he only gave me permission to come down here if I made sure his investment came back.” Lio held out a hand, palm up. “Do you still have the ring?”

Hortensia rubbed her own nose with a wince. The question came, and she sat up in attention. Slowly, she turned her gaze across the room, towards the hulking form of Orcimedes, and stopped. “Weeeeelllll…”

Lio looked over his shoulder at the party, big, green and slobbering especially, took in a suffering breath, and smiled.

“... Who has it?”

The guard’s eyes followed Anaïs’ hand, towards her scholar’s cross, and considered her words. After a moment, his posture relaxed, and he stayed his blade. “Stolen, you say?” He inquired, then stepped closer. “Then this is a matter of the law, and you should have filed a report.” The guard folded his arms, not taking his eyes off of Anaïs. “The Order of the Sacred Flame will take it from here. Please, turn out your pockets, and once I’m certain you haven’t taken or tampered with the evidence, you may go on your way.”

A thin, pretty smile crossed the drow’s face at her newly acquired ally’s words. She slunk back, her body still arched like a big cat ready to pounce, even as she backed off.

“Ajak, do'suul d'Arc en Lume,” she insisted in a whisper that tickled the back of his neck, despite her distance, “Tarthe dal l'Sacred Flame. Ol wo naut tlu verve hwuen dos kyorl l'anulo nin.”

And she settled back into her own shadowy corner, and went still, her sky-blue eyes turned up to the ceiling. Waiting.

Setting

Zoltia

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#2020-12-08 02:33:41, as written by StorminJericho

The orc spoke to Iz'Hana, and though the drow tried not to laugh and instead keep a deathly calm stare leveled at the prone creature... He couldn't. His voice barked out into the air was a vicious rasp and crack. Much like a hyena who may have smoked a pipe of tobacco or four too many.

Iz'Hana stared through his laughter, the smile never quite reaching his eyes as he simply shook his head at the orc before returning his attention to the other Drow in the cell with him. His words were once again in that olden tongue, that comforting drawl and hiss and rasp and twitch of language. "Usstan xuat sieva dos orn'la zhaun lu'oh ulu soh'rad ulu nindol, orc, orn'la dos?"
He asked with a tilt of his head, glancing away from the woman in the shadows, back to the orc who was... Laying... Outside the cell... And not in one of his own.

Iz'Hana's brow furrowed as he quickly stood, yanking hard on the chains that kept him confined within the cell. He could feel his wrists scream in agony as his voice leapt from his maw with a force that belied the strength in his bones. "You're not a prisoner! Who are you? What are you doing here!? Let us go! ... Also, I am not a woman, thank you very kindly!"

The manacles and cuffs within the cell were taut now, clinking and clanking with Iz'Hana's forceful attempt to be free of the damned prison. Once again, the roar of his blood in his ears nearly deafened everything else around him, and his heart beat so hard it sought to leap from his chest.
The orc brought freedom, hopefully! Maybe! Just maybe!

AND YET. HERE IT WAS. FLIRTING WITH HIM!?
The Gods of the world obviously still held hatred for Iz'Hana's people, regardless of their time of birth during that once great war. Which was evident considering the damnable circumstances!
"Dos z'klaen ori'gato udossa doeb! Usstan b'eeti dos! Ol orn'la tlu mzilst valyrin!"
The words leapt forth, hissed through teeth that bared themselves into a desperate snarl. Freedom was so close, so so close, and it was FLIRTING with him. What ridiculous farce was that!

Maybe if it were any other damned situation, Iz'Hana might have laughed and even taken the Orc up on its- Er- on his...? Courtship, if only for the company.
BUT THIS WAS NOT THE SITUATION.

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Dreador

0 · 762 views · located in Zoltia

a character in “The Gala-Dor Expedition”, as played by CabbageAngel

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So begins...

Dreador's Story

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