Private Tales Of Winds & Wraiths

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer

Zara

Abtati nomad, rogue, & mystic
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Zara looked from the quickly fading gout of dragon flame to the others. Something about riding an enemy monkey? Orcs were strange to say the least. She shook her head as her eyes tried in vain to pierce the inky blackness beyond the quickly fading fire.

Down seemed like as bad an idea as staying. Shooting a glance upwards, Zara knew that the chances of getting by the three of them back up that way was slim, super slim. “Can't dragons fly?” she wonder aloud as she surveyed her comrades. The orc’s leg did not look healthy. “At least you are strong enough to carry our friend who got bit.” she gestured to Grigog.

Reaching out into the darkness, Zara’s hands carved an intricate design into the still air. Suddenly a pulse erupted from the air before her. It sent snakes and debris airborne away from the trio.

“Time to go!” she yelped as she rushed along the momentarily cleared path as the snakes angrily moved to recapture their claimed ground and strike at the interlopers. Just beyond, a twisting stone stairwell led deeper into the inky lightless depths. A groaning breath hissed through the air drowning the angry hissing of the snakes in a low mournful emotion-wrought state of pain and loss.

As she moved, Zara’s hands twirled in the air. Stealth was not a must in the moment. Survival was key. A faint glow orbed before the elf’s cupped hand faintly illuminating the steps downward. They were smooth and worn, the passage of countless slaves, vendors, and gladiators marching to their doom almost palpably radiating upward.