Private Tales She dreams of stars..

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer

Tawny

Nocturnal
Aeraesar
Messages
5
Character Biography
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The deepest pits of Othronn were a world apart from the great city of Sharyrdaes above. Here, the walls of the cavern stretched high and uneven, honed from ancient rock, buildings carved into the stone like anthill tunnels. There were no stars, no sun, no sky—only the eerie glow of faint, floating fae-lights, drifting aimlessly like lost souls.

The air smelled of damp earth, metal, and sweat, thick with the scent of burned herbs and pipe smoke curling from the dens of those who sought escape. The streets were narrow and twisted, slick with filth, and the deeper one strayed from The Line—the beating heart of Othronn—the fewer the rules applied.

This was Tawny’s world.

She kept her head low as she moved, her auburn braid tucked beneath a frayed hood, the worn leather of her boots near soundless against the stone paths. The scrap of parchment Grim had shoved into her palm hours before was still crumpled in her grip, his instructions carved in sharp, jagged script:

“Package. Corner of Black Hollow. Don’t be seen. Don’t be followed.”

She had done errands like this a hundred times before. But something about this one felt off. Black Hollow was a part of the Pit where even the desperate feared to tread. If Grim was sending her there, it meant the package was important, dangerous, or both. Her stomach twisted, but she ignored it. She didn’t have a choice.

She slipped through the alleys, ducking under sagging bridges, weaving between rotted market stalls where vendors hawked stolen goods, illicit potions, and flesh for coin. The eyes that lingered on her were hungry, knowing. Tawny kept moving.

She reached Black Hollow before long, where even the glow of fae-light struggled to reach. The cavern was quieter here, the air thick with tension. A lone figure waited in the shadow of a jagged stone archway—a man draped in tattered leathers, his face obscured by a hood. A small wooden box rested in his palm.

Tawny hesitated only a breath before stepping forward.

“Grim sent me.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

The man said nothing, only extended the box. She reached for it. Then— A shout rang out behind her. Boots slammed against the stone. Tawny’s heart lurched.

Not alone. Not safe. Not good.

She snatched the package and ran.
 
  • Scared
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As he had come to understand over the last few weeks spent in Othronn, things were far more prone to change than he would have hoped.

Connections of old - though he could find traces of - were scattered, and untethered.

A knife in the back seemed commonplace here.

But he was not one to be left without direction for long...



As Grim worked about in his "workshop," there came a sudden feeling over him. His movement slowed, and his eyes narrowed as he dwelt upon an odd thought. Couldn't be, not yet, he resigned, returning to his work without another moment spent on the matter.

He worked with a peculiar set of items, some magical in nature, others... something else.

He was not exactly a sorcerer, but he was far from unlearned in the nature of magic. He was not exactly an alchemist, or a scholar, or an academic either.

But he knew a thing or two.

As for the other items he had in his possession, some of them he understood. Others... he did not. But, being the man he was, being in charge of all that he was, it wasn't that he needed to know a thing or two. It was that he already did.

That's what made him who he was.

Taking a particular item in hand, he examined it, and as he dwelt upon he turned to move to the other side of the room, and he was abruptly halted by a looming figure, standing just there behind him. Grim only stopped in place, showing no signs of fear, or any surprise even - almost as though he had expected someone.

"Laru'Dahl... you're early."



Good, he thought to himself, watching her - first taking what she came for - departing with all the haste she could afford.

He looked up, and leapt across the alleyway onto the opposing rooftop...


Tawny
 
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Tawny ran, her breath coming quick and shallow as she wove through the labyrinthine streets of Othronn, her steps sure despite the uneven stone beneath her feet. The underground city was a maze, a tangle of pathways carved from rock and shadow, but she knew it well, knew every crumbling stairway, every winding tunnel that would lead her back down to the Pit.

Back to Grim. Back to whatever punishment he deemed fit for disobeying his orders.

She had almost made it. The closest descent was just ahead, a narrow stairway that would take her deeper, out of sight, but in her haste, she turned onto the wrong street. Her second mistake today.

Fleshmarket. And it didn't sell meat.

Her stomach twisted. She never came this way if she could help it. The scent of sweat and unwashed bodies clung thick to the air. She forced herself to walk, rather than drawing more attention to herself by running. Even then, she could already feel the weight of hungry gazes settling on her.

She pulled her hood lower.

"Lost, little bird?"

"Where’d a pretty thing like you crawl out from?"


She kept her head down, biting the inside of her cheek as she quickened her pace, her heart hammering as she neared the end of the street. Almost there. Just a little further.

Then she heard them. Boots, heavy and fast, closing in behind her. Panic surged, and she bolted.

She barely made it two steps before something yanked her back, a rough fist twisting into the fabric of her hood and wrenching her to a stop. The cloak snapped tight around her throat, cutting off her breath, and in the next instant, an arm locked around her shoulders, dragging her against a solid chest.

Her hood fell back, auburn hair spilling loose.

Laughter rippled through the air, sharp and predatory.

"Where you off to in such a hurry?" A voice rasped near her ear, breath hot against her skin. The grip on her tightened, the pressure enough to make her ribs ache.

She didn’t fight, didn’t waste her strength trying to pry his arms away. She kept her own locked around the package, holding it close even as her lungs burned. There was no point in struggling—not yet. No point in screaming either. No one would help her.

"Let me go," she ground out, forcing steel into her voice.

The male chuckled. "Ahh. It’s Grim’s little rat." His fingers dug into her arms, and she felt more than heard the grin in his voice as he turned his head. "Looks like our luck just changed, boys."

The laughter that followed was rough and jagged, cutting through the dim, stagnant air. Hands pawed at her, tugging at the package she held so tightly to her chest.

"No! No, no, no please!" Tawny thrashed, trying her best to hold her loosening grip on the package. She twisted in the iron grip of the man behind her, but he was stronger, and she had already wasted too much energy running.

"On an errand, are we? Grim sends his little pet topside, and she walks right into our hands," another voice sneered. "Should’ve stayed in the Pit, girl."

She kicked the one with his hands on the package, square in his package, and he bent double, earning her a swift backhand to the cheek that sent her head reeling.

"The little rat bites!"
 
  • Dwarf
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"I'm told she wound up down here, in your care no less...the last place I'd have liked."

"Save the act, Laru. When you left things were different.

This is the best place she could have wound up."

"And now...?"




Finding out that Grim had relegated Tawny into his dirty-worker was only a little frustrating. Laru'Dahl was many things, and pragmatic was one of them. He supposed, in the grand scheme, so long as she could hold her own, then these would be valuable lessons learned...

Not so unlike his own, at a similar age.

For him, especially overhead, keeping up with Tawny proved relatively simple for the most part. He knew the routes down-level, and he guessed where it was she'd chosen. Why not the closest path?

It was when she'd turned down Fleshmarket. That was when he descended...

"No! No, no, no please!"

He was quiet. His presence, while surely obvious amongst the crowds, still faded away amid the faces and hoods. He passed between them with ease, as though they were not at all there. As if they parted from his way while shrouding him.

"Should’ve stayed in the Pit, girl."

There came a commotion. Tawny retaliated...

"The little rat bites!"
"I don't," he said, standing just there behind the final two assailants. Three others lay dead behind him. Meanwhile, pedestrians looked on from farther behind, keeping their distance, fear and curiosity in their eyes.

He wiped the blood from his knife.
 
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The man’s grip on Tawny tightened as he yanked her flush against his chest, his blade biting into the delicate skin of her throat. She barely had time to react before she felt the sharp sting of metal, a slow bloom of warmth trailing down her neck and she let out a yelp.

His breathing was harsh in her ear, his chest rising and falling in short, sharp bursts as his gaze swept the carnage before him. The men—his men—lay strewn across the stone like discarded refuse, their blood darkening the cracks between the cobbles. His fingers twitched against Tawny's ribs, the pressure of the blade growing ever so slightly more insistent.

"Easy now, friend," he warned, his voice tight but steady, masking whatever horror or fury twisted in his gut. "Wouldn’t want my hand to slip now, would we?" he smirked, apparently thinking the masked man to be one of Grim's crew.

Tawny's struggles only earned her a crushing squeeze around her ribs. She gasped, her fingers curling uselessly around the package she held, her body trembling against his as he slowly began to step backward, dragging her with him.

Her pulse roared in her ears.

The masked man hadn’t moved.

Tawny’s chest heaved, her vision swimming, though whether it was from fear or the blood seeping down her throat, she couldn’t tell.

She knew Grim’s crew—knew their names, their faces, the way they moved through the shadows of the underground city. This male wasn’t one of them. He wasn't here to save her - not that any of Grim's men would put their necks on the line for her either..

Her lips parted, a shallow, rattling breath escaping as her fingers curled tighter around her stolen prize. If he had cut down these men so easily… then he would have no hesitation doing the same to her.

"Come any closer and i'll open her throat. Then yours." the male sneered, taking another step backward.
 
  • Cthulhoo rage
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Were things just a little different... not so many words would be spent.

"If I needed you dead, it would have happened. I'm here for one thing, and you'll all die if you must for me to get it."

And he did step forward. He'd not reveal how tense the drawn blood had brought him, but beneath his mask, his teeth were ground.

This... prick.

Laru would have skewered him already had it not been for who his grasp was upon. And though he'd not feign what is was he'd come for, the tightened grip on his knife screamed of his frustration.
 
Tawny’s breath hitched. The masked man’s words tolled like a death knell in her ears. He was here for the package. Gods, she was in trouble.

Grim was going to kill her. If she even survived long enough for him to get his hands on her.

The man restraining her growled low in his throat, a fist tangling into her hair and yanking her head back to bare her throat. The sting sharpened, and she gasped at the fresh rush of warmth against her skin, blood trickling faster down her neck. Her pulse hammered wildly, a traitorous staccato beneath her skin.

"You think I’m stupid?" her captor spat, his fingers digging into her scalp. "Step back, you creepy fuck, or—"

Tawny didn't wait for the rest.

Her fingers slipped carefully from the package, curling instead around the small blade at her hip. She didn’t think—she couldn’t afford to. In a single sharp motion, she drove the knife up, wedging it deep into the man’s elbow.

His scream was guttural, his grip loosening at once. His bloodied blade clattered to the ground.

Tawny stomped her heel down hard on his foot, her elbow slamming back into his stomach with all the force she could muster. His curses were a ragged mess of pain and fury, but his grip was gone. And that was all that mattered.

She stumbled free, gasping, her pulse a wild, frenzied thing. Her wide gaze snapped upward, towards the masked man—

But she didn’t wait. Didn’t hesitate. Tawny turned and ran, sprinting for the stairs like hell itself was on her heels.
 
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The chaos was nothing he was unaccustomed to. There was no ounce of surprise in him, he simply stood still and watched... but ever ready.

She handled herself well, and did exactly as she should have when looking up at him. Exactly as many had done before, in all their knowing - run. She, however, was unlike any other who had turned and fled from him in the past. He would not pursue her with any intent to kill.

But he would catch her.

A knife. A scream, an elbow and a stomp... and then she was gone.

He stepped forward, so unnervingly casual and leisurely in his movements. A knife swung up and slashed the neck of one of the remaining men, still locked in the seconds of shock that had erupted.

The other man, however... Laru'Dahl drove his knife into his chest as he hunched over himself, and Laru placed his hand on the back of his neck, withdrawing his knife only to plunge it in again... and then a third time. He whispered something in his ear, and then pulled him by the collar backward off of his blade before shoving him aside.

Blackness was around him. Dread and death.

He exhaled, forcing his instinct out of him, ever knowing and wary of it. It had no place in the chase he was about to take up.

No doubt she was well on her way down the stairs and back down into the Pit. And so in a flash he was gone, and not long after he was down the stairs, following a trail she likely did not even know she left...
 
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Tawny ran.

She barely felt the stairs underfoot, barely registered the twists and turns of the tunnels as she threw herself through them. She knew the underground city like the back of her hand, knew every passage, every shortcut. And yet—she did not look back.

She didn’t dare.

The masked man was coming. She could feel it, a cold dread slithering down her spine, an itch between her shoulder blades as though his shadow stretched long and thin behind her, reaching, waiting.

She tore down an alley, veering sharply left towards the quickest path back to Grim’s. And skidded to a halt.

A rusted iron gate, chained and bolted, loomed in front of her. It hadn’t been here before—had it? No, she would’ve known. Someone must have sealed it recently, but that didn’t matter now. What mattered was that it blocked her escape.

A curse ripped from her lips. Her heart hammered wildly, her breath ragged. She had to go back.

Turning on her heel, she bolted in the opposite direction, taking a longer, narrower path. She was running too fast now, her mind too clouded with panic to watch her footing.

Her boot caught on the uneven ground, and Tawny went down hard.

The godsdamned package was all she thought about, her arms curling around it as she hit the ground, knees and elbows scraping against the rough stone. The impact knocked the breath from her lungs, the pain sharp and sudden.

Then she lifted her head.

Home.

It was just ahead.

A shaky breath left her lips, and she forced herself up, her limbs screaming in protest. She didn’t have time for pain. She didn’t have time for hesitation. She ran.

Bloodied and gasping, Tawny threw herself towards the doors, towards safety—towards whatever punishment awaited her.
 
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