The Outcasts

Discussion in 'ROLEPLAY GRAVEYARD' started by Psychedelic, Jul 26, 2014.

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  1. No matter how tired she was, the sun always woke her up. Maydia had been living out in the tundra for weeks now, having made a rudimentary lean-to as shelter from the dusty winds and occasional storms. It sufficed, but that didn't change the fact that whenever dawn rolled around, the beating sun seeped in through the cracks of her shelter, momentarily blinding a woman that was never meant to see the sun. Trying to get back to sleep after this inevitable waking was like trying to build a tower out of syrup - an exercise in futility. And so it was, that little by little this nocturnal creature found herself becoming a woman of the daylight.

    It started slowly, Maydia ventured out of her shack, trussed up in a heavy cloak that at least kept the worst of the weakening sun off her skin, exploring what had become her domain, marvelling at the bustling activity that was far more out in the open than it was during the night. These trips became excursions, until eventually the drow was even eating one of her meals during daylight, having ensnared a poor little rabbit earlier that day. She still felt far more comfortable during the hours of darkness, but slowly the sun and brightness were becoming less hurtful, and far more a part of daily routine.

    The ebony skinned woman was of typical elven build, petite and lithe as one could hope for. Her talents lay not in simple brute strength, but speed and agility, as well as wit within all quarters. Every day she practised with the longsword that had been hers since her youth, though now the blade was beginning to dull, becoming brittle as the metal became tainted by the sunlight. Soon it would be worthless, as all weapons forged in the Underdark inevitably became when exposed to the corrupting sun.

    It was after one of these training sessions, in the pink glow of a summer evening, that young Maydia found herself sitting quietly with her feet dipped in the cool running water of the stream that seemed to be the only source of water within the vicinity. Her usually carefully pinned back white hair lay loose, waves falling midway down her back, occasionally moving in the gentle breeze. A picture of tranquillity, no one might have guessed what was going on in her troubled mind.

    Although it was unhelpful to do so, Maydia could not help but return to the cause of the four deep welts that still burned an angry red. Time had largely healed them, but the scars would always be deep and ugly. A draegloth had come for her, no doubt sent by an angered Lolth as the drow had sought to escape the cavernous realm to which she belonged. Grey eyes looked down on the marred reflection, remembering that battle in which her life had almost ended, and her connection to her heritage had been severed once and for all. It was not a fond memory, but it stuck all the same, and most likely would remain fresh throughout the intervening years.


    "I believe you owe me a pitcher of ale." Caindir announced to the farmer, pride quite clear in the tone of his voice. As he spoke, the elf dumped the last sheaf of wheat at the feet of the farmer to which it belonged. Said farmer was grinning brightly, even as he handed over the coin that would buy an obscene amount of alcohol. The redhead was a bit of an oddball, but most in this farming community found him good company, and on days like today, when a bet turned into a verifiable bit of hard labour, everyone won.

    The chipper young wood elf made his way to the nearby tavern, happy in the knowledge that although he had done an honest days work, and consequently expended more energy than he usually did in a week, he had still won yet another challenge. The wheat farmer reckoned it was impossible for one man to harvest the entire field in one day, and had been proven sorely wrong. Of course, there was always the possibility that Cain's reputation had preceded him, and it had just been an easy way of paying just one man for the job, but whatever the case, everyone involved seemed to be rather pleased with themselves.

    Sitting at a large table, surrounded by peasant humans that were more than happy to let the relatively burly elf pay for a round or two, Caindir felt at home. Many elven species were shy and suspicious of other cultures, but it seemed this was not the case for this particular one, who seemed to thrive on the company of others, particularly when he found new sensations to enjoy. Yes, novelty was just wonderful.

    Although he was still smallish compared to the tall and strong farmers, the olive skinned man had a commanding presence, though he was not aware of the effect he had on some people. He knew that he had had one too many pitchforks placed firmly at his arse as he ran from the dwelling of some girl or other that had attempted to solicit him, only for her father or brother to find out before any canoodling could occur. It was all rather an amusing game, though for the time being he remained firmly wrapped up in singing some strange sea shanty that no one seemed to know, though clearly someone must do.
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