Open Chronicles There Will Be Violence

[Zyndyrr K'yoshin]

Spoiler: Music OOC

When travelers speak of Annuakat, they speak of a land of abundance. Though this much is a contradiction.
Amol-Kalit was a desert, the city of Annuakat a gem nestled upon it, and its richness was to be expected.
Yet, there were elements in this city no different to any other, with alleyways aplenty, filled with vermin.
In one street, in a less prosperous section of the city, a pack of rats had cornered someone, so earnest.

The thieves, that were. They yearned to pick the pockets of this individual whom they considered a simpleton.
“Give us your wallet, your purse, stranger,” curved the tongue of one idiot. “Or I’ll carve out your innards!”
He was one in a number. Six there were. The first stood closer. The man they chased after had no armor.
At least, none that could be seen. Rather, that figure stood in dark green robes from head to toe; a plain outfit.

A hood was over his head, his garments stretching past his knees all the way down to his ankles.
“Don’t make me say it again!” Stated the hoodlum. The rats had their mouse cornered between barrels
That was their assessment of the situation, anyway. Rats. Their victim thought. Ears. Eyes. And tails.
With fur that could be plucked, skin that could be flayed, and no one would mourn their passing. Snails.

“I have no money,” the hooded man stated simply. “I’m sorry.”
The one with the dagger and bandana stepped closer. “Really!?”
He licked his lips as though tasting whiskey. “Then I guess ya die.”
Knives. Swords. Weapons on hips. “If that is my destiny.” Zyn sighed.

 

[Azura]

"I wouldn't do that" A soft voice stated in a soft and somewhat musical voice, almost too gentle to be considered a threat. And yet, there was a sharp edge hidden beneath the strange lilt of her accent. As unassuming as the voice was, the sight of the one from whose throat it emanated was even more so. The woman was small in stature. Too short for most to consider her a threat if it weren't for her almost starting appearance. Winding tattoos lined the canvas of her skin, clearly visible through the transparent swirls of opaque blue lace that clung to her form, fabric draped in such a way to afford her only the slightest of modesty where it was needed. Sea green eyes glittered with a luminous tint, shards of silver dancing in her gaze as it drifted from one thief to another. Her face was lined in streaks of paint, markings etched beneath her eyes and lips that betrayed her tribal origins.

From the outside looking in, the woman and the hooded man were outnumbered but that did not seem to bother the strange girl in the slightest. She took another step forwards when she was met with silence and hardened stares, bare and dirty feet moving with purpose. She paused, a hand lifting to push back the strands of white that had fallen in her face, messy and knotted strands that fell back into a sea of black. It was only then that one could notice that the tips of her fingers were aglow with an eerie blue light, pulsing in the darkness as her hand fell back to one side.

"I don't think that one's destiny is to die in a dark alleyway. But yours might be. Maybe it is time to go home" She suggested in a calm, almost reasonable voice.

 

[Zyndyrr K'yoshin]

Spoiler: Music OOC

These rats were stirring, snarling, circling, starving. They were animals. Beasts. And they would bleed.
The hooded figure didn’t stand alone by these sacks of meat and bones, however. There was another.
Against his green cloak, she was all but uncovered—her garments making more than one thief blink.
The woman stepped forward. The man held back. She spoke, soft as bare skin, and he listened to her.

If it was this man’s destiny to die in this alley then so be it. Yet it was a big ‘if’. “I agree with the lady.”
He stated plainly, voice no less composed, but deep as a sea, if more red than green, like eyes unseen.
“And if we don’t?” Bandana spoke. From a hood’s shadow, the cloaked man glimpsed the lady’s fingers.
How they glowed. “Then I’m going to cut your throats and leave who’s left for her.” The man gestured.

“HA!” Laughed the thief. “Kill this bastard and grab that bitch!” Then, all at once, they swarmed forth.
Like gnats. The hooded figure reacted in an instant. His cloak broke open for armored arms and swords.
A scimitar in either hand, he slashed as bandana attacked. A ribbon of blood danced within the wind.
He wasn’t finished. As a red sea spilled from a throat, the armored figure moved onward, flicked a wrist.

His other blade cleaved through the wrist of his enemy who squealed like a pig, dropping his dagger.
The tip of a scimitar plunged into his heart and stuck to it while the sword’s sibling swung at a third.
The blade lopped that attacker’s head off in a heartbeat and sent it whirling away from his shoulders.
Having killed his opponents, hands still on hilts, violence as promised, the man will kill more in turn.

That was if anyone was left standing, of course.
The woman in the man’s presence had no sword.
None that he could see, but she had two good hands.
What did he glimpse in his vision during his own dance?

Azura

 

[Azura]

Azura had expected violence and yet a rebellious wave of repulsion rose up within her when she was forced to act. The group divided on the leader's command, three men turning in her direction with glares filled with malice and something else. Both were looks she recognized far too intimately, linked to monsters she had experienced far too young. A surge of rage and disgust soon overwhelmed her natural abhorrence to bloodshed. Like a pack of ravenous wolves, they circled. But the girl before them was also wild, a low animal like growl emanating from her pierced throat as her hands clenched into fists from which that sapphire glow only seemed to brighten. Droplets of water leaking from the gaps in her fingers and forming a puddle at her feet. She risked a glance towards the hooded man whose fate she had chosen to intervene in, a glint of silver steel confirming her assumptions. That he was much more than he appeared. A bigger threat than the grubby men before her had taken him for. But then again, so was she. It was true that she had no weapons, no armor. Nothing but the magic that flowed through her blood.

One of the men lunged, perhaps motivated by the sudden cries of their leader, the smell of fresh blood as it hit the night air. It was a scent that was etched into her memory. A hand rose, a luminous palm out stretched towards the attacker closest in her vision, the one that made a grab for her wrist. A jet of water erupted from the center of her hand, the force of which struck the man squarely in the chest, knocking the breath from his body and sending him flying into a wall. His head made a sickening crack as it rebounded off the hard surface, the thief falling to the ground in a motionless heap. There was a moment of hesitation, the remaining two staring at their fallen comrades, at the quick way in which their intended victim was shredding through the rest of the group just a few feet away. The smell of blood thickening by the second. Shock gave way to desperation and fury, the two remaining thieves striking like coiled snakes.

"You'll pay for that" The threat followed by a large hand that reached itself across the gap that separated them, wrapping itself around her throat. For a moment, Azura could not breathe. She gasped as the man's grip tightened, her eyes dancing with anger that seethed. And yet she did not struggle. She did not need to. She felt that familiar wave of power vibrating through her bones, threatening to ignite, to careen out of control in a way that she would likely regret. At times like this, when her emotions were difficult to control, so was her magic. Her fingers twitched, making a curling motion as if she was scooping the air. Suddenly, the puddle in which they stood began to solidify, daggers of crystalized ice shooting like fingers up from the ground. The triumphant look on his face soon faded, lips parting to emit a blood curdling scream of agony as shards of ice pierced his boots. They penetrated the tender flesh beneath, slicing straight through the man's feet and effectively keeping him pinned in place despite his best efforts to free himself.

Her victory was short lived and the woman winced as the last attacker lunged from the rear, grabbing a fistful of her loose black and white hair and forcing her head back. At the same moment, she found herself refocusing on the scene in front of her, the thud of one of the thieves heads as it was disconnected from its owner's torso. The sight triggered some foreign memory of childhood and she froze, her surroundings forgotten for a second. It was a temporary lapse but enough that it allowed the last thief to get the upper hand. As she came back to reality, she realized there was a blade against her throat.

"If I die, you die. So I guess you'll have to use that fancy magic of yours against the one who you were so intent on helping" He muttered into her ear, the dagger pressed deeper into pale flesh which was now smeared with a trickle of crimson. All the while, the pinned man wailed incessantly, alive yet fixed in his pain. Placed between the thief and the armored man, the savage hissed and struggled in response.

 

[Zyndyrr K'yoshin]

Spoiler: Music OOC

The man had power. He was a man who knew how to swing a blade, if dead men were evidence.
The woman, on the other hand, had a power of another kind. Some form of mage, whether a savage.
There were savages of another sort down this alley. Wild beasts. Four had been slain. Two left standing.
The lady seemed a different breed. Winding tattoos, drapes of opaque blue lace. The man stood staring.

Studying. Permitted a moment of observation. One other man stood wailing. Ice had sliced into his feet.
Sounds like a cow. The third man, of course, had a hand on a dagger, his steel getting a feel for the lady.
The tip of it pressed against her skin with a hint of crimson upon her neck as the swordsman watched.
“No one else needs to die,” he promised. “Leave her alone. Let us go. I have gold if it is what you want.”

“You lied!” The thief sounded like a cornered dog. Or squirrel. The woman’s flesh was his only shield.
“I only meant I have no money to spare, but her life is worth more than my purse.” His arms dipped low.
“Drop ‘em,” the thief commanded. The bladesman obliged as both of his scimitars clanged upon the stone.
“Hand over that purse.” His friend howled all the while. The cloaked man nodded his compliance in a yield.

He slowly reached a hand past the fabric of his cloak to retrieve a coin purse from his belt.
His hand came back out in one swift movement. It was the speed you can expect of an elf.
A blade flew from his fingertips, the dagger stabbing dead center into the forehead. No yelp.
That left one thief still standing, only he wasn’t in much of a position to speak. Can only yell.

Picking his swords up from the alley floor, the swordsman stepped forward toward the girl.
Either hand on the hilt of a blade, he might have asked her if she is okay, but looked away.
For a moment, he had almost forgotten about the other man; teeth gritted, scream curdled.
“You want him?” If not, a slice to his throat will silence his miserable life with his own blade.

Azura

 

[Azura]

The pale and tattooed woman paused in her struggle, suddenly intrigued by what the strange armored man might do, made curious by her limited experience of men with honor. Though, she doubted he held much of that. Azura never attempted to deny her culture, the teachings of her decimated people never far behind her despite the outside world's efforts to conflict with the indoctrination her existence had been built around.

It was hard to think. Hard to focus with the constant cries of anger and pain bellowing from the restrained man and yet there was little he could do to aid himself, those ice shards far too tall to simply dislodge from. She was almost tempted to free and heal him just to keep him from screaming. It unnerved her. Reminded her too much of the past. It made it difficult to hear the words being exchanged. And of course there was the steady thrum of her heart, beating wildly against her rib cage.

The clatter of metal against the ground alerted her to the stranger's next move and a brow rose, surprise etched into her features. She had not expected him to lay down his weapons for the life of someone whom it he had never met, someone who regarded him with a look of veiled suspicion rather than gratitude.

"I do not need your.. " She began to argue as he revealed his hidden pouch of coins. Was that all this was really over? Circles of silver that were completely meaningless in Azura's eyes. She did not understand currency or why so much revolved around it. Or why some people were motivated to violence to attain it. Her attacker's grip on the blade loosened almost as soon as he saw he was close to getting what he wanted, little care for his dead companions that lay scattered about him. His only concern was for the glitter of gold in his mind.

She was about to use the lull in attention to her advantage when suddenly, she was thrust into momentary confusion. One moment, she had a knife to her throat and the next, the thief was left gurgling in her ear. It all happened so quickly that she was left disoriented. She had felt the whoosh of the dagger as it glanced past but until the man's body hit the ground with a thud, Azura did not even realize she was no longer in danger.

Emerald eyes blinked rapidly, her head twisting to confirm that the man was truly out of commission before she turned back. Her steady gaze now locked onto the stranger, she flinched and took a step back as he took one forward. It was only now that the violence of the scene struck her, the bodies, the blood. So much familiarity that she felt a wave of nausea in the pit of her stomach. She stared at his question, seemingly confused before realization flooded across her features. She shook her head quickly, glancing between the two men with a look of confliction and guilt.

"Does he have to die? Has there not been enough death already?" She asked after what seemed like a long and stagnant silence. A hand lifted to her neck, pressing to the wound there though it would not remain so for long. Already she could feel a tell tale itch, skin sewing itself back together.

"She's right! I won't take no revenge. Won't ever see me again neither" The man promised, attempting to bargain for his life now that he saw that he was left with no other options.

"Perhaps a better punishment would be to leave him to his fate, whatever that might be" She said, ignoring the man's pleas completely.

 

[Zyndyrr K'yoshin]

Spoiler: Music IC

After posing his question, he had not caught onto the woman’s hesitation. Then came her question.
His head was hooded, a cloak of dark green, like a forest at night. The garment covered his person.
It kept his armor hidden, and weapons for that matter, despite the sword hilt in either of his hands.
Did the only living thief have to die? How curious. Revenge meant little and less. Plea. Promise. Sad.

Yet perhaps a better punishment would indeed be to leave the anguished little man to his screams.
Mulling it over like mulled wine, the hooded figure considered peeling the other’s eyelids. “Please!”
The thief pleaded. Pledged that he would never be seen again. Correct. The green hood turned away.
Turned back to the lady. This close, even amid the dim alley, she could finally glimpse the hood’s face.

Within the shadow, a black hole, a circle so round, what did the soft-spotted lady make out?
A man’s grey shaded face, maybe, a charcoal complexion. Black eyebrows, arced as scimitars.
Red grey eyes—blood-veined irises, silvery pupils. Thin elven bone structure, cheeks hollowed.
Rigid thin lips, heart-shaped in the middle, curved outward like a bow. Hair silver-white as bone.

“Death. Violence.” The drow sighed. He almost felt a pang of pity for this pale person before him.
“There will always be both. It is…inevitable.” He didn’t wait for a response. He turned, walked on.
“P-Please!” That thief spoke through gritted teeth. “D-Don’t kill me!” That drow approached him.
Invincible. Lifted a hand. Admittable for a criminal. Steel flashed. Blood splashed on his sword.

“It isn’t about punishment.” Isn’t a cruel or unusual death by any means. Just another cut throat.
The drow spoke as he turned backward toward her—the only lady in the alley, here at his mercy.
The path was no longer noisy, if blackened in shadow and reddened in blood by these cutthroats.
In the void, where screams join the deceased, the drow stepped forward. “They’re just...unworthy.”

Yet, the lone woman need not fret.
It didn’t matter if they’re not friends.
The drow wiped both blades clean.
And slid them back into his sheaths.

“Some beings simply do not deserve life.”
Insects. The drow stepped on their kind.
“We’re alive. They’re dead. It is what it is.”
A courteous distance. “Zyndyrr K’yoshin.”

Azura

 

[Azura]

Azura studied the stranger as she waited for his reply. Or at least, as much as she was able to in the dimly lit alley. She took a step forward, illuminated by pale streaks of moonlight. Her head tilted silently, from one side to another, her gaze narrowed as she peered past the shadows cast by the brim of his hooded coat. She seemed surprised by what she saw. Of all the creatures she had encountered since leaving her home, she had not seen one such as this. Those strangely colored eyes and features struck her as otherwordly. She was so focused on her examination, craning to make out more that when he spoke, she almost flinched. Blinking herself out of curiosity, she stared at his words. A look of darkness passed through her gaze and she grew rigid in stance

"I am no stranger to death or violence. That is why I prefer not to see more of it" She declared in a firm tone, one that was far too used to being treated like a child. Though, to be fair, the inexperienced savage had a tendency to act younger than her age. Having been raised away from the outside world, she was often left confused by those around her or mystified at the simplest of items. Though what puzzled her the most was the way people treated one another.

"Yet it always finds me." She muttered those last words under her breath. The savage would have been offended to think that the stranger thought her soft or weak. For it was neither of those things that caused her to suggest mercy. She found herself staring at the streaks of blood splattered all around them, gritting her teeth at the wave of memories that threatened to overwhelm her. She already instinctively knew that her words would have no effect on the stranger and yet still she watched, captured by his steady way in which he stalked his prey. There was something far too familiar about the scene. So much so that at the last moment, she turned away.

He claimed it was not about punishment. But she wondered if that was really the truth. Despite having shifted her gaze away, she shuddered as the thief met his silent death. His last protest left echoing in her ears. It was his last words that caught her attention, her head twisting to look at him over one tattooed shoulder before the rest of her followed suit.

"Who is anyone to decide who is worthy enough to live and who is not?" She asked, a challenge in her tone, bitterness veiled beneath it.

"Someone decided that my tribe was just like that dead man. Worthless. Savage. Uncivilized. We had a sacred purpose and all they saw was what could be taken from us" She bit her lip to keep from saying more, taking a breath to calm herself, allowing him to make an introduction. Deep down, she knew there was no comparison to the genocide of her people and the despicable actions of the men she had seen accost the stranger who was apparently no longer a stranger. But Azura was an emotional creature and she rarely thought before she spoke.

"At least I agree with you there, it is done and there is little point in debating over it now" She said. She paused to consider the name he offered with a look of slight dismay. She found it difficult to pronounce even the simplest of names, a side effect of not having a full grasp of pronunciation outside her mother tongue. But who knew if she would ever need to use it.

"I am Azura" She offered. There was only a short gap of silence between her words and the question that fell out of her before she could stop it.

"What are you exactly?" She asked, unable to hide her curiosity or her rudeness. She had no concept of manners or whether that was an impertinent question. Nor would she have cared. With the question, her hesitance seemed forgotten and she crept closer, always a slave to that never ending desire to know more. The very thing that had set her aside from her kin and usually what drew her into trouble.

 

[Zyndyrr K'yoshin]

Spoiler: Music OOC

The drow may not have turned around to respond to the woman’s words when they were offered.
However, they settled in his head, he had reflected on them, chewed away while cleaning blades.
It was true. There were some who were so exposed to death and violence to lose their stomach for it.
They may not look away, they may not cringe at the flick of a wrist and its blade, but hated more of it.

Whether she was inexperienced, whether she is a kitten amid other forsaken children made no difference.
The lady could have been the Lady of the Sea, with those flimsy, silky blue threads. It didn’t matter to him.
Maybe she had looked away as he had swung his blade—flash, slash, splash—even if she had the stomach.
In his experience, punishment was a just weapon, but these thieves needed death. Mercy was a weakness.

Not always, of course. 'The blade scrapes the flesh. The whip breaks the skin.' Father’s adage.
His words rang out in the son’s head as the drow stood in but a dark green shroud once again.
The lady’s question caught the gentleman’s attention—definitely as best of one in comparison.
She’s certainly a curious creature indeed, asking about who is worthy to decide who is worthy.

Zyn didn’t give ten shits for the woman’s tribe, in all honesty. They may have even made slaves.
Worthless. Savage. If something was taken from them, then perhaps it was their own mistake.
He gazed at her from his distance, eyes shadowed in cloak’s hood, pondering, contemplating.
Emotions. Words sifted within him. Did this woman even know her own strength? He’s gazing.

Wondering. Studying. Such a sorry excuse for a dress. Good thing these thieves hadn’t taken it.
Azura… Zyn chewed on her name as they exchanged. Sky blue... One meaning that fit her outfit.
Another question. They had each other’s attention in this dead dark alley. He stood still, so silent.
The air was stagnant, not even a breeze to tease his garment. He is a pillar of stone, so motionless.

“I am that which decided your fate.” He didn’t speak in hate, but plain as blades that had slain.
“Would you have proven quick before your thief flicked his wrist with his dagger?” Head tilted.
“I decided he was unworthy for life in that moment and, if I didn’t.” He shrugged. “Your fate…”
He paused long enough for her to answer, if she wanted. If not, he would move on, ungilded.

There was no need to sugarcoat his tongue. He stepped forward toward her again. Closer. Closer.
In the darkness, in that dimly lit alleyway of death, Zyndyrr K’yoshin grabbed his hood, lowered.
She had already glimpsed his visage. There he was in plain sight; long silver hair, pointed ears.
Grey face, ashen complexion, countenance like his kind; sharp, dangerous—though also stoic.

“I am a drow from the underground of the House of K’yoshin.”
He didn’t expect her to recognize the identity behind the name.
“I’m sure you have heard of if not seen my folk. Yet amid them I am different.”
A corner of his lips cracked in a grin. “I chose the surface. I choose violence.”

Azura

 

[Azura]

The woman's brows shot up at the show of audacity from the man whose name she could only dream of pronouncing. Seconds later, the motion was followed by a loud snort of amusement and indignation. Before long, the savage was near grinning at the ridiculousness of the notion. Shaking her head from side to side, she smirked.

"You truly think you have any ruling over my fate? Had you died here today, I would have continued on. Had you done nothing to help, I would have taken care of it myself. As I always do. With no physical or internal injuries to bare" She said these words casually, as if they were a certainty, a fact of life, her slim shoulders falling into a dismissive shrug. There was no arrogance or pride in her tone. She had simply faced much more significant threats then a handful of street thieves of no particular power or skill. One wet hand smoothed away the streaks of blood from her throat. The gash that was there minutes ago was now gone, no trace of it ever having been there. A faint glow of blue light was all that remained though it too was soon gone. To assume she was some kind of damsel in distress, powerless to protect herself without his intervention was almost offensive. She had fought gods and demons. She was formed from celestial blood and divine origins.

"I've lost count of those who have tried to kill me. I've been hunted for most of my life and I have always prevailed. And the only person who did manage such a feat.." She faded off at the admission, frowning at the fragmented memories that tried to surface. Darkness flickered across her features as she recalled the agony of her death and the accidental way in which it was caused. The trauma of how she was brought back, against her will. She was lost in these memories for a moment, shuddering as they tried to consume her. It was the shock of his words that tore her from the ghosts of the past, though they seemed strangely linked in this moment.

Surprise flitted through her eyes which soon narrowed, as she took in his appearance anew, with his revelation in mind. Familiarity struck her and the irony of the information almost made her laugh, if it weren't for the pounding of her heart.

She nodded, her throat suddenly dry. She was faintly aware that too much silence had passed and she had to speak. "Yes. I have met one of your kind before" She murmured. "It was he who brought me back, with the help of another" She had not meant to let the confession tumble from her lips but there it was, a truth that she had shared with very few people. Not that there was anyone to tell.

"Different how?" She asked with bated breath and repressed anger dancing in her eyes, though it was clear that it was not personal, only an emotion associated with a past memory he had triggered. She was actually embarrassed that she had not notice the physical similarities until this moment, her head tilting to one side as she studied him.

 

[Zyndyrr K'yoshin]

Spoiler: Music OOC

There she was, only moments ago, with a blade at her throat, but it was not to be her murder.
Had Zyndyrr not have saved her, would this woman have found another way to escape her fate?
Fate, though, was the very question. There was confidence, yes, and there was also arrogance.
Yet her lone audience detected none. She is a creature who has a gift; no need to hide it or lie.

She spoke from experience, not arrogance, based on her tone. Though she may be mistaken.
Zyndyrr K’yoshin had since determined this woman’s expertise at the moment of her fingertips.
She was never a damsel in distress so much as a victim of circumstance and cause of action.
In those moments, in the thick of it, an arrow could bore a king, as a blade may before a queen.

Blue light, like twilight, as if this woman is just s handmaiden, cleaning her own garments.
Yet, that is what her attackers had suspected. Where were they now? Dead, in the darkness.
Intriguing. She valued life, she valued death. So did he. He spoke as one who had saved her.
As one who delivered death for life. However, she spoke like one who had needed no savior.

No. Zyn held his grin amid the bell of this woman’s words. Hunted. She is prey and predator.
Like him. He, too, had lost count of his kills. Scars on his flesh, his person. Where were hers?
On her skin, naked and dormant, he wagered, yet now was not the time for it. “Of…another..?”
That definitely piqued his curiosity. Different, how. Zyn wondered. Unpopular were the drow.

He had only vaguely answered her question—as one who had chosen the surface and this life.
Yet, granted, this woman could not begin to comprehend that Zyndyrr K’yoshin was just an exile.
He sensed no fear from her, no semblance of trembling. If she feared him, she would simply flee.
“I offer you no riddles, no questions with vague answers, yet I wonder after your own all the while.”

Zyn was only a few feet in front of this woman, if she permitted it, and she could see his visage.
More clearly than already, his face plain as day, even in an alleyway where death is riddled with it.
“I have killed, I have hurt,” he admitted, eyes into eyes. “I have taken slaves yet I have freed them.”
And that is the real riddle. “Tell me,” he beckoned of her neck. “Who is it that relieved you of death?”

Oh, she had plainly asked him of his own difference.
And, rest assured, Zyndyrr K’yoshin is a specimen.
Yet, as he glimpsed her flesh, it stole his attention.
Her skin, silken, unblemished, was his question.

Azura

 

[Azura]

Had Azura been able to read minds, she would have been slightly shocked at the accuracy of her new acquaintances internal observations of her. She who considered herself so guarded. As it was, the savage wondered what it was the male was thinking as his gaze explored her. What was it that he was seeking? She was vaguely aware that some stared due to her revealing garments. But the savage recognized genuine curiosity when she saw it. She tried to decipher the nature of his grin and failed, simply frowning at her puzzlement. She nodded at his first question.

"Yes. A necromancer. Someone who I used to consider a friend. She helped him. I suppose its rather long story" Azura explained though she was somewhat mystified that she was being so forthcoming with someone who was still very much a stranger. The whole situation seemed a dream. Standing in a blood and gore splattered alley, bodies littered around her, revealing such things to the same kind of species that had caused her so much internal damage to begin with.

The woman tensed as he neared though she did not back away, determined to not show her unease around his kind. It was not the fact the he was a Drow. She had been indoctrinated since birth to see all men as a threat and such early conditioning was not something that was easily undone, despite the connection she had formed since leaving her home. She listened to his words as he stood before, close enough to reach out grab her if he so desired. She showed no surprise at his admission. She had heard others speak those same words. In the past, she might have showed repulsion. She might have launched into a lecture. She might have used the confession to confirm her people's beliefs. But she did none of those things. Even if she felt them deep inside. Instead, she sighed heavily.

"I do wonder why it is that the world is filled with such evil. Seems that killing is just part of life outside my mountains. At least my people were right about that. Though, they too were not completely innocent.. Self defense, I can understand. Slaves? I cannot" She said, her green eyes staring straight into his, repressed anger dancing through her gaze.

She was caught off guard by his next question, emerald orbs darkening with distress at the memories it conjured.

"He is not of this world or mine. His name was Lorrenzius. I never trusted him or his dark magic. But.. we had a mutual friend. They found me after..." She trailed off, glancing at her hand as slowly turned it so show the jagged black scar that ran across her pale skin. Memories flashed before her and looking back, she almost winced at the stupidity of her actions. "I can heal myself. I am sure you have noticed that. I have never had a scar in my entire life. But it seems that demon blood and dark magic do not mix well with..." She stopped herself, frowning at how easily she was letting the words spill out of her.

"With.. me.. It was a painful and slow death but what happened after was worse" She finished, aware of how cryptic that may have sounded. He had not asked how it was done, this amazing feat of death reversal and for that she was relieved. Though, she sensed the question was on the tip of his tongue. But had the male squinted and looked close enough at the woman's torso, the shimmering skin beneath, he might have saw a faint white line-- the remnants of a deep scar that extended down her stomach to her navel and just past it. The rest was covertly hidden beneath those purposefully wrapped layers of silk, done in a way to afford the girl at some sort of modesty in the areas that were needed.

"Must we talk about this here? Or at all? I would prefer to leave behind the stench of blood and death as soon as possible though admittedly, I was already lost before I found you" She said, eager to leave the discussion of her past behind.

Zyndyrr K'yoshin

 

[Zyndyrr K'yoshin]

Spoiler: Music OOC

A necromancer was her answer. It made sense. Those folk liked to play with the living and the dead.
Then again, perhaps it was this woman’s very first mistake to ever consider this necromancer a friend.
Such magic wasn’t Zyn’s area of expertise. He was much better at creating corpses than raising them.
That evidence was all around them, though it was a waking grave that both man and woman created.

To him, nothing new. His blade scraped flesh, removed sinew, cut it like butter, but he stands loose.
Close to her, if distant. Closer. Yet she was so tense. However, she did not attempt to step backward.
Would it have done her any good if she did? That was another question of the night amid its moon.
She tried to understand evil, couldn't comprehend bondage. Fitting. One move and I could take her.

Perhaps, then, this woman would understand slavery. Yet the man did not act on his impulse.
Her green eyes search into his crimson; vehement, like his own vengeance. She was repulsed.
His gaze drifted onto her skin. Father would make a game of this. Yet his son simply observes.
Her hand that had cast power bore a scar; intricate. No blemish to him. It looked good on her.

Truly, for all of Zyndyrr K’yoshin’s experiences, everything his lord father taught him, he had lived.
He had killed, he had hurt, he had burned, he had cursed, his enemies, though even freed others.
However, he had never died to still be alive. That was such a feat that this woman held over him.
Death drifted in the air just then, a breeze creeping into the alley, tickling skin, like on her curves.

Zyn saw it. The scar, hidden beneath liquid silk, shy, though he spied above and below belly button.
He had indeed asked for as much. This one is a curious creature. Definitely not a damsel in distress.
His heart beat in his chest, as it ever did, yet he felt it in that moment. He bit his lip and he focused.
She mentioned their discussion, their environment, but, to Zyndyrr K’yoshin, death was not a stench.

“I found you,” he challenged, musingly, if a bit sarcastic. “Though perhaps we are both lost.”
He paused, narrowing his eyes into hers, daring her to look away, to blink, even to breathe.
“Come to think of it, I’m pretty hungry,” he grinned. “Thirsty.” He stood still, simply watched.
“Surely a tavern nearby. Come. I’ll buy us some food and drink to fill our bellies. Follow me.”

Azura

 

[Azura]

There was silence between them for several moments and although Azura did not have the capability to read minds, she was adept at reading the energy of people. There was something about the look that passed through his magnetic gaze that caused a chill to run down her spine and she almost asked what it was that he was thinking. She had seen that look before and it made her heart skip a beat with both anger and reluctant fear. The thought of slavery to someone like Azura was comparable to torture. In a way, she had been a slave to her culture for most of life, her liberation coming in the form of the destruction of each and every face she had ever known. A bitter sweet introduction to the outside world that caused her many sleepless nights of guilt. She could have stepped back. But she understood what that might signify to the man and so instead, she allowed a small amount of defiance to flash through her sea green eyes as she tilted her chin to better match his gaze.

His quiet examination was next, one that she did not flinch from for she had invited it after all. A bloom of pink moved across her pale cheeks. She was ashamed of the scars that she bore. She did not like the idea of being marked, to have to carry the burden of the past upon her skin. It seemed a failure on her part that her magic had been unable to heal the injuries as it had done so many times before and her endless search on how to rid herself of these reminders continued. A sigh of relief fell when he made no more comment on it or her demise.

"That is one way to look at it..." She murmured, her eyes still locked upon his. If she looked away, she wondered if he might pounce. He seemed unpredictable. Valiant one moment, questionable the next. But were such thing in his blood? She had very little subjects for comparison.

"We are all lost in one way or another" She replied, unsure why she suddenly found it hard to draw breath. The intensity in those glowering orbs was hard to escape and she was suddenly aware that they stood far too close for comfort. She wanted to refuse his invitation. It was in her best interest to do so. This, she instinctively knew. But there it was again. That nagging bubble of curiosity that simmered in her stomach and grabbed hold of her. The same curiosity that had gotten her killed in the first place. She should have ignored it but what were her options? She was indeed slightly disoriented by the smells and lights of her surroundings, no clear idea of what corner to turn down next in a maze of too many options.

"If you promise I will leave in one piece.." She said, a reluctant agreement given as she looked to him for direction.

 

[Zyndyrr K'yoshin]

Spoiler: Music OOC (Recurring)

Zyn had just begun to step in a direction, to leave this place behind, the grave to its fate.
Then he heard the words of the woman. It wasn’t sarcastic. There wasn’t any amusement.
She was serious. Reluctant. Needed a token of passage—some notion she will not be slain.
Zyndyrr’s back turned to her, his hooded head turned back. “You are safe with me. I promise.”

A Drow. A creature of the underground where mercy was fleeting. A slayer. A slaver. A monster.
She could not see his eyes to read them, but in his voice she may detect no tone of deception.
“Then again,” He turned away, his lips spread to the alleyway. “You will never be whole of soul.”
Neither of them would be, for that matter, whether of hooded cloak or in silky, flowing fabrics.

So Zyndyrr K’yoshin walked on, exiting the alley, and he did not once look to see if she followed.
The streets were lit with torches in the night, flames blazing shadows over the darkness within.
In this less prosperous section of the city, populous and diverse that it is, it is a gritty condition.
Given her alternative and her garments, the woman had better go with, lest she be swallowed.

“Stay close,” Zyn encouraged her or prompted if she wasn’t already. “And do not look at anybody.”
It wasn’t a restriction for the woman, but advice. Stare too long and it might cost her her eyes.
Beggars on the right, gang-members on the left. A stray cat chasing a rat as it ran for its life.
Shops were locked, houses were boarded, while drunkards stood outside a tavern, singing.

“The High Prince,” Zyn spoke aloud of the sign above the tavern. “Ironic. And so very fitting.”
He had earlier cautioned his companion about their environment, but this was a bit different.
“You’re with me,” he promised, giving her his attention, eyes into eyes. “For meat and mead.”
If anyone challenged that, they’d have to answer to him—this Drow who knew of his affliction.

Azura

 

[Azura]

His promise meant nothing to her. There had been a time when she had taken the risk of believing the promises of men. And what had it gotten her? One had betrayed her, disappearing right when she was starting to question the beliefs on which she had been raised. The other had convinced her that an exchange of blood would stop the slow demise that he had inadvertently caused. But it only quickened her fate. At the memory, she glanced at the scar on her palm from which there was always a dull and steady ache. A symbol of her foolishness.

But instead of letting these thoughts slip from her lips, Azura nodded at his promise. Though, it was clear by the shadows that flickered through her eyes that it would take much more then that for her to trust him. It was true, she sensed no immediate threat from him. Only the possibility of it at a later date. Wolves dressed in sheep's clothing always attempted to charm their victim before they consumed them.

His words were met with silence, frowning at the mirth in his voice. She did not completely understand his comment. Only that it insinuated her soul was not intact. A sensitive topic for Azura who had experienced an after life that was bleak and empty, devoid of everything and everyone she believed would be waiting for her. Such was the consequence for dying away from the land of the goddess with no one to perform her people's sacred rituals. At first, it may have seemed as if Zyndyrr walked alone. The wild girl was quiet. But he would hear the soft tread of her bare feet against concrete as she slipped into step behind him. The soft murmur of her breathing, nervous and quick echoing in his ear as she increased her pace to keep up with him.

Azura flinched at the lit torches of orange flame, accidentally bumping into her companion several times as she tried to make a wide berth around them, unwilling to let the heat touch her skin. Despite his advice, the savage found it rather difficult to keep her eyes to herself. She was curious by nature and due to her isolated upbringing, she found the most mundane of things fascinating. The world was a novelty to the woman which sometimes led to her not truly understanding the danger she put herself in.

"Why?" She asked to his warning, her head twisting this way and that way. Several heads turned, grubby faces and hungry eyes following her movements and the soft shine of her skin with ravenous interest. For the moment, she did not seem to notice. Several times she paused, dragging her steps as she followed a stray cat's pursuit of its tiny target or to gawk at a woman who stood on a corner selling her wares.

"Ironic? What does that mean?" She asked, though the question was mostly posed to herself in a distracted fashion as she took in the tavern before them.

"Do not worry. I am tougher then I look. Don't eat meat and I don't know what mead is but anything to get away from the smell out here" Her reply tossed over her bare shoulder with a crooked smile of genuine amusement, possibly the first one she had gifted him with since they had met.

Zyndyrr K'yoshin

 

[Zyndyrr K'yoshin]

Spoiler: Music IC

Had the question over ‘ironic’ been meant in the context of the term or in the word itself and its definition?
Then again, if the woman didn’t get the irony over ‘The High Prince’ within this dismal setting, it is what it is.
“It does stink of shit and piss,” Zyn admitted outside the entrance. No meat or mead. “Hope you drink at least.”
Eating would be even better for her. Something. Anything. For him, getting his blood up made him…hungry...

He detected the amusement in her voice, as if there is even the faintest trace of a grin on her lips.
“I’m not worried, not really,” Zyn admitted. “You have proven your capabilities but this tavern...is…”
As a patron exited, vomiting into the distance, Zyn kept his head up. “Well, it carries its own scent.”
Though he visited enough to at least know the do’s and don’t’s. It is no different. “Shall we, then?”

At that, Zyn headed in. Past the entrance, he was greeted with a generic tavern, ironically rather clean.
Typically, it was the patrons that were the problem, not so much the establishment otherwise pristine.
No vomit on the floor, or shit and piss for that matter. Waitresses carrying trays, platters, meat, mead.
Less than gentlemen pinching asses, getting hands slapped, but the atmosphere was mostly merry.

A live band played in the back, no vocals, just instruments; gentle drums and the plucks of strings.
Zyn passed a human man with a rat on his shoulder, feeding it cheese; a dwarven woman laughing.
An elven woman sharing drinks and fables with three male deep gnomes at a table. And no arguing.
Not yet, at least. For the moment, this was simply a tavern for any kind of inhabitant to eat and drink.

“Beer,” Zyn asked after the bartender while he found a stool at the counter.
“And whatever she wants,” he gestured toward his companion beside him.
“Bread, beef, cheese to go with,” he further ordered. “Apple cabbage stew.”
It's a highlight price on the menu and it might warm the woman up too.

Azura

 

[Azura]

The smell inside the tavern was considerably better than the toxic fumes outside. Still, it could never compare to the clean mountain air she was used to breathing, untainted and pure. And in truth, there were worse scents than what she had faced thus far. At least the stench of blood was far behind her, left to fester in that darkened alley and in her memory. And for that, she was grateful.

"Drink.. Rarely. But on a night like this.." Her voice trailed off as that cautious glare of her swiveled around her surroundings, quickly assessing the crowd, searching for any kind of immediate threat. Her carefulness quickly drifted into open curiosity as she studied the other patrons. At least this world was much like the last she visited, a wayward point for all kinds of travelers. She noticed several heads turn her way, glances that strayed too long yet she felt no danger in the air. Not yet. The atmosphere seemed one of celebration and mirth and so her shoulders quickly loosened with relief.

Azura slid herself into the empty stool beside the Drow and nodded at his suggestion though she wasn't particularly sure it sounded like a wonderful combination. "A whiskey and the stew will do." She replied, gathering her black and white waves to one side of her neck as she spoke.

"Why is it that your people live the way you do? I cannot imagine living a life underground... away from the sky and the wind. And what is your purpose now that you have left them?" She asked. Azura was not skilled at idle chit chat or small talk. She preferred to speak the questions that were on her mind as they came to her rather then holding them until the right moment.

 

[Zyndyrr K'yoshin]

Whiskey and stew. Now that was indeed a wonderful combination. Even a city elf would agree.
A wood elf would and most certainly. An underground elf, a drow, well, that was another story.
One high elf had even chided Zyn for eating elk in front of him. Yet his kin are different beasts.
As he gazed into her face. those black and white waves weren’t unlike his—from the same sea.

He kept his hood up. His ashen complexion amid elongated auricles was a bad combination.
Folks tend to be racist in the end. Were I a vampire I’d bite your neck. His mask hadn’t faded.
He just quietly watched her, took his order of beer and drank deeply, washing thoughts away.
“See that?” He raised at her questions, gestured to a painting of an elk with a great grey face.

It was on the wall behind the bar. Alone, if not lonely, pacing toward the viewer, ever composed.
“I see that creature and wonder.” Zyn lifted his beer. “Is it coming back to the herd or is it going?”
He shrugged, returning to her questions. “You were born and raised in the mountains." Her home.
“Your surface is our sky, and our breath is our wind, but the light of our darkness is overflowing.”

A papery laugh emitted from between Zyn’s lips, as if in a hiss. “Drow live as Drow were made.”
He looked around his surroundings. Humans. Elves. Others. “Something my father would say.”
Didn’t matter anyway. Only the son was in this moment, this establishment, The High Prince.
“My purpose is to find purpose,” he vaguely gave. “Seen it?” Zyn grinned, waiting on his dish.

Azura

 

[Azura]

The drinks arrived first and Azura eyed hers with a mild level of mistrust. It had been a very long time since she had tasted a sip of such poison and even before that, she had never really grown accustomed to the taste. Or the burn that followed. Still, she reached for it. It would calm her nerves at the very least. And that was something. Reaching for the glass, her eyes followed his as they landed on the painting in the foreground. Listening to his words, she took a thoughtful and measured sip, being careful not to swallow too much or else she might find herself spluttering like a fool. There was a long silence after his question, emerald orbs trained on the animal of which he spoke.

"Perhaps it is neither. Perhaps he is the last of his herd. The only one left" She murmured in a somber tone, unable to tear her gaze from the painting for a few moments though finally, it found those magnetic eyes of his once more. His words triggered a new kind of understanding and she nodded, somewhat entranced by the way in which he compared their two worlds with such a poetic flourish. His laugh broke her from her reverie and she gifted him a troubled frown at the mention of his kin.

"That is a role I have never truly understood. There is no word for 'father' in my language for there is no such thing in my culture. Though one eventually did try to claim that title" She said with a crackle of thunder in her voice, following with a deeper gulp of whiskey. At his last question, a small if not sad smile surfaced.

"The funny thing about purpose is that you only realize what it is when you have already lost it. And by that time, you can't get it back. Then, you have to find a new one altogether."

Zyndyrr K'yoshin

 

[Zyndyrr K'yoshin]

Spoiler: Music IC

Whiskey to calm nerves was what any drunkard might uncover as much as a raging lunatic to admit.
Then again, for someone like her, this silken-skin creature with wisps for garments, it was different.
She had never witnessed an establishment like this, that much was apparent, her eyes on her spirit.
As if she had never since glimpsed this liquid to even determine if it is poison or not to begin with.

That taste, like nectar, if it’s beast’s blood with a bit of a burn and a bite. Yet it is not so cursed.
A wizard, a witch, a warlock or some semblance of sorcerer or sorceress, might have conjured.
Not her. She was a woman with power, and maybe some of it was hidden, given her composure.
Oh, he could be quiet, could silently slit your throat, but she was of an entirely unique culture.

Of which she had since admitted. Coming back to the herd or going. Though perhaps it's neither.
It was a scenario of which the woman had painted. Had she whispered it? Lips turn upside down.
For a civilization to have no word for ‘father’ was like this man’s own not having ‘slave’ as a word.
It was preposterous for some, but not for him, for the drow worshiped the woman, held no frown.

A deeper gulp of beer as Zyn stared at the elk but thought of the woman beside him.
“Mine own father would say you were a savage with no comprehension of purpose.”
He sampled bread, beef, cheese amid his speech. “Lord Father of the Lost Scions.”
Zyndyrr K’yoshin shrugged. “Yet the Great Rat leads them. And here…here I am…”

Azura