A tale of Stones...

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by The Underdark Rises, Nov 4, 2013.

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    The damp and dreary tunnels of the Underworld had a way of blotting out all sense of time. Without the sun and the moon, without the passing of seasons there was little means of marking the hours; let alone days. For two years she had survived on her own within these twisted narrow passageways. The stale stagnant air and stalagmite ceiling bringing with it a sense of dread. But what concerned her more than the beast lurking in the shadows, what frightened her more than the flesh eating fungus men or the local Illithid or Drows. Was the isolation wrought by such a cursed fate. For it was an enemy ever vigilant; one no steel or flesh could thwart. And no matter the waking hour or passage of time, it always seemed to be stalking but a few steps behind her.

    Mur'dallia had never seen the sun, nor the twin moons spoken of by her captors. When she was but a toddler a Drow war party crept to the surface world and snatched her from her bed. Burning her village and all family she might of had to ash. Her entire life was spent as a rothe (Cattle) serving the house as a maid and laborer and sometimes the male Drows play things. But one day her innate prowess with magic displayed itself, as well as her natural finesse. It was at this point she became fodder for their army. After a decade of service she finally was able to break free, slitting the throat of one of the Head Matrons favored daughters. An action that undoubtedly failed to elude the attention and ever watchful gaze of Lolth, their insidious dark spider goddess.

    Only death awaited her back in those obsidian and web carved walls. The same death that would in due time claim her within these cramp tunnels and open fields of vividly glowing mushrooms. It was in such a clearing she could be found, gathering two canteens of water to last her the day, while her eyes frantically surveyed the scene. She had no way of knowing how close she was to the surface world of her fathers; in her eyes she still rested within the heart of the Dark elven dominion. Or perhaps worse; near the mastermind and Pale queen of the vile Illithids.

    Her body was covered in dirt. As makeshift bandages shielded fresh and healing wounds alike from the natural bacteria. Hey body adorned in rigged armor melted together through fire magic and sown together using the rough leather of the skin of the giant crabs who stalked the nearby water sources. Mur'dallia's eyes were heavy, sleep rarely found her in such a hostile realms. Both out of paranoia as well as conflict. The constant fear and alertness necessary to endure had taken it's toll on her mind; causing her to long for contact. Sometimes she watch as the dwarves toiled the stone, wanting nothing more than to say hello. Knowing full well that she'd sooner meet a bolt from their crossbow than a friendly gesture.

    Once she had drawn her water, the faint yet unmistakable sound of a rock rolling down a slope teased her ears. With unparalleled grace and speed she bolted, climbing up a pile of rocks as she crouched behind the waterfall. Shielding her battered petite frame from unwanted eyes. Quickly she gathered her composure, her hand grasping the hilt of her enchanted saber she stole from the Drow on her way out. Her breathing was calm, as she called upon the animal that has kept her alive thus far; that animal being instinct...The very thing she felt her humanity slowly become consumed by, and they very thought terrified her more so than death itself.

    For through solitude only insanity and bestial urges can remain...
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    Really, it was his fault, but to admit it to anyone let alone them, he was too proud a young man to do so. The guilt weighed heavily on his heart and his once purity abandoned him for a rouge life, one to search while at the same time survive. What was once before no longer existed. He'd given up on the decent path, the righteous way, because in the end, he didn't know how to return. Too many things had been done.
    What would his Mother think? Would she still have the same Faith in him his Father lacked when screaming his exile from Allyn-his homeland?
    Davantas Goran liked to believe she did. No matter how much he sinned, returning back to Allyn with his sister in tow, would make the terminally ill woman overjoyed. Yes. His own steel colored hues could look into that woman's and relax, for the first time in years. Perhaps his heart would settle...
    If he still had one...
    This whole mess started due to his own jealousy.
    Greed by some aspects...
    Would his sister, Delain, Forgive him? Be happy should he find her alive, Davantas held doubt. She'd probably try to kill him....unless rage caused him to return the Favor first....
    Too many unwanted thoughts. About the past. He need not burden his mind when a more bigger task lie at hand:
    This world. A realm gossiped by many a drunk though none daring seek it out themselves.
    One suited to those vile and sinner alike, Davantas did not know the name, he'd only heard the rumors, radical myths spoken to inspire adventurers to search, possibly bring home a treasure or two. The realm below.
    A nightmare more like it. It'd been his Father, all those years ago, whom traced Pannah's location to the vast city Fehr and it was there that, those who purchased her, were said to have disappeared to the so called realm below, devious dark elves known as Drow. Davantas remembered clearly what they looked like. He also remembered how anger his old man was. The screaming. Blame.
    And his promise to his mother, to bring Pannah home, however impossible it may have been.
    How long had he been down here?
    Too long.
    Seen too many horrible things, done his fair share too. He didn't fear dying, not down here, rather not being able to give his Mother the peace she deserved, having been responsible to begin with.
    Nothing yet, no signs, he sometimes assumed Pannah to be dead, how could one, as Fragile as she, survive down here? He'd killed two lecherous Drow in order to breech the winding tunnel entrances to come down, a decision regrettable when Frustration took over.
    Davantas was at his limit currently.
    And drawing low on energy.
    His supplies were at an all time low and he didn't know how extensive this realm proved to be, whether there was some ending....
    The young man created his own makeshift hideout, deep in one tunnel end carted off from the rest due to a past cave in. It was here that the mushrooms grew in abundance, wild ones, he'd kept his supplies here, buried behind them. A treasured dagger sat impaled in the jagged rock to mark his territory along with piss to keep away anyone or anything daring to invade his resting spot. The Foul smell belonged to a Drow he tortured whom could not keep his insides intact. Disgusting to Davantas, the liquid soon served as a savior, but still nasty it was. The body he used to bait a Behemoth to veer on another path. Unless necessary, he didn't battle with bigger enemies, it was a way to keep his strength up and not draw too much attention to himself.
    Bare, white hands, searched the dirty torn dark brown knapsack Furiously. For the water pouch: A small plastic carrying tote. When finding it, swelled empty, those hands clutched it tightly.
    Beneath a long red, pointed tip hat, containing a curved white Feather, round steel eyes looked around in contemplation, thought. He'd not come across a water source yet, best be time to find one. Davantas crouched low, behind his mushroom cover to the sacred hideout that served as a temporary home. Long white hair spilled out from underneath that hat draping down upon his long red cloak. The garment wrapped tightly around his neck. He wore a long sleeve red cotton shirt over light mythril armor. The pants were a matching color and the belt hitched around his waist held a sword sheath and some round green ornament. He'd continue his search after he looked for water. He started to Feel his lips cracking, his tongue ached to be wet as well as his dry throat. The twenty-three year old brought his right hand down to grip the staff he never went without. The near circle tip held a green orb smack at the lower center. He rose now, standing tall, hearing screaming somewhere in these tunnels.
    Wasn't his concern.
    He masked his mouth and nose with a part of his cloak, moving like a snake between the mushrooms, the green orb on his staff light up some to guide his way. He didn't like using it either as not to drawn attention but at the moment, he didn't care.
    He turned down his Familiar curve, light-stepping the entering tunnels until meeting a Four-way. Davantas crouched, he placed his hand to the dirt and grime. Soiled a bit. He moved a pace or two west, touching, the ground was more soiled. It may have either been a source leading to water or some bastard's liquids. He hoped not the latter. Wiping his hands on his pants, he opted to go west, crouch running. The orb light diminished. He kept running, ignoring the hideous sounds echoing somewhere deeper, below, ramparts unknown, sooner or later, he'd have to explore them.
    "Pannah...." Spoke her name since years prior.
    "Davantas, don't leave me behind, I'm going to tell mom!"
    He could still hear her whining on that day, threatening to tell their Mother.
    "Don't be mad because I'm better than you, at magick." Her voice taunted him.
    Better than him, at magick.
    Allyn, the village of mages, ones destined to use their powers for good. What a joke.
    His mind wandered again. By the time he realized he smelled water, his cloak had dropped around his mouth and nose. Davantas continued west, down the tunnel, nearing a wide opening. The young man's steel eyes lurched onto the medium water source glistening calmly the more he neared it.
    His ears picked up the spilling into the water From a waterfall. He looked around cautiously, there seemed to be nothing here, and on the other side, north, a darkened opening lead somewhere else in this trying abyss. His boots hit the rock as he dropped to his knees, the staff beside him, Davantas scooped up water in his hands bringing it to his mouth. Lukewarm but still drinkable. He took a couple more scoops then washed his Face before turning to look at the rock covering where the waterfall spilled. His eyes narrowed....
    Perfect place for something to hide....
    The thought made him grab his staff again deciding it not to be such a good idea to be open, here of all places, he quickly filled his pouch with water putting it back in his knapsack. The water moved slightly....
    First mistake.
    Turning with great speed, the condemned mage rose, to run a safe distance in order to calculate what his move would be, however, he did not get that chance. Slithery and long, a tentacle, surfaced, running over the ground to ensnare his left ankle. Davantas felt his body fall forward with a thud. He scrapped his chin in the whole damnable process.
    He cursed. Over and over in his mind wondering whether the Foe to be some water beast. It had an iron-clad grip on his ankle and allowed to hold on longer would no doubt crush it. He whirled his staff around as the beast pulled him, toward the edge, where surely it would attempt to crush him, devour his body whole. The tail end of his staff was sharp. He smashed it into the tentacle turning his head to the side as yellow blood spurted onto his clothing, his chin. It smelled absolutely horrid, like most things killed down here. The grip loosened as the creature drew it's wounded limb back into the now tainted water.
    Close call. Davantas breathed in heavily lying on his back. He wasn't allowed to rest long because two more tentacles snaked from the water onto the land seizing both ankles now. "Damn!" He cursed. "Damnable thing...." He whirled over on his stomach now, dragged partially in the water, he slammed his staff in the ground, holding onto it. The creature would not give up. Exactly how big was it....?
  3. Silence was one's greatest shield amongst the shadows, for the vision of most that crawled through this cramp world was weaker than those of the surface world. The mage and his sibling had no way of knowing this, they were out of place thrown chaotically into the raging maelstrom that is the Underdark. Mur'Dallia couldn't see them through the mask of the waterfall, nor could she understand their tongue. The dialect they spoke escaped her understanding, being a prisoner of the Drow since birth she had never been taught the common tongue. His extravagant red attire painted a target on his back, it was a wonder he had lived this long.

    The tendril now wrapped around his foot was that of a beholder, a large one eyed head with writhing tentacles. Known for not only their knowledge of the magical arts, but their almost nonexistent senses of morality and clemency. Mercy would not be shown to this aspiring mage this day. Surely it would of been easier leaving the man to his own demise, but the human left inside of her pulled at the strings of her heart. While the animal within, the muscle memory that kept her alive all these years cried for her to flee. Rising from the pool of water the ugly visage of the beast stood on display. It's single eye open as lizard like iris gazed at it's prey.


    It sounded confused; rarely did those of the surface world tread so willingly into the dark bowls of his home. It was like a lamb galloping into a den of starved lions. No doubt this human would be shocked the creature could speak, let alone utilizing the common tongue of his world.

    "What a rare catch. Human flesh may not taste well, but you make excellent test subjects."

    It spoke with a snarl, it's words portraying the insidious and vile agenda now coursing through it's mind. The entity seemed not to mind the wound inflicted, treating it as if it were merely superficial. A loud chuckle bellowed, reverberating off the heartless stone walls encasing the clearing. For once in a long time, the Beholder was amused and pleased with it's catch. The creature was no fool though, being magically gifted itself; the one eyed monster could detect that this worm was a spell slinger of sorts.

    "A mage as well? The magic of your world is so primitive...lacking the destructive robust bestowed upon us so graciously and without merit from the earth itself."

    Mur'Dallia took advantage of the distraction. Silently and gracefully she scaled the rocky walls, shimmying herself without noise or incident to a nearby ledge, overlooking the revolting beholder. It's mind was far too preoccupied to even take note of anything else that may be lurking within the chamber. But few creatures possessed the courage to face such an adversary. Leaping from the ledge, Mur'Dallia took the being by surprise. As she descended between the beholder and the strange man she undid the holster of her hilt.

    Holding it firmly in her right hand as the engravings emitted a soft, warm yellow glow. The Beholder saw the light in the corner of it's eye, but before it could react she had finished her descent. From the hilt a blade of magical energy could be seen forming, it's powerful enchantment hardly escaping the notice if not intrigue of the human. With one fluid motion the weapon sliced through the tentacle, removing it from the rest of the body. Yellow blood sprayed every which direction, staining the woman's face.

    "You witch!"

    The beholder cried, not so much out of physical pain; rather the shame of having it's pride wounded by a mortal. With outstretched arm and palm facing it she uttered a simple phrase.

    "Tiuin'iona d'treiw ssussun!"

    A sudden flash of light illuminated every inch of the chamber, causing creatures to scurry in random directions seeking shelter. The eye of the beholder was blinded, causing him to cry in pain as from the tip of it's tentacles a series of random magic missiles fired. Crashing and shattering the rocks around the chamber. They had only a few minutes; with time against them Mur'Dallia swooped up the man carrying him behind the waterfall to a tunnel.

    At the end of this narrow passageway was a small chamber, which served as her room and sanctuary against most of the monstrosities of this realm. Placing the mage on a flat round stone she had carved away at to serve as a bed. Her only tool being the yellow glowing blade still residing in her hand.

    "I will find you! I will have you all!"

    The beholder voice seemed like thunder; carrying with it the solemnity of authority. The likes of which often was birthed from arrogance.

    "Venorsh veldrinn dos; venorsh sasviesh dos." (Silence hides you: Silence will Save you.)

    She whispered, unsure of whether or not he could understand the tongue of her captors; the Drow. No doubt by now he would note the fresh and old wounds staining her porcelain frame. All signs weaving a troubling tale of a human; alone in a world of darkness and silence. In a world of monsters and demons...In the world of The Underdark.
    #3 The Underdark Rises, Nov 10, 2013
    Last edited by a moderator: Nov 10, 2013
  4. Davantas had been in many situations where his existence came into question, on whether he'd survive or plunge Further into the darkness, all those times, he managed to avoid the latter. Now, he didn't plan on dying without at least discovering something about Phannah, his sister. He'd been rendered on his stomach, his ankles ensnared by the creature in question, no doubt it wanted to drag him into the water, make a meal, and move onto the next. Too bad. His glimmering staff resided grounded, a hold, for him to maintain a steady grip on. He glanced over his shoulder, the long hat concealing a moment of his steel eyes as they scowered the waters. He wanted to see. To see what grasped onto him and best decide how to handle this. ​
    Davantas' eyes narrowed low. It rose, the body, From the water parting the clear, this beast. A head with a single eye. The beholder. A very big creature, he'd already injured one tentacle, but what about the rest? He counted several more. Eight...no nine...​
    The eye opened, the garbled tongue asked a question pertaining to Davantas' background. How odd, the monster could speak, in the language he could understand, then again, nothing was really out of the question when it came to this Underworld.​
    But they referred to his kind as Tuners, Mages, or Elementals...even accursed due to what could be done.​
    He spoke no words, his mind Focused on what to do, to gain his Freedom and leap onto the tentacles, stabbing them one by one with his staff before placing his sword right in this creature's eye and perhaps taking a souvenir in the process.​
    More words came to be spoken by the beholder, each dripping with acid, hatred, to do him in.​
    "Make no plans creature," Davantas countered. "To remotely touch my body for those purposes." He whirled around on his back now, captive ankles still, his legs spread, he wanted to be able to see this one clearly. It taunted him, like his sister had that day, putting into question his skills. Sheer folly. The boisterous chuckle vibrated through this cavern of sorts, the walls shaking down to the water. "You'd do wise to watch that tongue beast, call not into question what I can do, what Flows through my body." He would speak no more words, best to show this one, his hand held firmly the staff, about to pulll it from the ground knowing the risk, though....​
    Steel eyes caught sight to a yellow glow descending, what in the hell. He became distracted, trying to understand, it happened all Fast, some Figure with a dagger managed to come between him and his Foe slicing one tentacle away, from the beholder's entire body. That foul blood sprayed everywhere, including on Davantas, again. The grip on his ankles loosened, all he needed. He threw his legs straight up and back, rolling onto his knees. He yanked the staff loose turning it in his hand, a grimace captured his Features. A young woman, that's all he could really tell, had saved his hide, grateful to a degree, he'd not tell her these words considering he didn't know her. She could be a demon too but she had usage of magick, had to be, what was she doing down here....​
    "Phannah?" He just assumed, trying to see her better. He raised his staff all the while, the green emblem lighting up. His teeth clenched, eyes narrowed low at the beholder. "Primitive you say?" He would assist her, not only because she saved him, but this thing pissed him off. ​
    "Tiuin'iona d'treiw ssussun!"​
    The woman spoke these words. As she did, a light filled the entire chamber, Davantas shut his own eyes due to it being that bright, he only reopened them when he heard the creature cry out. Time to act. He drew his staff behind him, angling his body right, he then thrust the weapon forward absorbing some of the magick missiles, the others shattered the rock all around. The staff energized, the emblem changed to red before the half circle tip released oval balls of fire back onto two of the creature's tentacles, burning them off. They dropped into the water with a loud splash. This area was going to hell, the noise would attract other vermin most likely. He turned his staff again, holding onto, trying to find her, that young woman. Where was she....?​
    His question was answered shortly afterwards when he felt her try to carry him?​
    On instinct, Davantas pushed away, trying to look at her, he made no malicious movements, rather, he looked over his shoulder, to the beholder, then back at her meaning to Follow, behind the waterfall. Where had she come from? The waterfall? He knew it had been a good hiding place....​
    Pain stung in his ankles but he kept up with her. Through the passageway where the end held a small chamber, her hiding place, much like his own.​
    "Hey, hey." Davantas spoke low, at the woman's hands again, putting him down on a Flat round stone, most likely her acting bed. He liked a woman to take charge, at times, but ones he was aquainted with more than a Few minutes. He still hadn't looked at her completely.​
    "I will find you! I will have you all!"​
    Their common enemy was intent on Finding them...​
    Davantas looked around, back the way they came, his eyes then settled on the woman. She had the scent of this underworld, like being down here longer than one should. Ignoring, for the most part, the enemy, he dropped his staff on the rock bed well aware to it should she try something, though, one had to wonder.....someone intending on malice would not save another.....​
    The mage Found her face with his hands, holding on, his breathing barely audible.​
    Davantas examined her, his ears picking up her whispered Drow words, he'd studied the dark elves some, during silent moments, and ones where he tortured victims, wrote them down, memorized them, and acquired the meaning. ​
    However, it was something he did not master and would not.​
    Davantas understood Silence will save you.​
    He uttered not a word, his hands turning her Face to the side, no...not Phannah..but who..​
    Whom ever she was, she'd been through something, judging by the wounds on her, some exposed, others internal, underneath her attire, he assumed. Human....​
    Why was she down here?​
    How did she get down here?​
    Vibrations could be Felt here, with the walls shaking, from the creature. Seeking them out. Trying to.​
    Davantas looked around. He needed to go deeper, to search.​
    He removed his hands, thinking.​
    A human knowing the language of the Drow, it was disturbing to say the least, had she been involved with them? They were known as vile wretches. His guard was still up, while they were close.​
    "Vel'uss phuul dos?"​
    Why did she help him? She didn't have to, he would've managed, maybe.​
    He wondered whether she could understand him, his language, he'd try, if she did not, he'd hope to say the right words in the Drow tongue.​
    "You are wounded." The mage motioned to her outer Fresh wounds. He could tend to them but he was no healer, such a pure heart could master that skill, and his heart was as black as this Underworld.​
  5. The sound of explosions echoed within the chamber, as the curses of the beholder painted a gloom visage. Mur'Dallia understood that the beholder wouldn't give up; not for sometime. However she had no interest in humoring it; nor did she care much for the prospect of becoming it's lab rat. She understood all too well the thought processes of his kind haven seen first hand the extent of their depravity during her time in captivity under the oppressive rule of the Drow. Her mind was quick to work, as she pondered their options. The sanctuary would serve as a decent barrier but it only had two exits. The first returning them to the beholder; the second back to the territory of the Drow.

    Her concentration however broke, as the man now touched her face. Mur'Dallia seemed puzzle, her eyes locking with his own silvery irises as he studied her. A word parting from his lips, perhaps a name or title? Whichever one it may be; she had little way of knowing for sure. Her eyebrows furled as she bit softly down on her lower lip; trying to piece together what manner of creature she had saved. His attire was vibrant; obviously hailing from somewhere outside of the Underdark; his skin white like her own. His ears were round, eyes silver and hair long and well groomed. His description was not like anything that dwelt within the Underdark; but possessing eerie similarities as her own.

    But amongst the confusion a few words she managed to understand, seeing how he could somehow speak the Drow tongue.

    "Mur'Dallia...Rothe." (Cattle)

    Rothe, a term used to label both slaves and livestock by the Drow. The very utterance of such a word caused her to cringe as memories best left forgotten began to sting and throb like an open wound. Her visible scars compared to the mental seemed like mere paper cuts. A lesser woman would of been crushed by such burdens. Though Mur'Dallia wasn't insane or dead, she definitely was broken.

    "Bel'la uns'aa ka udos dro." (Thank me if you live.)

    She spoke with sincerity, as if hoping to portray the bleak prospect accurately. Though a look of confusion settling on her porcelain toned face as he spoke the common tongue once more. But assuming by his feeling of her body, she could only imagine he was either referring to her wounds or her heritage.

    "Nindyn nindel xunus nindol; dro nau mzild." (Those that did this; Live no more)

    She purred, her lips warping giving way to a subtle smile.

    "Ph'dos dal l'tresk'ri d'ssussun lu'anulo?" (Are you from the world of light and sky?)

    Mur'Dallia had been searching for the exit for years now, but instead found herself lost within the labyrinth that is the Underdark.

    "Sooner or later you rats will crawl from your hole! And when you do I will consume you!"

    She had almost forgotten about their ill tempered one eyed friend. However this narrowed down their options significantly. Grabbing the man's hand Mur'Dallia led him down the back tunnel that was covered in glowing fungi. Soon the wailing of the beast weakened, as they found themselves entering another clearing. A vast chamber littered by huge columns of stones and a magic fire illuminated city.

    "Ele xunus dos doer ghil?" (Why did you come here?)

    Here the sparse light from the glowing fungi granted the man his first solid glimpse of his saviors face; as she turned to face him. Her enchanted blade dissipating the magical energy as she once against holstered it to her hip
  6. 'Damnable creature...' The Mage thought, hearing the explosions lingering, loud and telling the beholder's tale: that one held power. Just how much was clear seen not only with the previous halted battle but hearing the noises throughout these winding tunnels. At least they could remain here, to rest, then....go their separate ways, perhaps. Davantas was no Fool. He noticed the young woman's beauty despite the hardships, her wounds told, she endured. A moment captured him in silence the more he looked at her realizing that she could not be Phannah, his baby sister held steel eyes, like him, their Mother, Father.​
    This woman's, they were a deep brown, From what he could tell. His obsession in thinking she was Phannah did not stop his hands as they explored her Face, needing to familiarize himself with her, the only contact which had not been outright violent. She'd saved him.​
    "Mur'Dallia." Her name. Davantas couldn't say he heard it before, maybe it was an associate with Drow. It was beautiful though but the last word, he understood greatly, it had been uttered numerous occasions when he studied those dark elves.​
    Rothe. A slave. Mere cattle. That was how they referred to those enslaved. Mur'Dallia, she must've been captured. There was a story. One he wanted to know more about, his thoughtful side, the violent side urged to move on, slaughter any in the way to Finding Phannah's whereabouts.​
    A naive man would've apologized. Been sorry beyond belief to hear her call herself cattle but Davantas would not, she didn't need a stranger's sorries, what good would they have done? He didn't know her whole story and still....she seemed capable, to not need anyone's pity.​
    "Bel'la uns'aa ka udos dro."​
    (Thank me if you live.)​
    "Usstan xuat...plan to. Naut quin." Not until completing the task his Mother begged him too, before she perished, which would be soon. There wasn't much time and Mur'Dallia's spoke about the impending danger, the very certainty death knocked at the door. He didn't scare so easily not that he assumed she meant her words to.​
    "You have wounds which need to be tended to." She understood him when he asked who she was, the statement made by him was to bring to light the wounds he saw, not From their battle with the creature, maybe a Behemoth or others. "I can treat them, it is the least I can do..."​
    "Nindyn nindel xunus nindol; dro nau mzild."​
    Davantas' eyebrow raised, he only understood the latter. Live no more. "You mean to say, the ones responsible For these wounds, they live no more?" He would have to get better acquainted with the Drow tongue should he want to completely understand her but surely she knew his tongue, she understood what he said. This was more difficult than he anticipated and a complication. He’d keep up as best he could.​
    Her next words, somewhat understood, mannered like a question. His eyebrow Furred. Land of light and sky? Oh, the surface, he answered his own question. "The surface, yes, I hail from Allyn, the city of Mages. Mur'Dallia, are you not of the surface? Surely you must be, had you been whisked away?" He realized he spoke more words in his own tongue. The notion was preposterous, a human being born down in these dank depths, but then again, the world was a mystery in itself. Nothing was impossible. His head lowered some, he did not look at her, he was giving too much information, turning away From his extended pathway.​
    "Sooner or later you rats will crawl from your hole! And when you do I will consume you!"​
    The loud, demanding voice belonging to the beholder made the mage grimace, he had the right mind to return where they previously met and introduce it to his sword, directly in the eye. There had been a crossing on the other side of the water, to a darkened tunnel way unknown, exploring it now would put him in a battle with the fiend. Did Mur'Dallia know these routes? Steel eyes directed back on the woman.​
    "I have to ask-" Her hand, a little on the soft side, took his. He stood. She was moving, meaning, he should too. His staff wasn't far behind. Had she another way to avoid battle which would attract others to the locale? Davantas kept quiet, observing her back, the flowing of hair pushing back to his chest. His staff's green emblem lit up showcasing the fungi as they glowed lighting the way. "Dos z'klaen zhaun nindolen har'olen al." He commented quietly, the creature's screams abandoning them the further they moved.​
    Into a clearing...​
    Davantas paused. His hand dropped from the young woman's as he halted in this relic, a treasure's nest to an explorer. He stopped moving, to look around, at the columns of stones, much bigger than he. This was some ancient city. He strode a step ahead, head turning at the carvings embedded in the stone, telling stories, about depicted creatures.​
    Symbols were the guided language which he could not read. His hand held onto his staff, the green emblem still lit. As he turned around, to fully glimpse the one whome saved him, his white hair moved. He could truly see her. She was beautiful, as he judged, remarkably so, like a diamond in the rough. No, this young woman did not belong here.​
    The Mage lowered his head. She would understand him, he had the feeling.​
    "I am searching for someone, a moment or two ago, I thought you to be her but your eyes, they're not steel. Where I come From, my people....the people born in Allyn....we have white hair, steel eyes." Davantas walked around, his boots clicking to the stone.​
    "The one I seek out may perhaps be down here, that is why I explore, every tunnel should the need arise, that is why I am here, why I came, although, I could be chasing a ghost." The danger here was imminent. "She would have white hair, steel eyes, maybe you have come across someone like that?" The Mage stopped walking again, staring up at the ceiling. He whirled around to Face her again.​
    "What has happened to you, to make you a Rothe."​
  7. The way this man touched her flesh to most would come off as strange, if not a bit creepy. But to Mur'Dallia it was a welcome notion compared to the void of contact birthed by the Underdark. In silence she listened, as the man went off to speak. His words to her alien, yet she strove to comprehend his meaning. With eyes now narrowed she sighed, finding the whole ordeal to be frustrating. Still even incoherent thoughts were preferable to none at all she supposed. The city of the Drow stood in the distance, it's obsidian walls a testament to their resilience. The large tower at the center, used to mark the passage of time stood out the most. It's blueish hued magical fires signaling that it was night in the world above.

    Though she doubted very much that this stranger understood the meaning behind their existence. In the distance a glowing disk could be seen darting across the vast clearing, making it's way to it's gate. The sight caused Mur'Dallia to cringe, as she pondered over whether or not that was her previous mistress. Whom by now was suffering the disfavor of their nefarious spider Goddess Lolth. Which painted a grim prospect toward the likely hood of their long term survival as a house.

    "Dos noamuth foluss?" (You Lost someone?)

    She questioned to herself, though the inquiry still audible in nature. The mage had no idea of how unlikely it was he'd find his sibling alive, let alone in a recognizable state. Finally though Mur'Dallia address his plight and question honestly; knowing full well how uneasy the reality of her situation may be.

    "A alurl il zhah rothe, sslith elghinyrr." (At best she is cattle, worst dead.)

    Apart of her wished that the translation of her words would be lost to him, but she doubted this would be the case. Slowly she stretched out her hand, as her makeshift bandage wrapped hand pointed toward the distant sanctuary of the Drow.

    "Ka il dron, il orn tlu gaer." (If she lives, she will be there.)

    What was a beacon of hope to the dark elves, was a symbol of oppression and death to all others. If this man intended to free his sister he'd have to charge into the lions den. But with forty houses he'd have no idea where to start. Luckily for him, Mur'Dallia knew which two houses were most likely to take a human slave for purposes other than experimentation. And if she so happened to have found herself captured by one of the others houses; then she was already dead.

    "Orn dos s'gos l'hal? Xor orn dos sevir?" (Will you brave the den, or will you leave?)

    His answer would dictate their next course of action, and perhaps their very fate. Purposely she tried her best to delay his question regarding her past. It was a subject she wasn't fond of discussing. For by doing so, she could only tear the scabs off of old wounds. Wounds though not fresh, were hardly healed. With a heavy heart she sighed, as luscious lips formed a flamboyant frown. Indeed she had never seen the sun, nor felt it's warm rays. The sky and moon were like Gods in her eyes, so far out of reach that they might as well not exist at all.

    Yet this did little to sway her unwavering resolve to see the home of her fathers for herself. But considering the stigma associated with the Drow's war parties; Mur'Dallia doubted very mcuh there was even a home to return to. Still the possibility of finding peace was always better than admitting there was none. No matter how daunting those odd's may seem...

    "Lu'oh 'udtila naut selg'tarn, vel'bol 'udtila selg'tarn zhah nindel Usstan tlun nin duul'sso." (How does not matter, what matters now is that I am free.)

    This had to be the most flaccid attempt to elude questioning. Yet somehow her words carried with them the solemnity and weight of undeniable truth. Even if she carried to humor him, the story wouldn't be as whimsical as one may hope. She was snatched as a toddler, dragged into the belly of the earth. Adorned in rusted chains and began serving the 22nd house. But how she escaped, the horrors she had to endure; the countless trials laid before her. Those would make far more enthralling tales..
  8. The young woman, how old could she have been, twenty? Or less, Davantas treaded on dangerous ground, associating with her, asking questions that he would not give a damn about should it have been someone else.
    So why her, why did he risk everything, to talk with her? Maybe it was due to her being the First person he came into contact with and not those vile Drow or other abominations lurking down here, maybe the Fact she saved his skin. Either way, Davantas was drawn in to know more, about her, while at the same time seeking out his sister. Phannah, where ever she was...
    Possibly dead and gone to the world.
    So, where was this place, Mur'Dallia brought him to? Steel eyes continued to look at the language written on the walls, unknown to him. This city was not abandoned, somehow, he had the Feeling swell into his body, that they'd stumbled into more danger. An explorer would have a most immense time trying to decipher the written words, struggle to unearth the truth. Gripping his staff, Davantas ran two Fingers along his hat's edge eventually touching the Feather around the side. His head tipped a bit. Davantas noticed the large, looming tower, at the city's center, a point of interest. Blue Fire danced around it causing him to wonder what lied inside. He looked back at the woman, she knew.
    He Followed her gaze, north, well into the distance. His own hues narrowed, trying to Figure out what it was moving. A glowing object, going somewhere unknown. Davantas turned back to her. Mur'Dallia, she seemed a bit bothered.
    He brought his eyes back onto the object in question, gone now, it brought his initial observation to be answered: this city was not abandoned. To even attempt a look around meant utter stealth, if possible. There were many ways to execute such a plan. He knelt now, Forced to look at the ground, thoughtful until hearing Mur'Dallia's words. It brought a bitter smile on his Face.
    At best she is cattle, worst dead.
    A very real possibility.
    "Dead..." The Mage repeated. He scarcely knew what Phannah looked like anymore, she'd been young and caught up in his own ployd, his anger. Dead or a slave to be used by the Drow For their own bidding, still, he had to seek her out, if not to Find a body in order to tell their Mother. The Mage's head slowly turned, looking at the woman he had some draw towards. She pointed and his eyes directed to the source. The city itself.
    "Gaer....jhal del heen." The lion's den, why would he expect it to be any other place. Davantas rose, his head shaking, he still smiled bitterly. "She would be somewhere down there, the question is where, where would those Drow hold a human hostage?" The latter was spoken more For his own benefit, he couldn't very well storm the entire city, it was mass suicide, this had to be taught about. She questioned him. What he would do.
    "Elgg jal nindyn wun ussta i'dol." Meaning he would continue on, until he Found some sign, whether or not she lived.
    The Mage in red threw down his staff. The weapon and ornament did not crash to the ground, rather, it stood. The green emblem still lit.
    She still hadn't answered him, the questions he wanted to know. Maybe she wouldn't, it really wasn't his place though intrigue proved to be the greater good here. Davantas' hands quickly tightened the cloak around his neck all while looking to Mur'Dallia, to see what her reaction might have been considering what he just told her. What he planned on doing. She had no stake in this although he knew that these tunnels, this area, was familiar to her and for that reason alone, he needed her help.
    Davantas wouldn't admit it.
    He caught the Frown she gave him.
    "Lu'oh 'udtila naut selg'tarn, vel'bol 'udtila selg'tarn zhah nindel Usstan tlun nin duul'sso."
    "Fair enough."
    No longer a rothe....then what was she doing down here? Ah, he understood now, his own lips were drawn into a straight line. She was escaping. He didn't blame her, he could only imagine the horrors being down here contributed to the wounds seen and unseen. "Dos zhaun bauth nindol che'el," He approached her, looking down at her.
    "More than I do." His words came out in the Familiar tongue he knew. "What lies there...." Steel eyes gave a look over the city in the distance once more before returning to the young woman's. "I know that with your Freedom you would not be down here, being Free means having a choice. You seek the surface do you not? To see what clearly has been stolen from you. As you've helped me, I will return the Favor. Uhu lil shinduago, I will take you. Help me Find her....any trace...living or dead. That is all I need, all which will suffice."
    He'd not die until he had a trace on Phannah and returned this young woman to the surface, both of which spelled trouble. Davantas lowered his voice to a whisper, he took a step back, retrieving his staff and at the same time held Mur'Dallia's elbow drawing her back, to shadows, where they would not be seen. Further down, into the city, he heard Footsteps, seemingly in all directions. He pulled her to him, their closeness to shroud as a single entity in the event they were caught. Davantas eyed a moving Figure, roaming the city. His eyebrow raised. A Drow?
    Definitely not the pure elves, with the pale white skin or association with pure, this one was different.
    His shoulder-long hair was the same as Davantas', white, some strains were braided which Fell around his hairless face and neck. His skin was a dark brown, etched with symbolic tattoos, black as night and silver clasps were attached to his ears. He wore overwhelming robes, a white one to touch his skin and a black one For his outer body. He was a warrior; the sword attached by a belt at his side told this story. The Mage judged him to be a half-bred, maybe. A hindrance should they encounter him in battle. The warrior with the yellow eyes stopped, looked all around, then turned to disappear on a path directly into the city, going somewhere, on some business. Davantas loosened his grip on the young woman staring down at her.
  9. The meaning behind the emotion displayed within those silver pools of his escaped her understanding. Such a thing she had never witnessed before, yet despite her confusion she didn't like their glow. Pity; that was the word for such an expression. The mage felt sympathy for her, whatever image he once perceived forever warped by the gloomy nature of her past. All Mur'Dallia could do was frown as they found themselves outside the barriers erected around the hornets nest. Her once ever vigilant eyed obscured as she delved deep into thought. Otherwise she would of noted the sudden arrival of the small group of Drow.

    With force she found herself being pulled into the shadows, as the dark skinned mer advancement abruptly halted. She had feared the vibrant colors of his clothes had given them away, but luckily they were lax. Their complacency and a stroke of luck served as their shield. In silence she watched, as the animal within awoken from it's state of torpor. Demanding that she slaughter them, showing them the absence of clemency her captors dealt to her. A sigh of relief parted from full lips as the Drow retreated into the city. But she dared not say a word until they were completely out of sight.

    Stepping from the natural veil she turned to face the mage, arms nested against her abdomen supporting her bosom as she eyed him rather intently. No doubt the man would be perplexed by her sudden and unusual lingering gaze.

    "Dosst ofil'nisha ph'ichl ssussun..." (Your clothes are too bright.)

    Stepping forward she closed the gap between them, "Evagna uns'aa." (Forgive me)

    Without restraint she began to tear the coat from off his body. Making her way to his belt as she paused, permitting a moment to pass so that their eyes may lock. "Ol zhah whol udossta dro'xundus..." (It is for our sruvival.) She purred, the rythmic tone of the drow tongue rolling off her tognue was melodious indeed.

    Giving off the illusion of spell or perhaps flirtation, though neither could be further from the truth. As a Rothe Mur'dallia's abuse extended far beyond physical, extending both to the mental and sexual kind. In her eyes sex was forced, an extension of the males lust for one's bodice. Seldom did she consider it anything else, and seeing how she had been used many times. She saw no shame in seeing another man bare, let alone undoing his belt. However the look in his own eyes caused her to pause and question herself, once the belt had been loosen.

    "Ulu l'ssussun Usstan daewl ulu alu. Jhal shlu'ta Usstan sekene dro wun folt natha tresk'ri?" (To the world of light I wish to go. But can I truly live in such a world?)

    The question as odd as the manner in which it was poised. Though reflecting her inner fear and struggle with embracing the unknown. These walls and shadows, the cruelty of her captors and the constant threats around her were all that she had known. In many respects ones soul was like a bottle. Take two bottles and drop them on the ground. Some shatter, while others remain whole. Those that do shatter break differently. One is broken into thousands of pieces scattered every which way; while the other one only breaks. Retaining some form, resembling a jagged tool. Only useful to cause harm and death. She felt more aligned with the latter...

    His promise of leading her home was weaken by her lack of inner resolve; for the first time in years she was shaken by this tragic epiphany.

    "Usstan xun nindol naut whol vorth. Jhal whol dosst dalninil...il zhal'la naut doera t'larryo n'nehr il zhal'la doera saph Usstan." (I do this not for reward. But for your sister...she should not become broken less she should become like I.)

    Her words drenched with sincerity, their genuine nature beyond reproach. The thought of another being used, abused and eventually killed failed to sit well with her. Unlike many of their slaves, Mur'dallia never developed Stockholm syndrome. Hopefully the same can be said for his sibling; otherwise things would prove increasingly difficult.
  10. Something about that particular group gave alarm to Davantas, although this was masked by his usual emotionless claim. Steel eyes observed them, every single one, including the yellow-eyed warrior. Had they been looking For something, more precise, someone? His grip on Mur'Dallia loosened, he looked down at her a moment. Maybe, they'd sought her out...
    He uttered not a word, not until, the party had moved on, toward the city. A close call it was. Being spotted would've surely brought on an unwanted battle and destroyed the stealth he hoped to obtain. Davantas still couldn't help but look at the woman, hearing the sigh escape her appealing lips. Now, as they were, plotting, somewhat.
    The Mage pulled back, realizing how close he was to this woman, he continued to look at her; the manner in which she stood. Arms nestled against her abdomen. Did she have something to say? Why yes, indeed. He'd seen women, both close and not, standing in similar Fashion. Ones angered to have him leave without attachment, others stern by his own slight arrogance. What would Mur'Dallia say to him? Davantas crossed his own arms, tipped his head as some hair lingered near his eyes.
    "Xas?" He questioned. One eyebrow raised. His clothes, too bright? That is what she'd been thinking? The Mage spared a quick laugh. This was true. It had been a symbolic gesture to wear red, he'd not thought anything about it until she mentioned it. It was like wearing a target on his back down here. He'd seen Drow in darker attire, to blend in, a good move. Davantas was wreckless, always like he aimed to be.
    He stood tall, silent, save For the earlier laugh. His gaze never Faltered on the young woman captured by his interest, he remained rooted, watching her come, closing the space they put between each other. Forgive her? "Xuat joros whol nelgetha," He spoke to her quietly. "Unless you've done something to warrant such." He uncrossed his arms letting them hang, watching her remove his cloak. To the ground it dropped like a sea of red. What else did she intend to remove? Davantas Followed her hands, on his belt, where his sword was attached with the sheath. Maybe not this. He looked up to see her looking at him. "Xas, dro'xundus..."
    He imagined, that as a slave, she'd been Forced to do things, sexually and unwanted. For them, the Drow. Phannah probably did too, had she been alive. Such abuse would likely twist someone's mind and he was not attempting to heighten what damage his new partner most likely experienced. She was beautiful. In a time before, he might've wanted to meet a woman such as her, circumstances highly different however, but now....
    The belt came loose, their eyes still meeting. Davantas scooped up his sword letting only the brown garment drop soundlessly on the cloak.
    He wasn't here to harm her. To hold illicit thoughts. He interrupted her speech.
    "I'm not here to hurt you." His truth.
    He couldn't say the same about down here, nor the world above. Both had their cruelty levels, dishonesty, and downright blackness but the surface, was still better than this Underdark. The Mage lowered his sword, to the pile. He reached up to hold Mur'Dallia's Face, as he'd done before.
    "Xas, dos shlu'ta, jhal, usstan orn naut ulnar ulu dos. I will take you to the surface, but, it can be as cruel as down here. The people, some. Though, there lies a difference, above...there is hope." Did he believe his own words? She had to know that down here, there lied a vile wretched nature, cruelty, no hope. Davantas' wasn't going to pretend he knew what she had been through but perhaps on the surface, she could seek out Family, something other than what she'd been put through down here. He...could help...to some extent. She didn't belong down here then again would she willingly go with him knowing what he had done? His hands radiated against her Face, hearing her resolve, why she'd venture into the Drow City. For Phannah, to not have her broken like she.
    The Mage lowered his hands.
    "Taknea..." All he could say. He pulled back more, turning to look at the city once more. "Lil crup ulnen wun ussa...."
    How could he have not mentioned it, his name.
    The guilt washed away, the Mage placed his hand on his chest.
    "Ussta apologies, f'sarn Davantas." He was now reaching behind him, in his pants back pockets to retrieve something wrapped in cloth. He unrolled it to reveal a thick spiral plant. The young man tore a piece, looking at Mur'Dallia, putting it in his mouth, wincing slightly when the explosion of inner juice sated his tongue. Seconds later, he held up his hand to spit the chewed contents in it. Now he came toward her, unable to truly heal the visible wounds, he could at least tend to them with the herb paste.
    "Izin ussa?" If she approved, he'd rub the paste into those wounds, the Fresh ones. To truly have them healed, possibly, a healer would need to summoned. Allyn had many but none would come to him of course. "Jewelweed..." He explained about the plant. "There are many on the surface, plants, some good, and others not so much." Once Finished, Davantas wrapped the cloth up to store back in his pocket, he still looked at her drawing his attention back on the city. "Where ever she may be lies somewhere in there. The best approach would be stealth unless we wish to warn them we are here, I'd like to avoid any unnecessary battles." He retrieved his sword and staff.
  11. This fellow was an oddity to her, the mannerism in which he spoke and acted was in open defiance to the norm she had experienced for a man. With narrowed eyes she questioned his words, a natural instinct seeing how no one in the Underdark proved selfless. Without restraint the man permitted the removal of his coat, and seemed a bit too comfortable with her hands now resting dangerous close to his private regions. The lack of sexual wile and discomfort caused a brief pause in her action, her head tilting ever so slightly to the right; as raven locks partially shielded her porcelain toned visage. A great deal of questions circled through her mind, though this was hardly the time nor the place for pointless banter. For each moment wasted here, limited the likely hood of finding his sister alive.

    "Mzilst nesstren xun naut saph l'muahae d'natha j'nesst." (Most men do not like the advances of a woman.) She purred, referring to the cultural influences of her captors.

    Without further delayed Mur'Dallia undid his button, before dropping his vibrantly colored trouser to the cold and damp floor. But not before the mage pulled out some sort of flora from his pocket. Never before had she seen such a thing. The plant life of the Underdark consisted of fungus and moss, with the occasionally root like vine. Their plant life perfectly reflecting the hostility of their world; each generally proving toxic or lethal. If not alive and conscious. For a moment she found herself beguiled by the plant, admiring it's alien shape as her fingers gently stroked it's unusual texture and feel. In silence she remained, permitting the man to once against place his cold hands against her warm soft cheeks.

    "Jhal l'usar d'kestal, zhah zhennur t'yin l'ishie rendan kri'shain nindol tresk'ri." (But the Sliver of hope, is greater than the ethereal darkness covering this world.) The truth in her words irrefutable, for no doubt his short stay within these claustrophobic chambers served as a testament to her words.

    Cautiously she watched as the man prepared the remedy, finding the application of the medication to be unorthodox. For years she had spent her time dressing her own wounds, permitting either her body or boiled water to cleanse and mend her wounds. Her natural instinct was to consider the plant a toxin; though such paranoid thoughts dissipated as quickly as they had formed. For what use would she be to this man as a corpse? If he intended to do her harm; it wouldn't be until he exhausted her usefulness.

    What followed next may shock the man, Mur'Dallia refused the application, pushing it away as she shook her head. What little pride she had left wouldn't permit the acceptance of aid for a weakness she was more than capable of remedying herself.

    "Devantes folt natha ssin'urn kaas. Jabbuk Devantes Usstan z'klaen nauxahuu; ussta khel zhah k'jakr gareth ulu o'goth z'arlathilu." (Devantes such a beautiful name. Master Devantes I must refuse; My body is still strong to heal naturally.) Tactfully she expressed her desires.

    The shadows around them began to bend, writhing as if in agony as they slithered like a snake on it's belly; forming a large single mass. The pool of darkness bubbled, as from it's epicenter something emerged. A woman adorned with a bright white mask, wearing robes as dark and menacing as the shadows themselves. Her hands shielded by some sort of heavy clawed gauntlet. As the shadows dripped down her form like beads of water after a much warranted shower. Everything about this woman proved insidious, her very aura intoxicating exerting her baneful intent and unquestionable authority.

    Mur'Dallia froze, refusing to unsheathe her heavily enchanted blade; instead opting to bow. She knew this woman from the stories; the self appointed queen of the Illithids who covets the throne of the Drow. From the swarthy sky several lanky figures descended, their tentacles covered faces drenched with slime as a watery, otherworldly growl reverberated not against the frigid stone walls, rather within their very minds. These beings were the Illithids, masters in the arcane and psychic arts. Known for making any organism their mindless thrall to work as slaves and soldiers within their army.

    "La'vruk graan drul mich die eir viel dos mich krein." The words she spoke would elude both their understanding, for she spoke an ancient and long forgotten tongue. A heavy sigh escaped through the slit of her mask as she raised her hands. Swarthy spikes fired into Mur'Dallia's skull, making it's way to her mind as she flooded her head with countless tongues. "For you mage, I speak your colorless tongue." She hissed, retracting the shadows from Mur'Dallia as she remained on her knees, breathing heavily as sweat ran down her face.

    "You must be the slave who escaped. The one who killed a matron, destroyed a house and has forever earned the spite of Lolth? Impressive, for a human." The pale queen spoke before waving her hand over her mask. The once ornament disappeared from sight, revealing her eyes of crimson and ashy skin.

    "Yes...I am she." Mur'Dallia spoke, using the common tongue. Unaware that she was speaking the language of her fathers.

    "You needn't waste your time worrying about me, I know why you're here surface dweller. I have been watching you for sometime. You have luck and fortune on your side. Most prancing around in such eccentric atiire would find themselves dead." A subtle smirk dawning her face as the thought crossed her mind more vividly.

    "I am here to help. I have plans to take the Drow by force. For the amusement you both have provided in an otherwise bland world; I will assist you. And will leave your sister unharmed. And yes my feminine mage; she is very much alive...Though pregnant." Her words carried the solemnity weight of authority. Not contrived out of arrogance, or the folly of sheer pride alone. Rather from experience and merit.

    Mur'Dallia sent Devantes a solid nod; they had little choice in the matter. For despite whatever he may think about this woman's sudden entrance; she was indeed powerful. Even now he could sense the abnormal aura around her body-unlike that of any mage or sorceress before. For she was what most scholars referred to as myth, a wound of the arcane flow.

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