- Messages
- 87
- Character Biography
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Many weeks had passed since the Massacre in Vel Anir, and many nights still after the Dreadlords has named it thus. In those nights, the city had suddenly become quiet and wicked minds allowed to rest without fear of this "Black Knight" that terrorized them for exactly one year. Given the questioning of her priory, which would ultimately lead to this those quiet nights, Lilette had made her exodus from the fortress city by some means, and traveled south to the nearest portal stone.
From there, she found herself north in the great deserts of Amol-Kalit. She had nothing more than a stolen horse and a small cart of what few belongings left to her. Though, this included some money she had saved up in secret. Her vows of poverty were merely part of the greater disguise, after all.
A small part of her wished she had truly taken them however, as Abtati outcasts, Bandits, had ambushed her somewhere along the road between Ragash and Maraan. Why she was headed this way rather than Maraan or Elbion was anyone's guess, but she most certainly had her reasons. Reasons that the bandits were beginning to question...
"And what have we here?"
One laughed, throwing a little lockbox into the sand at her feet, which would produce the tell tale jingle of coin.
"Please! this is all I have left!"
She pleaded, a look of annoyance more than fear about her porcelain face.
"I Beseech-"
"I beseech thee- to SHUT. UP" The bandit held a knife to her throat now, and all she could do was stare. "That's better. Now, would you please, just give us the damn key? please and thank you?"
Reluctantly, she would slide her veil away from her eye so that she could gaze past her now deceased horse and into the cart. "Not on I. But within the cart, hidden among a pot of old iron-"
"Finally...! good! you can stop now. No seriously, do not speak again. Or at the very least- stop speaking like that"
The bandits looked relieved now that the peculiar nun was silent and pouting. Whoever was checking the cart itself however, looked a little more surprised at his own findings. Instead of the tea pot, he found a much larger chest hidden among the cargo. It was also locked, but it looked a lot easier to just bash open than the other, as this was an old and rusted lock.
"Ohho?! vow of poverty over here is carrying a lot more than a lockbox"
They all began to greedily eye the chest, to which she stepped forward suddenly until restrained by one of them.
"Do not touch that!" She demanded, her front as a meek little nun beginning to fail. The bandits looked surprised, and the leader returned to grab her by the face, shutting her up one last time. She had half a mind to just bite off the finger here and now, maybe summon the contents of that chest, put on a show for whoever was left by the bloody end. Even as he put the knife back to her throat, those silver eyes just stared back and burnt white hot.
Roland Grayson
From there, she found herself north in the great deserts of Amol-Kalit. She had nothing more than a stolen horse and a small cart of what few belongings left to her. Though, this included some money she had saved up in secret. Her vows of poverty were merely part of the greater disguise, after all.
A small part of her wished she had truly taken them however, as Abtati outcasts, Bandits, had ambushed her somewhere along the road between Ragash and Maraan. Why she was headed this way rather than Maraan or Elbion was anyone's guess, but she most certainly had her reasons. Reasons that the bandits were beginning to question...
"And what have we here?"
One laughed, throwing a little lockbox into the sand at her feet, which would produce the tell tale jingle of coin.
"Please! this is all I have left!"
She pleaded, a look of annoyance more than fear about her porcelain face.
"I Beseech-"
"I beseech thee- to SHUT. UP" The bandit held a knife to her throat now, and all she could do was stare. "That's better. Now, would you please, just give us the damn key? please and thank you?"
Reluctantly, she would slide her veil away from her eye so that she could gaze past her now deceased horse and into the cart. "Not on I. But within the cart, hidden among a pot of old iron-"
"Finally...! good! you can stop now. No seriously, do not speak again. Or at the very least- stop speaking like that"
The bandits looked relieved now that the peculiar nun was silent and pouting. Whoever was checking the cart itself however, looked a little more surprised at his own findings. Instead of the tea pot, he found a much larger chest hidden among the cargo. It was also locked, but it looked a lot easier to just bash open than the other, as this was an old and rusted lock.
"Ohho?! vow of poverty over here is carrying a lot more than a lockbox"
They all began to greedily eye the chest, to which she stepped forward suddenly until restrained by one of them.
"Do not touch that!" She demanded, her front as a meek little nun beginning to fail. The bandits looked surprised, and the leader returned to grab her by the face, shutting her up one last time. She had half a mind to just bite off the finger here and now, maybe summon the contents of that chest, put on a show for whoever was left by the bloody end. Even as he put the knife back to her throat, those silver eyes just stared back and burnt white hot.
Roland Grayson