RP:Myrall and the Diseased Drow

From HollowWiki

Part of the Rounding up the diseased individuals Arc


PART VII:


Myrall and the diseased Drow:


Feline embassy

As you enter through the large oak doors you are struck with a newfound astonishment over the work done in the feline embassy. The floor that was once covered with the shavings of nearly everything that the room contained is now cleared to reveal the flawless marble floor that lay beneath. The horrendous odor that once poured from the room is now gone due to the fish bars that line the room’s walls. The bars are filled with fish from the oceans east of cenril, and iced with ice fresh from the frozen north. The further you go towards the back of the room you begin to notice a raised area resembling that of a stage. On either side of this stage-like area there are stairs for the guards to walk on as they change posts. There is also a set of stairs leading up the middle leaving about twelve feet between the peek of them and the elegant golden throne that sits against the back wall. As you turn and glance upon this embassy you hear a voice from behind,” Stay as long as you wish” comes forth in a deep tone. These words come from the ambassador who now takes his seat in the throne. You look across once more before you decide to move on but as you move across the floor you see above the closed doors a sign that reads “doer 'sohna”. A diseased drow with red blisters is here.


Myrall stands for a moment studying the Drow, her keen mind considering her options. The cotton scarf around her face making speech awkward, she edges forward so that she might more easily be heard. “Good sir, I come not to fight but to aid you. I see that the phage that infects these lands has you in its grip. If you’d accompany me, I will gladly guide you to a place where help might be found.” As the creature bares his pearl white teeth at her and growls in response, the woman jumps quickly backward, holding out her hand, palm towards him as if to stay any sudden move. Talking a deep breath to steady herself she tries again. “Please. I implore you. I can find relief for you if you will allow it.” She flinches visibly as the man gives another almost feral snarl, before his hand slips towards his sword.

Myrall mirrors his action, her hand tightening instinctively on the leather bound hilt, but she does not draw the weapon, instead casting her gaze around the busy embassy she tries one last time to calm him. “At least let us take this outside, for if you must have your pound of dwarven flesh before you agree to my offer of assistance, then let it not be at the expense of these good folk.” As the Drow releases his grip on his sword, and flees out into the street, the priestess bows to the Ambassador and offers her apologies. “Please sir, I trust you will forgive the intrusion, ‘twas not my intention to disturb your guests.” And with that she turns and follows the Dark Elf out into Craughmoyle.

A diseased drow with red blisters dashes to the west, shouting, "My arms! They hurt!".


Embassy Row

As your journey carries you further down this grand hallway, you come to the Embassies of the Humans and Felines. The door to your west is made of dark wood, tarnished bands of steel running horizontally to reinforce it slightly. There is not much about this entrance, plain and simple a door within the rock although the sound of raucous laughter and smell of smoke waft towards you slightly. Turning to face to the east, you see the entrance to the Feline embassy. A large oaken door this is also, obviously the held little care for majesty when installing it, but this bears countless grooves and scratch marks upon it. The claws of countless Feline denizens entering through the door has left deep clefts in the wood, particularly at the centre of each where they have had force pushed upon them leaving deep basins of splintered wood. A reeking smell of fish wafts over you as you move closer, tickling at your nose. As before, north leads you further into the mountain whilst the southern path leads to the fresh air of the outside world. A diseased drow with red blisters is here.

Myrall hurries out into the street, signalling to the guard that stands to attention at the embassy door to stand down. This is her fight and she’ll not risk anyone’s health but her own. Once more facing the ailing man, her hand again finds its way to her sword, her breath comes in ragged gasps as she gives reason one last chance “Are you ready to accompany me now sir, or do we have to do this the hard way?” The ear-splitting screech that echoes round the cavernous walls of the city give her his answer as the Drow lunges at her, teeth barred and sword flashing ominously in the light of the sconces that illuminate this part of the city.


Myrall reacts quickly, though not quickly enough, as the sharp blade tears a rent in the fabric of her cloak. Swinging round wildly, her own blade now loosed from it’s sheathe she returns the favour, bringing the sharpened steel down with vicious force on the man’s thigh. As the brand cuts deep into his flesh, she springs back, aware that any contact with his blood will surely bode ill for her own health. The poor unfortunate falls screaming to the floor, his blood rapidly pooling on the ground beside him, in his already weakened state he was no match for her, and pity grips her heart, but she knows what must be done, and steels herself mentally for the task.

Myrall takes a flask of brandy from her knapsack, and pours it’s contents over the bloody blade before wiping it on her cloak and sheathing it, then crossing to the crumpled form, she crouches down, grasping the man’s hair she pulls his head back and hisses. “Now sir, you have two choices, you accompany me as per my original request, or I……” pausing dramatically she reaches behind her with her free hand and extricates the small dagger she keeps hidden there from it’s home, placing it so that the blade bites into the flesh of the Drow’s neck but does break the skin she continues “I end your life, here and now. Deep with in Dwarven lands, so no more will you taste the freedom or smell the stench that is your home. Instead your body will be burnt here, this day in this very spot, so tell me.” She gives a vicious yank on his hair, “Which is it to be?” The seconds tick by as the man wrestles with his options, to go with this strange woman, or forever be shamed to die at her hands, either way his drow pride would be damaged beyond repair, but at least if he lived then one day he might find her and extract his revenge. With this thought running through his mind he gives a defeated nod, and answers in the common tongue, his words stilted by pain and hatred “I go Dwarf, but one day you shall pay for this ignominy. By the spider goddess I swear it.”

Myrall laughs as she stows the dagger, and beckons to one of the guards to watch the prisoner, for that is essentially what the Drow now is, whilst she tends to his wound. Unwilling to actually heal it, least he makes good his escape once he is in command of both his legs, she searches in her bag for a bandage, and wraps it tightly round the bloody gash. Satisfied that it will hold until she gets him to the CDC, the priestess stands dragging the man to his feet as she does so. “I fully expect you to seek me out one day, though I’d like to think that it will be to thank me, not kill me.” She tries to shrug, but with his body weight leaning on her it is not possible, instead they both stumble sideways, bumping painfully into the tunnel walls. Grimacing she continues “But I will cross that bridge when I come to it, and keep a sharp blade at the ready just in case.” With that they set off at a slow limp towards Gaulon, the guard who had been standing at the embassy door, following a few feet behind, Axe at the ready should his Queen need him.