.::The Underdark::. OPEN! Welcome Drows and all races!

[sonia1983]

Oboro jumped from the back of her umber hulk whit a very angry expretion and she looked to the hunter that tried to hurt her only friend "dont ever try to hurt my little pet" she hissed toward of the hunter but when the hunter readied his crossbow she leaped toward of him pinning him again the outside wall of a nearby bar whit her Katana in her hand "how you can call that monster pet" the hunter said to him but that only made Oboro more angry

[Aegis Memorie]

Eriin sighed and pushed her weight onto the brush. Scrubbing the floor was just bothersome. Why was it that they had her scrub it to the point where the soap made her skin raw...but the dirt and grime on the floor would not come off. She frowned, doing one last push before sitting up.
Thunk.
She tossed the brush aside and sat on her knees...hoping that her master or any other person would notice her there on the floor, just sitting. The young elf looked around. Just a few more meters to go before she was done...and then the food. Eriin grabbed her brush again, going back to work.

[Bramfatura]

"Menzoberranzan," he reiterated the question. "Yea, I've been there."

"GOOD. THEN YOU KNOW BETTER THAN TO LET YOUR GUARD DOWN."

"I don't let my guard down."

"YOU'LL BE AN OLD MAN BEFORE YOU KNOW IT," said the young voice.

A momentary gaze, their bravado locked. He chuckled. "Ah, Laguna, you always patronize me with your wisdom. Omniscient jackass."

The young man smiled, his golden globes iridescent with profound mystery, yet they were modest and playful somehow, "GOTTA TALK TO SOMEONE DON'T I?"

"With what comes out of your mouth sometimes?"

Skryns smile and Laguna just laughed along. It was rare, but to see a slayer calloused from hundreds of battles smile was like seeing light break through wayward storm clouds...
__


In Menzoberranzan:

To get to Menzoberranzan you must first learn to conquer your fears, then you must submerge, and when your eyes adjust you'll realize you've every reason to doubt you'll ever see the light of day again. For the love of whatever gods you confide in, never drop your guard and have faith.. 'Cause your gods can't hear you anymore.

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((tsuduku...))

[Bramfatura]

The guards were easy enough to dispatch, however inconsequential as their master would have them killed for letting us by anyways. Menzoberranzan was pitch black to normal eyes, but with the blindfold a mage had given me, I could see traces of heat easily, and everything's blood boiled in this forsaken land; their anger fumes, cutting jagged expressions into their fiery auras.

You can't just walk into a Drow household through the front door, guards aside, there were many traps, some set to trigger off magic after being tripped. The first in our modest rogue band to fall affably pointed that out to the rest of us. Magic is a dangerous thing.. Passing straight through his defenses and burning into his flesh from under his armour. I noticed his body still steaming crimson fumes on my way out..

In fact, the entrance of a Drow household was on the balcony built clear above where a normal person might put a door. There were also no ladders.

"Our matron mother will see you now," the voice slithered into earshot from off the side. His body language invited us into a secret passage he must have come by. Sick b*****d.. I bet he was watching the whole time.

None of ours said anything, we just followed. And that's when the second rogue fell. How to explain this, I'm not sure, but I know what I saw: a dimly lit carapace ensnaring the body and for all of a split second I saw his veins go black through the radiation of our little group's archer and then he was gone, dragged like a rag doll into the abyss.

We're too close to Hell, men... And there's no turning back.

__

((tsuduku...))

[Bramfatura]

The passage was cut directly into the cave walls, as I expected all of the main house were, if not them all. It offered nothing but full frontal strategies and attacks from within.. If the fatalist bastards who tried could get that far.

Any traps must have been deactivated, probably 'cause the messenger was sent to retrieve them and the only reason he made it through so easily is because their mother demands we make it to her alive. Great.

Inside the dim faerie light illuminates the sepulchral decor: statues of rampant spiders, spider-drow hybrids and flags of what must have been their family's crest. The whole place wreaked of the underworld and the spider was their kin. We walked damned men through cursed halls.

"Welcome to my household," said the robust voice of an obviously powerful woman. She ruled the house, she governed whether they lived or died, even at birth. She was their mother and that meant everything here. Or else.

The mage in our group represented us. He was well connected, but not well enough to have his connect with us. He was still a middle man, which meant nothing to anyone, especially here, but what it did mean was that the rest of us meant less. We were hired swords meant to escort this mage here and back.

He made it there.

__

((tsuduku...))

[Trebin]

For a moment, the corners of Lucian's eyes sparkled with tears of pure joy as his gaze came upon the small, cozy village standing in front of him. He had felt that he was getting close to the edge of the forest, the path had widened somewhat, smoothing out as well. The tracks were fresher as well, showing that he had not been the only one to have recently walked the path. But still, a bit of doubt still clouded his mind, of whether or not he was closing in. Yet, it vanished as soon as he had seen the smoke rising above the tips of the trees, and he broke into a small jog.

Lucian arrived at the village a few minutes after first seeing the smoke, and quickly headed through the gates. It was a rather sleepy pace, everyone wandering about in somewhat of a daze, not even bothered by the frost that had descended upon their homes. Yet, after spending the last few weeks stuck in a forest, it was a relief to at least be near humans, the mage wasn't going to be picky. He was surprised he hadn't gone mad, isolated for so long. Yet, Lucian had never been much of a social animal, and perhaps that helped somewhat. No matter, he was out of the wretched place, and finally back in civilization, though not exactly at the heart of it. Rubbing his hands together in an attempt at keeping warm, Lucian came to a stop as his eyes settled upon a nearby building. It read 'The Crescent Moon Tavern', the sign somewhat worn around the edges, and the bottom part of the 'T' missing completely. It was probably the type of place that was a gathering ground for all manner of criminal scum, the sort of place where you'd get your entire skeleton pulverized just for accidentally bumping into the wrong guy. Yet, it was as good as any to grab a drink, and perhaps he could see if Graves had passed by recently? Reaching into the folds of his cloak, the boy clasped the small jug of water hanging from his belt, swishing it around to make sure there was enough left.

Pleased with the amount remaining, the boy approached the tavern. Almost as he had stepped through the entrance, however, he was bombarded by an almost unbearable stench; a combination of sweat, ale, and what almost smelt dung to the young mage. Wrinkling his nose, he quickly made his way through the crowd, keeping his head down. Still, he felt a few eyes settle upon, probably due to his choice of dress or his age, and he could hear a men snickering as he passed by them. Not to mention, the stench of alcohol was only contributing to his rather annoying head-cold. He prayed that this would be worth it in the end...

[Bliquis]

Liriel amused Jarlaxle, and that was one of the main reasons he had agreed to join her on the surface to speak about her job. She had sent him a carrier owl, a thick strip of parchment tied to its leg with red ribbon. He had nearly skewered the damn thing when it had popped through his window so suddenly, but he had centered himself enough to read the letters neat scripty hand.
He looked at the House Baenre heir with a bit of intrigue, she had immense power laying at her tiny feet and yet she chose to fight her birthright and send the Underdark into more chaos than there already was? He had always said it and he would say it again, women were insane, its no wonder they rule Menzoberranzan.
"Tell me, what exactly is your plan?" He asked as the bartender brought Liriels drink to her. He intercepted the old gnarled mans hand with his own and sipped the liquor himself. Mm. He had missed the below average spirits on the surface. It reminded him of when he had traveled with Artemis Entreti...
That brought a slight pang he had thought himself incapable of feeling.
"I must break down House Baenre from the inside out. But I cannot do it alone, it would be suicide."
No s**t.
Jarlaxle rolled his eyes and tugged on one long ear lazily, a habbit he had learned from a barbarian he had met once on his travels. "Oh, so instead of a suicide, its going to be a mass murder. That so much better, love."
Liriel frowned. "You're still here, though, even knowing this."
Jarlaxe nodded his head eagerly and rubbed his fingers together with a grin that nearly threatened to split his face in two. "Indeed. Some things are worth risking your neck for, my dear."

[CalderThePirate]

~~~Location : Outside Of Dingy Bar ~~~

Hagar had just finished a trek along the Long Arm Lake. His eyes fell upon a bar in the distance. Hagar is a Dragonborn. His skin was scaled well his eyes were ardent. He recently fell upon black days, since he had not been receiving any work for the past month. As he walked, the scales on his hips scratched the sides of his legs. He stands six feet tall as the sun washes over his scaled head. The dreadlocks in the back sway with his movement, but also have a scaled glaze over them. His face is full of cracks, scars and imperfections.

Hagar reaches the bar, not one bit tired from the journey. He enters slowly and warily. Even if this is the dragon coast, there is no telling how his kind may be treated in a place like this. Dragonborns are not the most loved race in the land. His clans are fierce, barbaric, and unforgiving. They are war mongers. They feed on the battle, blood and violence. He slowly enters as the patrons continue to make their noise, though most glance as he enters.

He sits down in a bar stool waiting for the tender to take notice of him. He's in quench of one thing, and one thing only... Information. He needs a job badly, any will do. As long as it pays the expenses he's practically in. He studies the rest of the patrons than spot a few in a corner who are staring in a non-kindly fashion toward him. " Drunkards" he said under his breath in an aggravated tone.

[Bramfatura]

Words get jumbled right after spoken when your nerves are scattered to every edge of the room you can't rightfully see in. A room that the longer your in it, the closer you get to looking up from your grave. Which is why after he handed her a package--a package bound in the flesh of those killed during its interception--I wasn't surprised to see a fiery bolt of magic burn a piercing white sphere through the head of the thermal lit aura of his person and into the face of the messenger sent to retrieve us. Three female priests, one older than one of the others and the third older than both. Sisters.

Male guards rushed the rest of us, starting from the front, forming a semi-circle around us. Noticing this is what saved our asses in the beginning, prompting me to check my flanks. I swung, pivoting to where my back was previously open, my weapon filled my hand, extended and slipped through a guard's jaw, through his spine at the base of the skull, and out the other side of his face, like a hot knife through butter. The remaining two mercenaries with me were fighters, one of them swung a giant morning star that broke the face of the guard that was previously closing in on me from the front; the other used a rapier so fluently that he coaxed the claymore of the guard closest to him along his own blade and into the chest of another guard, then with the flick of the wrist he decapitated his target.

I heard the sound of clapping as the last guard fell. The matron mother was clapping. The other two men spit obscenities, cursing her perverse sadism. At that, she broke broke into cackling. Someone once told me when differentiating a cackle from a chuckle, you basically gauge for some level of sanity. We were caught in the asylum..

So, I lost it.

__


A rucksack landed on the table with a squish, blood still leaked through the bottom of the bag.

"No survivors?" The man at the table asked.

"One."

The man chortled, his bad lungs gargled at the back of his throat giving him a disturbing laugh, then broke into a coughing fit. He spit a fat ball of slime onto the wooden floor of the bar. Anyone watching would be certain that discoloured chunk floating in it was a piece of his lung this time.

Heh, I'll kill you one of these days.
__

[CalderThePirate]

Hagar noticed the group off into a corner with a strange bag, with red liquid oozing out little by little. He was used to such sights, living in the Waterdeep. He was a very profitable mercenary back then. He charged high, and was the best damn merc for hire in his prime. Now he's getting older and his skills are not as fine tuned as they used to be. You could say at this moment he is in a slump. He has no money, food, housing. Hagar has always been the rambling type.

Its only been four months since he left Waterdeep. He never worried much for his friends back there. They were all the types that you would find dead the next morning. It was a city for the rich and prosperous, coming with all its glitz and glimmers.

[GirWolfChan]

As Hagar walked in, a small black cat sat rushed in from under his feet. The cat jumped up and sat upon the nearest window sill of the inn. Her yellow eyes scanned around, searching for something. It was apparent that she didn't find anything, for she leaped down from the window. The black cat elegantly strolled down the counter like it was a cat walk. When she came up to Haggar, she sat down and purred loudly. The tip of her tail twitched as she caught sight of the oozing red bag that Hagar was observing. Her sensitive nose wrinkled from the stench.

[CalderThePirate]

Hagar watched as the cat trotted in. He slowly kept peeking down at the feline with a bit of distaste. "You know, your not the most subtle rogue...pretty unique, but not subtle." He said under his breath towards the Tiefling in a 'Matter of fact' tone. "So did you hear of any jobs?" he said fiddling his scaled thumbs. He had been nervous since he entered the Inn, he could feel the eyes of the troublemakers in the corner still, eying him to death. You get used to it after a long time, but nothing can really say 'I hate you' than a man staring at you for more than fifteen minutes, with his hand on his blade already.

[GirWolfChan]

Vonyxia looked up at Haggar with her glaring cat eyes. She unearthed a low growl from her throat. "I'm not exactly in rogue mode right now. I'm just trying to keep a little low. You would get plenty more stares if they see a tiefling and dragonborn together." she began licking her paw and grooming her shoulders for five minutes, stood up for a stretch and yawn, then laid down in a crouch.
"Not a thing. Unless you want a part time job as a bar tender. This place is the only place within a hundred twenty mile radius. I've heard Westgate, a town about once hundred thirty miles north has an arena if your interested making money that way." she said cooly, watching the bartender.

[CalderThePirate]

Hagar snorted, "Ha! Arena, funny. Please, I don't think they could pay me enough to deal with those amateurs." his smile crooked almost. " West-gate is pretty much the corrupt of the corrupts. I could sure make money there but its not exactly my cup of tea right now." The Dragonborn says in annoyed tone. He started to get more and more annoyed. He felt like he was being undressed by the eyes across the Inn. The Dragonborn stands up with his hand on his Scimitar... "Why don't we just go outside so I can kill you already!" Hagar yells at the crook across the Inn. The crook looks as if that outburst made him feel awkward. He takes his hands off his dagger and looks away from the Dragonborn.
Hagar sat down looking slightly relieved.

[Bramfatura]

The dragonborn's outburst had attracted more attention than he probably wanted. It was rarely smart to call out an entire bar full of drunk adventurers of varying types. Thieves looked him up and down, gauging for weakness, primarily in the draw string of his wallet; warriors stared him through as if wondering how far passed his scaly carapace they could drive their blades, incognito assassins nonchalantly glanced over their shoulders, revealing as little as possible so as to study his person, searching for openings while contractors raise the ante on how much his head would be worth. Primarily it attracted the attention of Skryns, who, knew the second he shifted his glance towards the commotion would be the second his contractor gave the signal to his personal body guards that there was no survivors on that expedition..

The contractor reached for the leather-bound object of payment meant for Skyrns while two of his body guards moved around each of Skryns' sides. What happened next left three men dead and Skryns out of contractor: a thick metal needle pinned the contractor's hand through the object and into the table, his shriek triggered the release of both guards brass knuckled fists. One guard first felt his arm twist and wrench, a pop signified its dislocation followed by a crack that shattered his skull at his temple, courtesy of his associates fist. Along the way back to its lumbering owner, Skryns' own fist buried a punch dagger into the guard's chest. His previous contractor looked up with an expression of immediate regret, realizing he'd just prematurely retired. Skryns looked at him, his apparent disapproval chastising the boss.

"You're going to regret that for the rest of your life," he said, pacing to the other side of the table and resting his hands on his shoulders he leaned in and whispered," Both seconds of it."

Skryns gripped him by his receding hairline and pulled him back so hard, his hand ripped as the needle, securely embedded through the table top, refused to budge, then slammed his face into it, the pin's end sticking out the back of his head. The man twitched as his nerves exhausted what was left of his energy. Skryns pulled him off and left him drop to the ground. He removed the pin and claimed his payment, then looked around the bar stoically, daring anyone to have a problem with the way he did business.

Told you.

The only problem with that was it gave an excuse for the bar's inhabitants to blow off some steam of their own, for any reason. As it turns out, some of those men were secretly watching after their boss, the man he'd just delivered a quietus to, and they did have a problem with the way he did business, especially when the result means they were now currently unemployed. Five men, scattered across the room, stood up, bearing their weapons and flipping tables; the domino effect spilling drinks and all in all upsetting the bar's natural flow.
___

The sack on the table fell to the ground as the contractor's head passed over the pin and thud into the table. The eyes of thieves widened as they saw mounds of bloodied white hair peek from out the bag. Tackling the under dark was considered voodoo, and any man who didn't want their lives to end, already in Hell, knew to stay away from the drow communities and their sadist cruelty; yet in that bag were the collective scalps of drow warriors, their manes of white hair stripped from their crowns...
___

To anyone paying attention, the punch dagger clenched in Skryns' fist seemed to melt into his palm. Leaving him apparently unarmed, but to what extent.

"Every man for himself." Thus tempting discord, "I dare you."

___