- Messages
- 65
- Character Biography
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Seretha ibnat Rezhe
Theodore Aleson
Larewen Dragana
Vaezhasar's gaze, insofar as anyone could determine where the gaze of a man wearing an ornate helmet was actually going, came to rest upon Larewen. He performed the sort of rapid mental cataloguing that experienced travelers develop after years of needing to know, very quickly, which strangers in a room were likely to stab them and which were merely thinking about it.
Short? Noted. Incredibly pale? Also noted. Probably... nay, definitely not a normal elf? One hundred percent noted, underlined twice, and annotated in the margins.
Although slight of stature, Larewen radiated the sort of cool necromantic energy that made Vaezhasar's metaphysical sensibilities sit up and take notice in much the same way a dog's ears prick at the distant sound of a cat being smug. She also smelled like damp grave dirt, not the freshly-turned sort that spoke of honest agricultural work, but the settled, patient variety that had been getting on with the business of being a grave for quite some time and had no intention of stopping.
In fact, from where he stood, being in her proximity felt rather like standing next to a talking, walking tombstone. Vaezhasar had encountered tombstones before, of course. He had even, on one particularly memorable occasion, encountered a talking one. But this was something else entirely.
He jabbed Seretha in the ribs with one armored finger to secure her attention, then pointed at Larewen.
"That one," he said, in the tone of a man reporting the weather, "is most assuredly a necromancer. And not the wholesome sort, like yourself. I would advise watching your back around her. Possibly both eyes on it, if you can manage."
He redirected the point toward Theodore, who by Vaezhasar's humble estimation wasn't much older than the students he'd been teaching at Elbion.
"That one, however, seems good-natured enough. I very much doubt you'll need to worry about him making off with the artefact."
Theodore Aleson
Larewen Dragana
Vaezhasar's gaze, insofar as anyone could determine where the gaze of a man wearing an ornate helmet was actually going, came to rest upon Larewen. He performed the sort of rapid mental cataloguing that experienced travelers develop after years of needing to know, very quickly, which strangers in a room were likely to stab them and which were merely thinking about it.
Short? Noted. Incredibly pale? Also noted. Probably... nay, definitely not a normal elf? One hundred percent noted, underlined twice, and annotated in the margins.
Although slight of stature, Larewen radiated the sort of cool necromantic energy that made Vaezhasar's metaphysical sensibilities sit up and take notice in much the same way a dog's ears prick at the distant sound of a cat being smug. She also smelled like damp grave dirt, not the freshly-turned sort that spoke of honest agricultural work, but the settled, patient variety that had been getting on with the business of being a grave for quite some time and had no intention of stopping.
In fact, from where he stood, being in her proximity felt rather like standing next to a talking, walking tombstone. Vaezhasar had encountered tombstones before, of course. He had even, on one particularly memorable occasion, encountered a talking one. But this was something else entirely.
He jabbed Seretha in the ribs with one armored finger to secure her attention, then pointed at Larewen.
"That one," he said, in the tone of a man reporting the weather, "is most assuredly a necromancer. And not the wholesome sort, like yourself. I would advise watching your back around her. Possibly both eyes on it, if you can manage."
He redirected the point toward Theodore, who by Vaezhasar's humble estimation wasn't much older than the students he'd been teaching at Elbion.
"That one, however, seems good-natured enough. I very much doubt you'll need to worry about him making off with the artefact."