RP:The Briefest of Meetings

Part of the Surface Tension Arc

Synopsis: In the place where all walks of life cross, Nymh has stopped to make music and see what Sage is like. Unfortunately the day out is ruined by Skylei who demands he leaves. To the half-blood's surprise, the drow complies with her request; but not before some insults are thrown (only by Skylei, naturally).

Kelay Way

Nymh detached from the assassin squad, sneaking off to get his own perspective on the world above. He'd never been here before, a slave held close to his master's home, to sing pretty songs and steal from their rivals, or kill them. He'd shield his one eye from the sun's glare, as he walked the streets of Kelay, seeing the people, many of whom looked upon him with disdain, or even open hostility. Well and so... his people deserved their reputation well. They were cruel, and perhaps the only reason he wasn't as cruel as the next drow, was his love for music. There was a dagger made of what looked to be a red glass in his sash, along with a lovely little ebony ocarina. He'd sit on a barrel, out of the way and under the shade, and begin to play. Perhaps the magical tones of his music would soothe some of the hostility towards him. He didn't want to see any bloodshed... especially with no allies around, should he find himself in trouble. He was dangerous with that knife of his, but he was in potentially enemy territory, on his own. His black clothing was loose fitted and made of fine spider silks, but only because a pretty voiced birdy should have pretty plumage, as he'd been told. He had sold for high prices to powerful females, once upon a time. He put the small instrument to his lips, and began to play, a slow, warbling melody that sounded almost cheerful, though none of his work could get away without expressing the profound longing in his heart. It took on a tone of some melancholy, shortly in, lower and resonating with a magical quality that could almost dazzle anyone listening. Those caught in the mesmerizing beauty of the song might find themselves staring or listening, and losing track of time, for the few minutes he played. It was the natural magic of his songs.

Open hostility sounds about right. Open hostility was Skylei Lucindio’s default position when it came to drow and, upon spying one lingering on Kelay’s streets, it is almost without thought that she reaches for the sheathed daggers on her belt; purely in a self-defensive mode, of course. That said, this drow didn’t seem set on slaughter and chaos and instead seems content on music (the ironic thing is, that most drow are unlikely to jump you on the street. Skylei has merely built up the monster in her head to be greater and eviler than reality is). Perhaps it is due to the tranquillity of the song that Skylei doesn’t instantly attempt to cut him down and spill a little more drow blood on Kelay Way; perhaps she is almost charmed in the way that so many other folks that had chosen to take a day in Kelay are by his music. But such music cannot tame the half-blood’s tongue, and soon she would approach, dagger still within her grasp and murderous intention likely visible in her eyes, “Leave. You’re not welcome here.”

Nymh would look at Skylei, and blink. It was not the first time he'd seen a living elf besides drow, but the first time he'd seen a free one. He'd lower the ocarina from his lips, placing it in his sash, and hop down off the barrel. He'd give a stiff bow, and reply, "Very well." He'd then turn to leave, as simple as that. He didn't want to start trouble here, after all, and wanted nothing to do with the war on elves his people pursued. He did seem a bit dejected, but drow can be hard to read. Perhaps it was simply imagined?

Skylei almost recoils at the sight of a drow bowing to her. There is a simple rule on the surface; elves don’t respect drow, drow don’t respect elves; as for where half-elves fit into the equation – well no one respects them on account of their tainted blood. Ignorant to Trist’oth cultures, she fails to be able to recognise instantly the differences between drow classes (excluding nobles. Nobles are instantly recognisable due to their, seemingly genetic, privileged, bratty nature) thus leading her into confusion that plays out visibly on her face as her request is honoured. “G-Good” She calls almost unsurely after his retreating back. Her mind is already running through all number of scenarios; he’ll go back to Sage and bring back an army to smite her; he’s simply looking for higher ground so that he can have the advantage in attack; or perhaps he’s left something behind to enchant or destroy Kelay! Classic drow behaviours, each and every scenario, the murderous bastards.

Nymh was a slave his whole life, and of tainted blood. He didn't wield the same xenophobic pride as others of his kind, nor the inherantly cruel nature. He was perhaps the only one in the underdark of drow blood who was a bard, as well... which had been the reason, along with his almost pure appearance, for his value. He'd look back at Skylei, and see her indecision on her face, in her words. "I'm only three quarters drow, and a slave besides. My grandpatron was a slave caught in Sage. It's nice to see it." He'd decide not to press his luck too much, and turn back to begin walking once more.

Quarter drow, half drow, three quarters drow, full drow; it made little difference to Skylei. Drow blood is drow blood and it taints everything it touches. She cannot see past the end of her nose when it comes to drow blood and it impedes her at every moment. She would have been content to let him leave; had he not uttered those last words. But there is a fury that ignites in Skylei at the suggestion that this drow had any blood claim to the forest. Hell no. This is the forest of the wood elves; those of light skin, pointed ears, born into the lights and birthed amongst the trees and Nymh? Well he doesn’t qualify by Skylei’s system of ownership. “None of your kind have any claim to Sage. Not any. You are naught but illegitimate invaders and curse on the land. Go back to whence you came. You were born into darkness and in your darkness you should live.” Skylei spits on the pavement; unladylike, unelven, but classically Skylei.

Nymh nodded to her words. A scathing retort, but nonetheless, true. But he did pause once more. "It's beautiful. Your home." And then he was moving again, his eye moist. Yes, into the darkness, once more. Where he was born, and where he would perish, as his sister had. Hopefully, he'd at least stay dead once he was murdered, his soul moved on. But even that was like to be too much to ask.

Skylei doesn’t move to engage Nymh anymore. Confident that she’s made it clear to him that by consequence of her birth he is unwelcome, she merely stands and watches him go; back to where he belongs, no less. But there is something about his words. Is she sad? Is she moved? Perhaps, but the only indication of this is that her snarl falls limp and she mutters at the drows retreating back, “Yeah. It was.”