Vel Anir - Undercity
The Bleak Bar
He saw it coming.
Didn't even have to know the other Forsaken all that well to recognize the body language of someone fixing to kill. Knew it like he knew his own reflection. To his credit, Emryc did not flinch. He barely even blinked. Even waited, hand poised on his fresh mug of ale, for it to happen.
Eyes shut to the fire, brow faintly knit at the ringing in his ear, jaw twitched at the sensation of blood splattering across the side of his face and neck. There came that line of granite again.
"Now, that's much better isn't it?"
He sat there in silence for several long moments, dripping viscera from his face.
"I just ..." Emryc opened his eyes, staring at the wall directly across from him in irritation, "bought this drink."
Galen was an Emryc-didn't-know-what that packed a mighty molten punch enough to make even him reconsider finding him in a bad mood. But despite the firefist straight to the face of what used to be the man sitting next to him, he remained unruffled even as Galen approached him, grinning ear to ear.
"Thought you liked the taste of blood," Galen replied, dropping a massive stone encrusted fist onto the half-orc's shoulder that sent a shudder through Emryc's bones, "isn't that what you do to people? Bleed them dry?"
"Not into my drink," Emryc refuted flatly, stormy eyes following the movement of the barkeep as he made quick work of cleaning up the mess sloshed across the countertop. The Qosta slowly picked up a napkin and began to wipe his face, and his neck, and-
"Leave it," said the barkeep with a grouchy gesture, "I'll getcha a fresh'un."
How very charitable, "Put it on his tab," Emryc nodded his head at Galen, inhaled deeply, and slowly exhaled his frustration. The night wasn't off to a good start and it was about to get a whole lot worse, he just didn't know it yet.
Rumer
The Bleak Bar
He saw it coming.
Didn't even have to know the other Forsaken all that well to recognize the body language of someone fixing to kill. Knew it like he knew his own reflection. To his credit, Emryc did not flinch. He barely even blinked. Even waited, hand poised on his fresh mug of ale, for it to happen.
Eyes shut to the fire, brow faintly knit at the ringing in his ear, jaw twitched at the sensation of blood splattering across the side of his face and neck. There came that line of granite again.
"Now, that's much better isn't it?"
He sat there in silence for several long moments, dripping viscera from his face.
"I just ..." Emryc opened his eyes, staring at the wall directly across from him in irritation, "bought this drink."
Galen was an Emryc-didn't-know-what that packed a mighty molten punch enough to make even him reconsider finding him in a bad mood. But despite the firefist straight to the face of what used to be the man sitting next to him, he remained unruffled even as Galen approached him, grinning ear to ear.
"Thought you liked the taste of blood," Galen replied, dropping a massive stone encrusted fist onto the half-orc's shoulder that sent a shudder through Emryc's bones, "isn't that what you do to people? Bleed them dry?"
"Not into my drink," Emryc refuted flatly, stormy eyes following the movement of the barkeep as he made quick work of cleaning up the mess sloshed across the countertop. The Qosta slowly picked up a napkin and began to wipe his face, and his neck, and-
"Leave it," said the barkeep with a grouchy gesture, "I'll getcha a fresh'un."
How very charitable, "Put it on his tab," Emryc nodded his head at Galen, inhaled deeply, and slowly exhaled his frustration. The night wasn't off to a good start and it was about to get a whole lot worse, he just didn't know it yet.
Rumer
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