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Messages - Scythe

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IC - Naerlan / Problems with Deontology
« on: December 07, 2011, 11:16:41 am »
<Written upon a simple piece of parchment in crayon. In between the lines of texts various depictions of a girl with a black and blue dress, cold blue hair. Walking in the high moon night amidst a couple of gas-lit homes. The text written in Drow, and a vibrant blood red crayon>

What is good? See all too often ... all too often ... I hear members of the the supposedly enlightened, Supernal deities espouse terrific parables and bounds of compassion, duty and honourable sacrifice. As if theirs is somehow the word spoken on high. Is this 'good'? What is the key, core principles of goodness? Fealty, respect, compassion ... what a load of crock. Who wants any of these things? Indeed should it not be said that the notion of the perfect will lies in the reinforcement of core maxims. The truth of the animal that we all are?

Maxims ... that it is right I defend myself ... that I deserve nothing less than respect, through fear if necessary. That I should crave power to exert my will ...

Let's not lie to ourselves that this is the apriori maxims that any apex predator has ... and make no mistake friends. This is what so called 'good' churches espouse also. They will hide it amidst pathetic jargon, or sophistry. But in truth ... all people crave that moment of power. The power to exert one's will, the power to demand respect ... demand that you are seen as right. What more can there be?

Do not delude yourself into believing that the so called 'Evil Gods' merely want to enslave you, because you are buying into the whole manure that those Supernal beings you hold as Blessed figures of morality do not want the same thing! They want to have you fear them, they want you to perscribe to their singular belief, they want you to lose yourself and your freedoms to the singular cause of spreading 'Good' and 'nobility' throughout the land. 

They would have you believe that they uphold the superior in deed the moral maxims that govern our lives! But what nonsense is this? Common precepts of faith is that it betters you as a -person- ... it betters you as an -individual-. Of this there can be no doubt, no qualm, no falsity!

The Gods are real and no less, or more, than one deserves your fixated worship. You should live in the footsteps of these ultimate principles. BUT IN DOING SO you must then judge by such colours the tenants of your faith. Most of the Supernal beings of the supposedly 'noble, and good' Deities would have you lose yourself to the insanity of perscription. To be limioted in your freedoms, to limit yourself in your dealings and affairs. What maxim ... nay ... what -MORALITY AND RIGHT- by which would allow one to foolhardedly claim this to be a noble and true goal?

Take for instance the Temptress. Perfect in her Dark Splendour. What are her tenants? Are they truly so costly, so inhibitive, so cruel or maladjusted? The Dark Lady wants you to be ambitious. Take the Initiative. Fight for your right to be seen as superior and above your peers. She wants us to be -US- ... to give power to us.

To what greater pleasures do we owe? To what do many ascribe to her but the subjective and foolhardy term of 'evil' ... or 'malignant'. She wants us to be true to ourselves, and allow us to seek ever greater perfection and beauty. To be better and to advertise our individual power and authority.

How is it that such laudable aspirations be claimed as poor in valour, in nobility, or lacking in merit? Why is it that people attach grandness and nobility to Gods who would have us ENSLAVED and without the free will and tenacity to even attempt to -rightfully- stand out amongst our peers?!

To wit, these deontological values they hold onto so dearly that they wish us to be drones workking for some eclectic greater good of which is vague, and so wretchedly inobtainable as to have us languish in pity and distress?

I ask you now, Naerlan ... what is Evil? A God asking you to be all you can be, or a party line that tells you to forget your inherent value, and deny yourself all that you are due?

<the parchment scrawlings end with no signature, nor name or seal ... but a purple crayon depiction of a purple spider>

IC - Naerlan / Problems with deduction
« on: April 24, 2010, 04:53:43 pm »
<Scrawled in red crayon upon a long piece of parchment seem to be the musings of child. Written in a juvenile Drow script containing various cartoon figures represented throughout the text...>

I once met long ago with a couple of logicians ... compounding their thoughts on the powers of reasoning. Debating amongst themselves about the merits of aposteriori acknowledgement of transition, and analysis of change in the world. 'Is everybody in Tharel such boring individuals?' is a thought that flickered throughout my skull. Nevertheless I begifted them with my attention as it was a lazy evening in which I hadn't really anything to do but sip from a chalice and enjoy Naerlan cuisine.

It was as if they lost all wonderment within and without of the world that has been laid at their feet. Such nonsense and drivel spewed forth from their lips and it chagrined me to no end. Indeed I felt it so necessary to leave before my cerebral functions be invaded by idiocy ... particularly when one idiotic middle aged human mentions in discourse to his compatriot in the forces of stupidity ...

"Surely if the premises are all true, then the hypothetical must be also ... that the exact nature of knowledge stems from the ability to pervue all information given that witnesses a conceptual apperceptive ideality transcend into a brand new situation, state, or substance beyond it's previous incarnations"

I was mortified... what passes for an intellectual these days?

Such skepticism that the mind has, especially such towards the wonders of the world and the FACT of 'impermanence of body, permanence of Faith'-duality. Surely, there are cases within the world where the hypothetical is true if the premises are all true, but one is forgetting the most important caviat .... that of specificity.

Indeed if we take a two premise-hypothetical, one could use the example ... 1: all thieves carry knives 2: thieves are bad people, Hypothetical: all bad people carry knives.

We know this to be not true, we also know that the process can never work to create enough premises to cover the full range of specificities ... indeed it should be posited that the transitions of conciousness not be used so simply, nor that it should be seen as so important if it cannot be utilised in the case of deducing the value of people...

If our noumenal conciousness does not allow for specificity, it can not understand the borders and eccentricities of externalised phenomenal states, thereby making deduction inheritantly useless. As always ... Faith and internal exploration of the apriori can never be replaced by such drawl and dribble that such mindless sycophants of their own nature dare advertise.

<as the script comes to a close, it is replaced by a drawing of a large town with many roads under the light of a full moon, and a blue figure that walks amongst the looming structures within the picture.>

<OOC: Yes I'm fully aware the deductive logic and the Socratic method *have* become the primary motivators of scientific endeavour in the world, but Scythe is writing in a medieval-esque world :P>

IC - Naerlan / Problems with epistemology
« on: April 23, 2010, 03:37:05 pm »
<Scrawled in black crayon across an long piece of parchment and affixed to the wall outside Market Square with a small nail. All which seem to contain a musing, or memoir of years past. All written in a juvenile, yet grammatically correct, stylised Drow language.>

I crossed paths with a Priest of Cylad about a decade or so ago. He was giving a lecture or something to three or four students arrayed before him, sitting down and listening to his words. I decided to join them as he spoke about theories of knowledge. As I sat there, in the cool bathing of a full moon that illuminated this makeshift amphitheatre, on the side of the road into Naerlan I began to slightly stir in my seat.

It was so boring!!

My feet were tired, my breath was laboured ... and the lecture he was giving was like a sweet lullaby ... a true cure for when one needs tranquilizers to slumber!

Nevertheless he said something interesting! ... finallllllyyyyyy~~~~ ... This priest of Cylad said "People are merely the apex of their achievements ... armed with limited knowledge of how things should be done, and as such, guarantee their station!" .... or something like that ... my Common Tharel tongue has never been good, but atleast it was functional enough to understand.

I shuffled about on my seat upon the ground before lifting my hand. He seemed to peer at me for awhile before acknowledging my interrogative. Eventually he made a gesture towards me, welcoming my peaked interest.

"Neeee~ ... ano ... isn't that a fallacy though?" I spoke up in formal Drow tongue ... he seemed to understand ... by the look on his face as he glared with incredulity.

"Fallacy!? Are you saying that experience is pointless!? Do not waste my time with your idiocy!?" He screamed with a *less* formal usage of Drow language.

As I shuffled away from his most horrid stare a great sense of rage washed me anew. I Stood my ground ... proverbially of course ... before retorting in a tone much louder than the question that preceded beforehand.

"But you're forgetting intuition! Booksmarts and wisdom only get you so far! Surely the wolf has neither knowledge of anatomy or information concerning the recesses of the mind .... but still knows how to strike a killing blow and the smell of fear! Indeed I posit that despite lacking both, it still knows how to hunt and when the quarry is struck still with fear!"

With my anger unchecked by my philosophical riposte that I took my leave, having found sufficient rest and motivation to leave and pursue other activities...

<As the series of Drow figures upon the note scrawls to a close. Instead of a signature, or personal mark, there is a blue scrawling of what looks to be a moon and a very rough drawing of a whole bunch of houses and roads with a tiny blue figure walking upon it>

IC - General / Re: First impressions....
« on: May 09, 2009, 04:19:08 am »
.....40-something years ago ....

"Aye! Fine, young forest Elf here! FIFTY gold pieces! C'mon! Sure she might be just out of diapers but that only means she'll be around for so much longer! Especially for you 'long lifers' .... think of the bargain you're getting! If she survives your torments, you'll be set for the end of your days. Guaranteed to withstand TEN lashes despite her youth! Know it to be true myself!" .... the fat, brown haired slaver cries to a crowd of spectators ... observing the wretched Sylvan girl within the bird-cage - like prison.

The young girl hadn't much of an idea what he was saying. Her common tongue was nowhere near as developed as her older brother ... even if she could understand ... she needn't care anymore. Her eyes had developed a permanent glaze, as if they were made of milky glass. She slowly curls up into a ball at the base of her cell, lying on her left side ... staring lustrelessly from the confines of her irregular cage at the sea of people before her. Her tattered cloth dress veiling her body acting as her only guard against the insipid cold of her atmosphere.

"Forty!! Come now ... Forty gold at the very least for such a girl .... nobody here want a plaything for their children? Or a lifelong scullery maid? With a good comb and clean, she could even make a very attractive shopkeeper's assistant with a pretty little uniform!" Decries once more the disgusting example of Humanity.

She softly murmurs to herself ... gibberish ... as she mentally retreats from her surroundings and becomes entirely withdrawn. Her lips moving quickly as she rocks backwards and forwards in her cage, yet speaking nothing. Eventually she locks eyes with a Drow male within the crowd .... carefully examining her. His black eyes considering any potential within her as he scours her form for any imperfectiopns beyond her malicious bruises and other wounds caused by her significant abuse. His fine clothes and youthful exterior hinting at noble birth as the Sylvan regards him inturn, yet blankly and without any emotion. He tilts his head to the left, then the right, then back again ... smirking softly as he recognizes that the young Sylvan hasn't blinked ... not once ... her eyes locked with his in a permanent waking state ... yet so withdrawn that it's like she sees him and yet sees nothing at all.

To the young Drow with shoulder length locks, this was his confirmation of a good purchase he was waiting for ... a moving doll. Something he could fashion without hindrance from any strong sense of will and self-esteem.

"Forty is a fine price!" the Drow exclaims loudly in common as he tosses a small bag of gold coins at the slaver, now most pleased.

"Yes good sir!! You have a brilliant eye for a bargain, sir!" the slaver chortles happily to himself as he brandishes a key to unlock the cage. "Oi! Elf! On your feet! Follow your new Master!"

The young Sylvan complies ... lifting herself up and nodding in supplication. As she exfiltrates her cell, forcefully the Drow lifts her chin up so that his eyes meet his new slave's before tossing her chin away from his stare and throwing the frail girl into the street. As she is impelled into the semi-busy road, she trips over a small signpost and lands headfirst into the hard surface, generating much laughter from the group gathered around. The harsh blow stunning her for a moment, as she is shaken awake once more by the Drow master grabbing her by the back of the neck and lifting the Elf to her feet.

"Keep moving, my home is just over the road, twenty blocks over ... turn to face me ... and I'll kill you where you stand." the Drow mutters into his new possession's ear.

The former prisoner knew not much common ... but she knew that she angered him. So she simply moves where he leads her. Too simple .... she no longer cared about what was going to happen to her. She no longer had any reason to fight it. She just knew that she was in the possession of one person, and now another. Simple truths. Quite possibly she'd be sold again .... another simple truth. Simple truth is that she was worth forty gold, and she would be worth far less by the time her master put her to work. Maybe she could work hard and be worth more than forty gold? The question flickers about her skull before she re-enters her withdrawn state of unquestioning reliance as she is lead into the hall of a massive manor.

Upon their arrival, the Drow male waves off two servants that come to greet him at the door without uttering a word. One middle aged Human male, dressed to the nines, bowing his head in honour of his master. The other was another Sylvan ... it was hard to determine her age .... atleast 80 ... maybe? Very comely girl. With brilliant blue eyes, and long auburn hair .... dressed in long black dress and apron. Evidently the Human was a butler .... and she was a cook of sorts. That much was understandable by the streaks of blood splattered across her garbs, and the impressive selection of knives and cleavers holstered around her belt.

"Master Vrael ... would you entertain the notion of a full course meal consisting of fresh forest mushrooms with lamb cultlets and black pepper sauce ... with a fine Aliunan Cognac to clean the palate? We have been in receivership of prime Khetian lamb from an honoured partner of yours. The cook has been preparing them for hours." the Human spoke in common tongue as he bows his head, awaiting confirmation.

Master Vrael nods at the butler, who in turn gives a long, cold stare at the 'new arrival' as he casually waves off the cook to continue her household duties.

"Perhaps your .... 'guest' ... would fancy some clothes befitting her stay here?" The butler remarks harshly upon the emotionless girl before him.

Master Vrael looks at the top of the young girl's head, and then fixates his gaze upon his butler's mildly displeased disposition at being presented with such a presence. Contemplating which he should do first. His mindset only being broken as the young Sylvan's lips begin to move once more, only this time her words are far more audible due to the quieter nature of the manor as opposed to the slaver markets within the open streets of Underdark. Emotionlessly scanning the room

"Master Vrael .... mushrooms ....lamb .... cook ... hours .... Master Vrael .... cutlets ... pepper .... fine .... Master Vrael .... clean .. honoured .... preparing...." she spakes coldly in the common tongue of the Butler within the room as she stares around her. Not truly understanding what she is saying.

Vrael, despite being angered at first by the connection between himself and his meal, quickly reconciles with any notions of displeasure at the Elf as he begins to chuckle. Observing the young girl almost gleefully like a child would a new toy. Cooly he rests his hand against the top of the mumbling girl's head and leads her upstairs and towards a back room. Pushing open the door leading to what once must have been a broom closet, but now a miniature bedroom containing a rolled mat propped against all three walls. The smell of cleaning agents filled her nose, and undoubtedly his, as her mumbling is cut short and he pushes her into the tiny accommodation.

"This is your home now ... and the two you met, are your superiors. You will talk to them whenever you need advice on your duties ... you will NOT disturb me unless I give you credence. First rule ... talk to me ... and you die. Second rule ... touch anything that you're not supposed to touch ... and you die. Third rule ... try to escape ... and you'll die. Fourth rule ... if you are caught outside without permission ... you WILL die. In fact ... you will have to try very hard to keep yourself alive! Do I make myself understood?" the Drow master interrogates ... as he gazes at the frail form infront of him.

"First rule ... will die.... second ... will die ... third ... will die .... fourth ... will die ..." the young girl mimics downtrodden, peering with blank eyes at the Drow infront of her.

"That is correct ... from now on ... you are to be known as 'Seven' .... 'Seven' is your number .... do I make myself understood?" Master Vrael commands once more in common tongue.

"Seven ... be me ...." the young girl replies in broken Common as she nestles into the dirty mat laid down for her.

"You catch on fast ... you will receive a set of uniforms in the morning ... you will be awakened by my man-servant at 6, sharp! You will get yourself cleaned up, and assemble in the kitchen by 6.30 to help. You will be trained, and you will live for my needs. Or else.....?" The master speaks once more ... his intonation high as if palming a question to the young girl, albeit entirely rhetorical in nature.

"Will die ...." the girl utters once more, her eyes levelled at his feet in quiet supplication to her new owner.

With that he slams the door abruptly and collapses the room into still darkness. The young girl quietly curls into a foetal position, gently rocking back and forth whilst she sat on the mat. 'Is this to be her new life' she ponders within her head? The question is soon erased from her mind as she eradicates what's remains of her hope and dreams. Finding comfort in not aspiring to anything greater than what she had at this moment, as she slowly kills what remains of her wish for freedom. Her damaged psyche soon consorts with the demons within her mind to utterly strip what remains of her soul, and to slowly remove any trace memory of the supple grasses and boundless forests that she experienced mere weeks earlier.

(OOC: Thanks for reading :D I hope you're enjoying the story thus far n.n I should have part 5 up in a couple of days. By part 6 and 7 I plan to have a awesome plot twist that will tie everything together and give the story some synchronicity! Thanks again for your dilligent reading!)

IC - General / Re: First impressions....
« on: May 06, 2009, 11:50:39 pm »
... 3 Years ago ....

The Captain's spear was stout, his posture exceptional, his grip tight upon the instrument's haft. This availed him no succinct strike as the pallid-skinned girl begifted her 'audience' with a graceful display. With her blade levelled horizontally, she performs a swift and stunning feat of footwork and precision. Twirling herself and her blood-encrusted blade away from the spear's intended delivery, and in retort, her edge finding the unprotected flesh of her assailant's arm pit. Leaving a deep, albeit non lethal, gash upon his body and causing the patrol commander to reel in horrendous displeasure and make utterances most foul in the stead of the blood lost.

"Far too slow...." The small girl replies with callous humour as she brings her freshly covered blade to her lips and runs her tongue along it's length to savour the sweet taste of a successful riposte.

This drew the ire of the Sylvan guardsman to her rear as he attempts to bring his blade upon her. Stealthily he draws nearer .. lines etching his face in fixated contempt. The small girl knew this .. but continued her charade ... pointing her blade in the drection of the other flanking patrol members. Off putting their actions, and instilling in her captors the concept that she knew not about the blade poised at the small of her back.

As the Sylvan drew close quarters he grunts .. attempting to muster all strength he had into a single, sweeping blow. As he begins his forward charge and strike ... the pallid-skinned girl form leaps backwards towards him. The intune reflexes of the young girl allow her a reprieve from harm, as she propels herself backwards to meet his frame. Reversing her bade suddenly in position so that the point of her viciously sharp instrument meets his padded chest.


The noise of tearing cloth and tearing flesh. The young girl using simple weight and momentum to insert 2 foot of wicked steel through her surprised opponent's gut.  The three other members of the shocked patrol grimace in horror as the blade from the stricken guard's hand drops to the forest floor. All strength in his body now fleeting him at this point.

The young girl giggles as she knows of the deathblow that she has delivered. As she nestled into the still-standing guard's weakening form ... twisting her blade sadistically as it still penetrates his body.

Deep moans escape his throat as his eyes, wide with terror and such incredulous pain, lock onto those of his friends as they shy away from the sickening scene ... wanting to rescue the mortally wounded brethren ... yet shocked into silent inaction by the ease of which he was struck down .. and the emotion of fear running rampant through their hearts and minds.

Blood begins to drain from the guard's lips as the girl slowly twists her blade once more ... bringing him to his knees as he attempts to extend his arms through the crippling pain.

Wishing to eke every possible moment of pleasure from destined kill she softly, delicately, places her left hand upon the dying guard's cheek and presses her lips against his bloody mouth ... tasting the ambrosia of his life essence, and making silent his decrepit moaning.

The sadistic display lasted by a few small moments before she violently tears her blade from its very temporary home found within the Sylvan's body ... spraying a curtain of blood across the leaves and limbs of the small bushes nearest her dead prey. Her bloodied maw leaving the guard's warm lips as he falls dead to the ground. His entourage still staring at the macabre spectacle before them as she turns to the remaining company of men.

"Such sweet delights.... but hardly a challenge ... or a meal." she softly utters in the tongue of the Drow, as she wipes her mouth of remaining guardsman's blood, and levels her red blade at the Sylvans still brooding the sudden loss of their comrade.

IC - General / Re: First impressions....
« on: May 02, 2009, 12:50:50 am »
There once was a happy little Elf ... within a happy little home ... within a not-so happy town of Deltherian. Deltherian was populated exclusively by not-so-happy Elves, and times we're not good for these people. She was but one of three kin to her mother and father, and they spent most of their time picking flowers, and playing tricks. Their livelihoods were richer for their child-like actions, though never generating coin, they generated much laughter. Yes ... the little girl and her two brothers were quite happy and sufficed on nothing but their pure elation.

Of course ... such tales are for those lucky enough to tell them. Her story, would be far different and far more pitiful...


... 40-something years ago ....

The little Elven girl lies sleeping at the base of her cell. It had been 2 days of constant travel and she was wearied ... pangs of hunger arise due to her previous meal of weevil-encrusted bread and raw onion been expelled violently by her stomach. Evidently her body had yet to be accustomed to such a 'delicacy' as she was being offered by the cruel Human overlord. It was at this moment the Elven girl truly felt as though her captor was inside her head, spying on her. As the carriage slows to a halt and the fat, dirty, brown-haired slaver that kidnapped her makes his second appearance.

"What is your name!?" he bellows in Elvish .... evidently learning the tongue in order to facilitate better efficiency in his trade of transporting live Elves to the markets.

"Yu' lien...." the small girl flinches in fear as she presses her form against the wall furthest from her captor. This retort angers him greatly ... as he brandishes a whip and executes a swift flick across her exposed legs. The small Elf yelps in pain as she curls into a tight ball. Her tears falling upon the floor of the muddy interior of the iron carriage.

"What .... is .... your .... NAME!?" He bellows once more in his ugly version of Elvish. Threatening with his whip poised above his head once more.

"Yu--- ... Yu'lien! I'm telling you the truth!" The small girl screams from her fetal position on the floor. As she watches the slaver bear down upon her once again. Two strikes .... one to the side of the ribs ... causing her to extend her small frame as she squirms in pain.... and then .... once across her back. Her cries echoing throughout the surrounds, but to no avail. Hoping for a moment that a knight in shining armour would come to rescue her from these bonds of torture. The slaver smirks whilst looking at the pitiful child before him before turning to his assistant.

"We don't have much time before the auction ... we had better get this one conditioned before then" he spake in common tongue. The assistant nods simply as he runs off as the brute stands above the cowering Elven girl and glares harshly upon her.

"No sleep!!" he barks in rough Elvish before delivering a crushing kick to the torso ... hurtling her small form into the iron wall of her cage.

He promptly leaves the young girl and closes the door behind him as she coughs trace amounts of blood onto the floor. As she struggles to even return to a seated position, her breath gives way and her mind melts into the pain she is feeling. As her legs and arms grow weak and limp, her body crushes into the growing damp of sweat, tears and blood and she is soon delivered into a state of unconciousness. Regardless of how much she needed sleep, she certainly didn't feel as if she had received enough to mend her ravaged body and damaged mind.

"Wake up!" the brute yells at her ... compelling her eyes to open with terror as he kicks her across the chest. A tremendous wave of pain cripples her, as the mountain of agony awashes her frame anew...

2 more days of this treatment continued. Each day more harrowing than the last. There wasn't a square inch on her body that hadn't shown the signs of such massive abuse. Each day she vomited blood ... each day she struggled more and more to even sit up and struggle for a deep breath. Until the 5th day of her captivity .... and so many kisses of her captor's whip....

"What ... is .... your ... name!?!?" The brute interrogates, as he threatens her once more with a crack from his uncoiled whip. His cold stare bearing down upon her as her once shimmering emerald eyes, now deadened from her tribulation, are locked with his. Eventually her eyes glance to the floor, defeated ... and her will broken.

"Nothing .... I haven't one.... If I ever did ... it doesn't matter anymore ..." she stammers as she recoils from past pains .... her muscles tighten expecting to be struck by the slaver. The response was unprecedented to say the least. The slaver laughed!? A maniacal, devilish laugh ... but a laugh nonetheless. The commotion drew the attention of his assistant, grinning with sickening pleasure.
 "Another one to be added to the inventory! This one's ready for auction!" the demon bellowed .... his voice filled with disgusting self satisfaction as he leaves the Elf's prison. She wanted to cry ... but her tears had long since dried ... and her shattered spirit was long since inable to conjure them anymore.

<OOC: I know it's two flashbacks in a row ... but bear with me, it will be less confusing by part 3 and 4 :P Thank you for reading this story! I hope you found it entertaining, if a bit spooky! n.n>

IC - General / First impressions....
« on: May 01, 2009, 10:12:11 pm »
...3 years ago...

"That's her! Get the monster!" said the nondescript Elven guard as he and 3 of his comrades close the distance between them and a black hooded fugitive bound over fallen trees and rocks. The elegant cascade of Elven feet danced a poetry of motion through the dry tinder of the forest floor, not allowing for the obstacles of nature to hinder their movement a single iota. Neither the black cloaked humanoid's grace, or speed of her pursuers, seemed to falter as they slowly made their passage past the shadowy gloom produced by the thick canopy above. Blotting even the gaze of the moon above them that would penetrate the insipid 'black' of their surrounds.


"Unnnhh!" The cloaked figure groans as she slides against a sturdy tree, and then finally... to her knees. The arrow had torn through the woollen shroud and grazed her arm. The wooden bolt's kiss left a nasty gash upon her as she ceases her movement to inspect the wound dilligently. Quickly assessing the damage with an analytical coldness, her eyes dart back to the entourage she had left in her wake. Silently encroaching upon her location like snakes spying their prey. A slight giggle erupts from her frame as she lays her gaze upon the soldiers that approach her callously.

"The filth of the realm command my attention? Why is it the knaves do not recognise their place?" The hooded figure speaks with malicious humour in Drow tongue as she drops her veiling garment.

Her mark of Jirah dangling from her lithe, pallid neck being aspied upon by the observant Elven cadre. As the once hooded figure runs her bloodied index finger across her lips before producing her blade defensively. The slow, resounding 'ring' emanates forthwith as she quickly releases the cold steel from it's sheath causing the air to distort and warble it's distinct and bloody intention.

"Both an abomination and a shadow-worshipper! If we knew one of our own would fall so far ... " The Corporal of the Elven patrol decries in that most disgusting of Tharel tongues. Elvish. It was enough to make the once-veiled creature almost shudder with contempt upon hearing them speak! Before long the quartet begin to encircle the young girl.... trapping her between the tree and the armoured physique of the captain of the patrol.

"Our own!? ... hardly...." The small girl smirks with innate humour at the four flanking Sylvans ... interrupting mid speech the guard's dialogue in her best common tongue ... her words at first biting, but finish with a simple slithering past her bloodied lips.

"...You will pay for your crimes!" .... exclaims the Elven commander as he leaps towards her with his spear squared at her throat....

<To Be Continued>

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