From the Underdark (a drow tale open for all.)

[Gwindolyn]

Gwindolyn rises from her throne.  The room is massive and almost organic with the spiders of many varieties that roamed this room.  Her throne itself was a large remake of a spider body with a seat where the upper body and head ought to be.  The backing to her throne is layers of web strung tight. She walks through the room, pacing.  It is not often one could spot the dark beauty so restless.  She was one of regal composure.  She may not be a queen in title, but the way she dealt with life would rival any royalty.  The thin whisps of silk that barely covered her 'modesty parts' as she heard some elf call them.  Of course that elf now resides in the afterworld, but that is another matter.  A cruel smile covers her full, black lips as she recalls how that one left this world.  That was a good.

The two giant spiders that guard the steps to her throne begin to chitter.  She pauses to listen to them.  The spider song being something she knew and could speak before she could even speak drow.  She was ushered into the temples before she could properly speak with such a gift from Lloth.  An intense training that lead to her being one of the youngest matrons ever.  She was matron before she was even a hundred years old (translated to a human life, that would be like a 19 year old ascending the throne).  She hears their advice and nods her head.  She turns to the males lined along the entrance to her throneroom.  She looks at one, the only signal she ever need give that his service is about to be used.

[Drow Denizen]

At her slightest nod he steps forward from the row of males without hesitation. His facial features remain unchanged as he precisely walks three steps forward and kneels before Gwindolyn. Internally his mind races, running over the myriad scenarios this selection could mean for him - the whims of a Matron are legendary, anything could happen.
He is clad in exquisite silken robes, black with accents of red. His long white hair reaches his shoulders, hanging slightly infront of his eyes to obscure his view of the flagstone floor as he kneels. With practiced ease known to any drow he consciously steadies his breathing as he awaits her proclamation. 

[Gwindolyn]

She shows no outward signs of approval, but there are reasons one is chosen to fill whims over others.  She leaves him kneeling as she walks back up to her throne.  A spider's body and legs.  But where the upperbody and head belong is her seat.  The back of her seat is webbing, layered and tight.  She sits on this throne and spiders crawl onto her body.  She pauses and growls a bit.

Finally, with a deep breath she starts her demand of him.  "There is an elf.  She is bubbly and cheerful, but not stupid.  She is in charge of many other elves.  We need her power for an event I am not ready to reveal at this time.  We cannot capture her.  We must persuade her to come of her own free will.  It will defeat the plan if we have to force her.  Do what you must to entice her presence here."  The very thought of that elf in her home made her skin crawl.  The thought of playing up to an elf in this manner turns her stomach.  But the plot in play suffices to keep her on track.  "you are dismissed.  You will find the map and supplies you need waiting in your room."   She waves a hand to dismiss him from her presence.  She brings out a handful of chaotic energy and hurls it at one of the standing drow males waiting to serve her.  He spasms as the energy rips through him, leaving him only slightly damaged, but in pain.  He manages to stay his feet and not cry out.  He is well trained.  She watches with approval and frustration.

[Drow Denizen]

"...you are dismissed".

He instantly rises to his feet and turns for the entryway to the throne room, before he has taken two steps the bolt of chaotic whirls past him, impacting the unsuspecting male standing in the row. He allows himself to wrinkle his nose at the spasming male in passing, but does not slow his determined.
Once he swings the door shut behind him he exhales a breath held in since he first entered the throne room.
Turning in the hallway he strides past handmaidens standing guard in the corridors, heading for his small chambers deeper inside the compound. Pondering what the map will tell him, and how it will shape his immediate future he weaves through the spider-web-like mass of corridors, descending several flights of stairs in doing so. Arriving at his chamber door he quietly murmurs the arcane password, the portal swinging open and allowing him entrance.
The notion that the Matron had easily defeated the warded doorway gave him brief pause - an uncomfortable thought, but it was her compound, so he suspected little would hold her back. Still his annoyance at his professional pride being such defeated lingered.
Shrugging it off he turns his attention to the supplies left on his bed, rifling through them - food, a couple of potions, scrolls of sending to convey messages back to the Matron - and of course the map. Picking it up he unfurls it over his table, weighing down each corner before having a closer look at it...

[Gwindolyn]

The map details the path out of the underdark and to the surface city.  There is a second map under it that shows the city pathways.  A third map below that with the paths and secrets of the cathedral the elf resides in.  There has been much work done on this plan already.  Also, in the pack is a painting.  A sketch with coloring.  Most notably, the fiery red hair that hangs down the elf to the back of her knees.  Another sketch of her next to a child.  By comparison, one could tell the elf was not tall, was not as thin as most elves.  She looked like she might be half human by these sketches.  Her curls fell to the back of her knees.  The full length gowns, loose but not frumpy, typical of the Elven weaves.  There is a sketching of staves and books and a melee staff.  A small corner holds potions sketched in.  The items the Elf would have available to her.  There is one name etched onto this packet "Freezya".  Not a common name by any means and with hair like that, she should be fairly easy to find.

Included in the pack is a few potions of 'charm'.  These were included for those around the elf.  A small note attached says "Do not be remembered."  This would leave one to think death would be ok as long as it was not a noticable death.

[Drow Denizen]

Grabbing a spare scroll tube from a shelf in his bookshelf he rolls up the maps and stuffs them inside, pausing only with the portrait of the elven woman in hand, looking at it to commit her appearance to memory.
Not a particularly difficult task, with her appearance being as unique as it was, especially to a drow. He stares at the image of her for a while, mulling over her appearance. The contrast between red hair and pale skin is striking; not unlike that between stark white hair and ebon skin. Her dresses were obviously of considerable craft and quality, but they were far more loose and brightly colored than anything a drow would wear. "Freezya" he speaks to himself, testing the name.
After a moment he rolls up the portrait and adds it to the others inside the scroll tube. Moving about his room with effeciency he goes about the task of packing the supplies in his satchel, strapping the two scroll tubes - one with maps and images, one with spell scrolls - to his hip under his cloak along with a small quiver containing bolts sized for a small handcrossbow. The crossbow is hooked to his belt on the opposite hip, barely protruding from under his cloak.
Lastly he produces a small key from a hidden pocket, kneeling down to open a small chest, producing from it a leather pouch. Before pocketing the pouch he pulls open the drawstring inspecting the contents of assorted gemstones and coins within. The coins a varied collection, some minted in the Underdark, others in distant lands on the surface.

With one last glance about his chamber he exits, making his way to secure passage with a merchant caravan.

[Dunnuck]

"Of course I can craft a weapon." Gabriel remarked at the foolishness of his questioner. "I also do armor; some of the finest." He exagerated. "But do you fight?" His questioner asked. The man scoffed, brushing back his short hair with a cocky motion. He gestured back to his posse, which was composed mostly of stupid yes-men. "He asks if I fight." Gabriel laughed arrogantly. "Tell 'em, Gabe. Tell 'em you fight!" The largest one said with a moronic tone of voice. "Of course I fight." Gabriel responded to the question. "But are you good at it?" The questioner, now challenger, asked. "Why yes. I think I am quite good." The large moronic companion of Gabriel then shouted "He's amazing!". Gabriel flashed a cocky smile, walking behind the counter of his family-owned blacksmith.

It was a tiny shop, no more than a few items out on display at once. It was almost run down, the wood on the counter morphed and discolored. Broadswords, shields, and pieces of armor hung from the wall, none of them looking especially nice. "Well, forgive me for sayin', but by the looks of it, your products are trash! Look at them!" He complained, pointing to the displays. "Those are only out for show." Gabriel commented back. "Yeah, they are only for show!" The moronic lacky repeated. "Shut it, Mankoy." Gabriel ordered. "So why is it you want to fight me?"

"My son said you were disrespectin' the woman thats teachin' him to read!" Gabriel sighed, knowing exactly who the man was referring to. "Rose?" He asked. "Now I don't know this 'Rose', but I know it was you!" He shouted. The woman he was speaking of was an elf with red hair. Gabe called her 'Rose' for obvious reasons.

Gabriel stood at about six foot, with short dirty blond hair and a rough goatee to match. He was human, and disliked Elves for the most part. He wore a simple brown vest, with a dirty white shirt underneath and dirty white pants. He had gained a terrible reputation, his list of misdeeds large. He was also sneaky; selling any information to anyone who would buy.

[Dreamers Sand]

~Kamaria~

There was a peace, a silence, to the blade that befell the throat. There was no scream; though there was the try to do so. The tanned flesh of the middle age human sliced as if the dagger were passing over the skin of an tomato. Blood trickled down the flesh and a scoff filled the air. The voice that came after it was feminine, but deep. An alto tone, smooth and tainted by an accent of a traveler well versed in the world. The Drow woman raised her hood back, eyes of a piercing golden falling over the victim.

"Tis what you receive thief." The price of his crime was death. Whatever made the weathered hume think that a drow was an easy target? Kamaria could not fathom it. She instead shook her head, tendrils of smooth silvery white hair falling around her face, almost a black look in the shade that was provided via the tree's canopy. The forest gave her the shelter she needed for the murder of this criminal, before she would return to the town to take shelter for the night. Coming to a stand, Kamaria wiped the blood off the dagger onto the shirt of the fallen man before tucking it back into the small black sheath against her belt.

Kamaria was an intimidating drow- as most of her breed were. She stood about 5'9, with a lean figure draped in smooth skin that failed to be any darker or lighter than a sacred charcoal gray. A few scars etched themselves across her figure against her left hip, where five claw marks drew themselves against her like slightly uplifted tattoos. Another set of scars included a crossing 'X' scar that knit itself into her skin on her back near her left shoulder. Her skin was cloaked in a hunter green halter-top corset that laced up the front with thin satin laces, and a pair of long black leather breeches that fell over black boots with green cloth over the toe and tied around it in laced fashions, coming up to the shin. Around her wrists were green elven bracers, matching the green lace choker around her throat. Across her chest fell one dark brown strap that leads to a long slender sheath on her back, as well as the ebony shortbow and quiver. At her waist was the belt, with a small faded cream colored pouch at one side and her dagger at her side. Over it all, mostly her back, she had a long hunter green cloak with a dark silvery trim of lace against the bottom and a tie to match in the front before the neck.

Her face was smooth, bearing only a thin scar from two or so inches beneath her left arm down to the middle of her neck; the entirety of it on the left side of her face. Her nose was rather small, her lips full and bow shaped with the upper lip more prominent than the lower. Her eyes were somewhat narrow, but almond shaped with long charcoal lashes encasing eyes like yellow topaz. Her brows were thin and silver, accentuating of her almost always hidden emotions, and all of her features fell on a smooth face that was somewhat long with high cheek bones framed in the thick waves of her shoulder length hair- bearing two pieces (one on each side of her face) that fell down to her chest in length.

Kamaria's fingers ran over the thief and she took his little collection of money before walking off into the town once more...

~XXX~

Within a few moments, the rustle and bustle of town life filled her ears, and she had pulled the hood over her face, trying to hide who and what she was. Though she was not ashamed to be a drow, Kamaria had long broken the ties of being connected to a race. She'd become a traveler, a wanderer for the world to admit to its treasures. But when the humes saw her; those humans trembled or cast the angered glares of prejudice upon her. Kamaria had only learned to brush off their ignorance.

Her eyes scanned the shops nearby, and she drew the small pouch of gold out and shook it once to simply get an idea of how much there was. When that was decided, she slowed and saw a small shop nearby. An armor shop, perhaps.

Kamaria took her chances, for in her mind she knew that she was needing a new sword after her old one had become battered and frail with time.

She pushed open the door with nimble, lithe fingers bearing white nails on the tips, stepping inside. Her heels clicked against the floor and she moved with a slow unease. Her topaz eyes studied the people within, and she simply cleared her throat, reaching up to push her hood back again. The fabric fell behind her head and she pushed her fingers behind her neck, pushing the hair out from within the cloth and letting it fall over the back of the cloak.

"I need a strong blade to replace my weathered one. I am guessing you can help me." She said in her stern, alto tone , her eyes scanning the wall and people inside, before resting on one rather gruff looking human she took to be in charge.

[Dunnuck]

The father of the son mentioned before scowled at the drow. "Now you gunna let one of dem drows in your shop?" He asked Gabriel. "Yeah, I am going to let 'one of dem drows'. A customer is a customer. Which you, obviously are not. Leave." Gabriel ordered the man, who had earlier hinted at a fight. The man left in a huff, roughly bumping into the drow on his way out. "Hey, Gabriel it's one of dem Drows." The moron said, mirroring what the man Gabe had just kicked out said. "Mankoy..." Gabriel sighed, rubbing his eyebrows with his pointer finger and thumb, lowering his head. His posse held three; Mankoy the moron, Edward the backup, and Laury the silent. Gabriel had no idea why he hung out with these people. They were just evidence of the stoop of a life he lived in. He motioned for them to leave, allowing Gabriel to do business.

Gabriel, standing behind the desk, pulled a sword out from behind the counter, almost with hostility. "You know, serving a Drow here could lose me business. But so could a number of other things I have done." He sat the sword on the table, allowing the woman to observe it. "I have no problem with Drows as many others do. One of my few redeeming qualities." The sword was large and long, shined nicely and expertly crafted. Both sides were sharpened, and the tip was just as sharp. The hand guard curved out, curling into an unnecessary embellishment. The handle was large, yet again holding unneeded designs. The handle was large, and felt odd to the touch. Picking up the sword revealed that the weight was not balanced properly, overall making it a nice shiny sharp sword, but not a Master's sword.

Gabriel smiled as she inspected. "Finely." He said. "Someone who knows their blades." He said, noting the woman's displeasure. "We don't put out the good stuff. The good stuff takes a lot longer to make than these. We don't want it in the hands of ignorant pricks, now do we?" he asked, walking to the back of the store. He took out a ring of keys, heading to a wooden closet. "What kind of sword do you prefer? A thin, agile, one-sided blade? A large, powerful, heavy one? Get the moment going nice with that. Or maybe something a bit more...creative?" He asked, becoming excited. He had multiple designs for weapons, some were complete and some were not. "Hell, I can even get you a custom order if ya want."

[Dreamers Sand]

~Kamaria~

Her eyes followed the man that called her 'one of dem drows'. She could've snarled at the man, but silence better suited the tension between her eyes and his, until the door closed behind him. Her attention twisted back around to the other, the man in charge. Kamaria walked up to the counter, running her fingers over the blade he'd pulled forth after he had moved away from it. She was glad the human could read the disapproval on her face. This thing was a shiny toy for the dull minded. People easily influenced by beautiful things that looked good. Her fingers traced the edge, and blood was not drawn. A simple line was made on her skin, but only because of the touch. In a few moments her finger looked absolutely normal. The blade was dull. She couldn't pare a peach with a blade like that.

Kamaria turned her head and pushed a lock of silvery white hair behind her ear, folding her arms across her chest and unconsciously letting her hips shift to the right a bit. Her mind had already concocted what blade she desired long ago.

"Not heavy, but not light. Something with weight; I need a sword that with momentum can be fatal. Double edged, preferably with a disarming hook at the blade hilt. But again, that's a preference, and not a demand. I do not need anything fancy, a straight blade. If by preference, one that narrows just barely at the center and tapers out to be wider before sloping into the tip. I favor having a bit more weight near the tip so that it is almost balanced with the hilt."

The drow approached him, but stood back and leaned against the counter, watching his fingers fumble over the keys.

"How long have you been in the business of blacksmithing?"

[Dunnuck]

He laughed at her question. "Lady, I was basically making weapons out of the womb." He said, riffling through multiple swords, testing their weight. "Truthfully, though, I been doing it since I learned how to use my thumbs. My father is a Master. I took up his art with anticipation; I want to be as good as he, but I doubt I ever can. His works are rare nowadays. He doesn't make weapons anymore, even though he wants to. All he does is practice, so that he never loses his touch. He likes the idea of being that 'fabled blacksmith' that everyone wants a blade from. He thinks most of the people of the world don't deserve his product. And he is damn right." He finally found one partially matching the description of the blade she wanted. It was pretty much the exact description, except the material it was made of. The blade was a very dark blue, made of a rare metal, mixed with other materials that allowed the blade to be sharper and stronger. "Ah this one." He said, handing it to her. The only thing it was missing was the disarming hook. "Made of some of the finest metal around. Strong enough to suffer the bite of a dragon without breaking." The sheathe was of high quality too, the inside made of strong aluminum so that it wouldn't rust. He withdrew the blade and flared it to his side, landing it on it's flat side between his hands, offering it to the drow.

Most of the time the blade looked black, but in a certain light, the blue was visible. "Unlike a lot of the commercial stuff for the idiots that don't know a good blade, this blade looks good and is good. Weighted at the tip, razor sharp not even doing the sharpness justice, and a nice color. Believe it or not, the color was natural. It just came out like that."

[Dreamers Sand]

~Kamaria~

The blade he brought forth summoned a smile upon Kamaria's lips, as she stepped forward to greet it. The man spoke, and the drow listened, reaching out and lifting the blade with a steady ease. Yes, this was the perfect blade, she thought. Her golden eyes traced the dark steel and she held it for a moment before pushing it into the sheath. She weighted it in both hands and grinned. The drow women turned then to the counter, pulling the cloak off and laying it gently on the countertop, before then unbuckling the sheath. The old sheath and sword fell to the floor as the bow and quiver loosened down into her arm. She undid the old sheath from the belt, and then tied the new one to it, then tied it over her shoulder and slid the bow and quiver back in place. And with the cloak back over her back and tied over her full chest, she was ready to go.

Kamaria tossed the old blade into the bin of scrapped metal and sawdust, and reached to the pouch tied to her waist belt, drawing it up and undoing the thin string with trained fingers.

"How much for this?" She then said smoothly, drawing her eyes up to the man once more. But before he could deem her a price, she found another question. "And... May I have your name, or just remember you as 'Blacksmith'?"

[Dunnuck]

"I don't think that my name would be a good idea. I have a pretty bad rap around here. You can just call me Blacksmith for now." He laughed. "Don't worry about the price, Ms." He said to her. "I can tell by looking at you, two things: One, you have definitely been around, and Two: that you are a traveler. It's in your accent, your stride, and your eyes." He explained. "Me and my father do well here. We have a set up going and our business is always needed. So don't worry about it." He said to her. "Oh, if you want, I can install a disarming hook for you. Take me about an hour or two. Be nicely integrated, look like it was already part of the blade." He offered.

[Dreamers Sand]

~Kamaria~[/u]

She listened to his jest, and she laughed softly, the sound like a wind chime compared to her rather dark voice. She reached up and rubbed the scar lacing down the left side of her face and throat, and then shrugged, reaching back and pulling the blade out. Oh, and how it had the most mellifluous resonance of metal against metal within the sheath as it was withdrawn. She reached out, putting the flat of the blade's center against her hand and gingerly handling it as she held the handle out to the blacksmith.

"Then this time, I might let you do me the favor. But let it be known that you have my favor for your uses. Surely I know you must be able to use the weapons you craft. But for this I do owe you, for whatever reason you see fit. I will be in town for two days, then I am off once more to travel the plains."

The drow smiled vaguely, a very sly grin as she turned her eyes upon the shop, before moving to find a seat. She sat down, putting her equipment down on the ground, and crossing her long lean legs one over another.

[Dunnuck]

Gabriel watched as she sat down and crossed her legs. Hmm, he thought, entertaining his imagination. Gabriel entered a door that was too the right of the counter, which led to a small brick area without a wall on one side, allowing the smoke from the fires to drift out into the sky. He worked for a while, matching the disarming hook to the rest of the blade color and design wise. After about an hour and a half, and putting the finishing touches, he returned to the customer area where the woman had patiently waited. He walked up to her and bowed, offering the sword."Your sword, m'lady." He said. The disarming hook was crafted on, and didn't look like any kind of extension. It looked like it was designed with that part in mind.

[Gwindolyn]

~ Freezya ~

She ties he long red hair into a quick weave of a braid as she walks to her room.  She has just left town where the blacksmith had been less than cordial.  She growled at the thought.  She reached her room and finds her fighting leathers.  A halter of leather, loosely laid over her firm, but curvacious upper body.  A belted leather skirt about her waist with long leather pants beneath.  She adds a few leather bracers to her wrists and a choker to her neck.  These were brown to hide amongst the trees.  Not that her milky complection or fiery red hair would be a dead give-a-way, but that is another issue.  She takes out her combat boots.  Thick souled and high to her knees, leather reinforced somehow beyond her knowledge of shoe constructin.  She wrapped the laces around and tied them tight.  She grabs a cloak and her melee staff and walks with purpose out of her room.

There was a fire that blazed in her eyes as she walked.  Normally, she was light and bubbly.  Her countenounce was likened unto the sunshine or the babbling brook for the sheer joy and happiness she carried about her.  That blacksmith said somethings he should not have though.  Her fingers tighten about her staff as she heads to the practice arenas.  Her anger would be worked out in a most vigorous session.

[Dreamers Sand]

~Kamaria~


She waited in the room, letting her mind drift. Her eyes eventually closed and she felt a dream creeping about, one of her past.

The sky was dark; a midnight blue scattered with flecks of light that were the stars. There was a new moon tonight; leaving the sky devoid of its heavenly light. There was a sweet semi-silence; the only noises were of crickets and frogs, birds and the soft coos of small mammals traveling about to seek out their niche for rest. But like a slow classical song, some other noise was being born. Soft at first, but sharpening. The sound of... metal, clashing. Soft at first, like two people dancing in a style of fencing. But it hardened. It hardened into battle.

The sweep of long knee-length silver hair stirred with the braid of blond, and a splash of crimson cut through them both. A gasp filled the tiny meadow, the feminine sound coming from a young Kamaria. The drow fell to her knees, turning to her side and covering her face. A pool of silver silk draped around her and she sobbed, peering up with glittering golden eyes and a face draped in burgundy across the left side.

"It is what needed to be done. This, us. You. You were wrong." The voice was a deeper one, more mature and intelligent. Calm.

Standing above Kamaria was her lover of the time, Calanon. A wood elf with long blond hair, a lean tall pale body, and eyes of the most graceful blue she'd ever seen. His bow shaped lips tugged into a tiny pained frown.

"My apologies."



Her eyes crept open. Blinking once, then twice, the dream short lived. Kamaria stretched up from her seat, raising her bow and quiver to her back once more, and approaching the blacksmith. She reached out, taking the blade and sheathing it once more. Ah, it was perfect, she had noted mentally. Her lips tugged into a smile and she turned her head a bit, pulling her hood back up over her features.

"Thank you kind Blacksmith. Should you need me, my name is Kamaria Ueric. I will be staying at the Field's Inn for the next two nights." And with a nod, she began to move for the door.

[Dunnuck]

He smiled as she departed, the smile faltering as two generic customers entered. He had thought that the woman could of been the begining of something. Something to break him out of his daily routine. He got that way around his special customers.

[Gwindolyn]

~Gwindolyn~

Placated by the spasms of the male, she eases her delicate fingers through her shocking white hair.  Hair she kept in braids.  The braids fell the length of her back plus a bit.  Her ebony skin shimmers naturally, but the low levels of light that are a biological effect of the lichen danced along her skin.  She walked to the spiders and conversed a bit more.  She nods her head and thinks this days work is done.  She heads for some personal pampering.  Her work would be soon enough.

As she relaxes in the bath,  her braids unwoven and spread about her in the oiled water, she thinks at how many wards and guards the drow had on his room. She would have liked to have seen his face as he walked in with all his wards still intact and found it all vanity.  It is nothing to gain a password from the spiders.  It is barely nothing to open a portal door in his room being such a high ranking priestess of Lloth.  Eitherway, she grins with pleasure.  She waves a hand and a male is delivered to her for her pleasure.  She grins wickedly as he enters.  There are perks to the ever precarious role of leading the house Baen'Und.  She may not be the top house in the city, but she still ranks as one of the top, as nobility.  She bids the male to join her.

[Dreamers Sand]

~Kamaria~

The day had slipped by a bit, the night coming on. Evening was in place, the sun disappearing into the horizon, the sky dulling slightly with bright rays of orange and yellow. The clouds became violet and pink, and then dulled themselves down to a smooth gray. The breeze was cooler, the air smelled of roasting chicken and earth outside, and the smell of mead seemed to permeate around the Field Inn doors.

"Aye!" Called out one sole figure, slamming a burly, callous fist onto a table. He leaned in, his broad, unshaven smile vicious as he looked at the drow. Behind him were a crew of gangly and vicious looking lackeys that followed suit to the table. "You 'de broad who cut Trebor's throat?!" He leaned closer, and Kamaria just looked. Her golden eyes peered right past his, as if staring at a wall right behind the burly man.

"Answer me ye' stupid wench!" He slammed his fist down again and a crack formed in the thick wooden table, and Kamaria smirked. She came to a stand, her wooden chair sliding back against the boarded floor. He looked at her, and scoffed, reaching out quickly for her throat.

Like lightning itself, she had gripped her dagger and drawn it, coming up and cutting the space between his open extended finger and thumb, making him withdraw his hand and squall like a baby. She stepped forward, stomping her thick 3-inch boot heel into his toes, making him double over. She wiped the blood from his dagger on his shoulder, sheathed it, then drew her sword.

"Don't make me test a fresh blade soon as I have bought it. You foolish idiots ought to step away, or come forth and have your throats slit just as your friend. What is the saying that applies to you fools? Monkey see, monkey do? Well, I've slain one monkey. Bring forth the flock."

She spun the blade forward and back, it cut through the air and whistled beautifully. The others stepped back, but the front man raced forward, drawing a thick almost rusted dagger to strike her. Kamaria whipped her blade forward, cutting his dagger in half before she brought her knee to her chest, long powerful leg coiling up before unleashing a heavy side kick that knocked the man back. Her heel in his chest sent him flying into a table behind him, toppling his followers as well.

Kamaria hooded her features and raced from the tavern's embrace, into the streets. Down and on she went, to a small home near the Blacksmith shop. And she found her way about, twisting into the darkness that was the shadow of the home as the sun was gone and the moon rising to replace it.

And the street filled with noise, the drow laughing quietly.

"Stupid hogs."

[Drow Denizen]

Quelthar

Flashing a few gemstones secured Quelthar passage with a merchant caravan bound for the surface near the elf settlment. And a few more stuffed inside the duergar caravan leaders pocket insured no questions were asked.
Quelthar was given a riding lizard somewhere in the middle of the column, after securing his belongings to its back he mounted up and scanned the other members of the caravan; an assortment of drow and duergar traders and a few more creatures more exotic or uncommon in a drow city.
Most of the duergar seemed to belong a trading company, their beasts of burden carrying arms and armor. Most of the drow members of the caravan seemed to be independent or traveling in pairs or small groups.

Taking a pull from his waterskin he relaxes in his sattle, mentally preparing for a long ride, his fingers never far from the handle of his handcrossbow.

[Dunnuck]

Gabriel closed up shop, locking the doors after putting away the raw material from the open area where he forged. He had sold his favorite sword today. No, given it away. He smacked his head "Sometimes I am too nice."He complained to himself, laughing a bit. It was dark now, and he rsn into one of his friends who was coming from the tavern. "Oh you shoulda seen it, Gabe." His friend said like a small school boy. "You know the Inn whoes tavern I frequent? Oh, there was some action there, boyo." He said, clasping his hands together in delight. "Had a sword that looked just like yer baby, too!" He detailed with a grin. "Ah, Luis. That was my sword. Now don't tell anyone else that. You know that kind that hang at the tavern. Those idiots will come to me looking for revenge." He explained, shooing the man away. As Luis went to walk away, Gabriel ran up to him with exagerated motions and turned his friend by the shoulder. "How was she?" He asked. "The lady? She was one of 'dem Drows. Very skilled fighter. You thinkin' about tryin' to bed 'er?" Luis asked. "Ah, Luis, mind always in one place. Unlike you, I wouldn't bed everything that moves." Luis was quick to respond with "So does that mean you don't want to? Is it because she is a drow? Or the scar?" Luis questioned. "Wanting to bed a woman and bedding her are two different things, Luis." Luis, again, quickly responded with "So you DO want to bed 'er!" Gabriel sighed, annoyed. "Mind always in one place, Luis. She could kick my ass, your ass, your ass's ass, and any shit in between." He said, waving him off and turning to leave. "So you don't want to bed 'er?" Luis asked as Gabriel left. "Shut up, Luis."

He made his way home, which was right near his shop. He lingered outside, enjoying the fresh air and dark sky. He went to enter his house, and noticed his door ajar. Suddenly, the dark corners of the room seemed infinitly darker. From behind the door, a man swiped at Gabe with a sword. Gabriel, having felt the presence, ducked, and ran upstairs, the man behind him.

[Dunnuck]

He was unexpectidly clocked by a second man, sending him to the ground reachimg out and pulling a vase down with him, shattering loudly. Gabriel rolled, avoiding a piercing strike that stuck into the wooden floor. He stood and rushed into his room, avoiding a third man that was waiting. He retrieved his sword from a desk next to the window in his room that went from the floor almost to the cieling. He drew his sword quickly, and with expertise, clashing with the third man. They pushed at each other, panning around the room and into Gabriel's (bad) plan. He knocked the man's sword away and ran at him, diving out of the window with his sword in hand and the person flying with him. He had intended to use tje man as a cushion, but theu parted in the air and hit the ground.

OOC: Sorry for spliting the post, I can only do so many charactes mobile :/

[Gwindolyn]

~ Freezya ~

In the arena she works off the comments that the blacksmith annoyed her with.  The energy translating into extra hits to the dummy.  At one particularly viscious moment, she has the staff across her back and extending her arm.  She whips around in a spin and hits the dummy across the face.  A move that could break a normal beings neck.  She fills up with sad satisfaction as the head of the dummy flies off.  She regrets that any could bring her ire up so much.  But he just knew how to push her buttons.  Freezya had no idea how he managed to do this, but he did.  She finishes with a few more twirls of the staff and swipes at the knees and then the abdomen.  One last thrust into the gut and she finishes her work melee.  She walks over to her bow and arrow.  She never used this as battle weapon, but it was her practice in aim.  One did not go into battle with magic and no ability to aim.  She went into the archery range and shot her bow for a few hours.  By the time she was done, she felt much better and well satisfied with her work out.  She heads in to clean up.  No one likes a smelly elf.  She giggles at the thought and as she walks back to her room her natural bounce sneaks back into her gait.  Her long red bouncing along behing her.

[Drow Denizen]

Quelthar

Riding through the dark expanse of the Underdark Quelthar had plenty of time to pour over the spell scrolls he had brought with him, committing them to memory.
One particular spell he was confident would prove useful was an illusion that would make him appear of another race - because little else stands out more in an elven settlement than a drow. He hoped the illusion would be potent enough to present a more inviting appearance than the scowl he wore at the mere thought of passing himself off as an elf. But he saw no other way to speedily secure her trust than to appear as one of her own. No elf would agree to follow a drow to a drow city, no matter what imaginary reason Quelthar might manage to conjure up requiring her presence there .

He spoke little with the other members of the caravan, only questioning the duergar caravan chief on their location and distance from the surface every so often. The stout duergar guards trudging along at the front and the rear of the column seemingly did a sufficient job of keeping anyone that might take interest in the caravan at bay.