Dr. Rusty Lug-Nut
Serf
- Local time
- Today 1:23 PM
- Messages
- 6
- Age
- 30
Shades of twilight settled on an Acaesian town. Far to the southeastern edge of the island, it was removed from the conflicts which ensnared the west. The final rays of sunlight speared across the horizon, casting their sleepy hues of sunset across the hull of an approaching ship. To those in the town it would appear a blackened silhouette, though it remained just as black even as it neared the town's port. It was a mid-sized vessel, it's ebonwood frame long and slender. Doubled-sided, it's symmetrical bow and stern allowed it to reverse direction quickly without a complete rotation. Though many were unaware, it was a Tempest Runner, swiftest of the Drunariin naval arsenal. It sliced across the water with gait and spined armor, black as night, covering its exterior. Though it was typically found amidst waves of countless others, it had departed the pack and solely plied these waters.
The sailors which piloted the Tempest Runner were a grizzled lot of corsairs, veteran Dru'kai. Slavers and raiders of the first degree, bound to souls as black as their vessel - perhaps darker. As they neared the docks, they could be seen and heard stomping about the deck, slinging ropes and drawing oars amidst a flurry of Drunariin utterances. Though the words were foreign, their harsh intonation betrayed their nature.
Betwixt them all stood 2 squads of Shadow Runners, the Living Shades of Luciana, numbering 32 strong. The nature of the Acaesian Island had been caught amidst the web of gossip and espionage expanding from within the Dominion- so female shadow runners were personally chosen, as to not arouse anymore suspicion than was bound to befall them. Even clad in their drukanite-reinforced goradon armor, their corpse-like complexion and supple figure was possessed of a cold and stoic beauty. It was one rumored to take men's breathe away, figuratively and literally. Twin-blades placed on either hip, their sable tips seeming the scream out for gore, though their masters stood silent. Faces shrouded in the shadow of their hooded cloaks, their crimson gaze was fixed forward as they awaited their orders.
The Dru'kai who would be giving such orders stood perched at the fore. There, with ebon boots pressed against the deck of the bow, stood Kalion Morathi, Istovelve to the Elghinn Yahh, faithful of Inumbriel. He had ventured verily across the face of Spryx; from the snow-capped peaks of Maccevelia to the heat-soaked crags of the Tocknaborne badlands - but never here. Here, to where the trees dotted the landscape and nature thrummed with ceaseless harmonies. So he decided to personally take on the will of the Elghinn Yahh when he was given his task. He spied the walls of the town, his gaze running along the battlements and towers, seeing to every nook and crevice his finely-tuned sight could find. He continued to observe, standing staunch in his posture as the boat pulled up to the docks of the small town.
Before the Tempest Runner wholly ceased its movement, Kalion heaved himself over the side, stomping down onto the rickety wooden docks. His cowl tucked, locks of silken sable flittered in the winds, coming to rest gently upon his shoulder. His complexion was gaunt but his jawline was sharp and his gaze was even more so. His sanguine orbs surveyed the immediate area before beckoning to his retinue to follow him. His soft, silvery voice a honeyed intonation that rolled off the tongue.
"Sevir lil'maurna!"
They moved in shades of silent nightfall, winds whislting through a midnight forest; those women of darkness. Disembarking the ship, they gathered at his back, bound in black, standing 4x8 in a disciplined formation.
Wary eyes were already fixed upon them. Acaesia has long been a matriarchy - by women, for women- and they had stood their ground against more and worse men than this...or so they thought. The hardy ladies stood proudly, but a sense of worry couldn't be ignored. They clutched their daughters, pressing them close to their side. Who were these pallor-fleshed foreigners? Were they elves? No, they seem much too...different. Still, a male lead them, this alone put them in a state of great unease. Were they mercenaries hired by the males on the Western edge of the island? Assassins? It was the unknown that endowed them with such fears - and their fears were rightfully placed.
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The sailors which piloted the Tempest Runner were a grizzled lot of corsairs, veteran Dru'kai. Slavers and raiders of the first degree, bound to souls as black as their vessel - perhaps darker. As they neared the docks, they could be seen and heard stomping about the deck, slinging ropes and drawing oars amidst a flurry of Drunariin utterances. Though the words were foreign, their harsh intonation betrayed their nature.
Betwixt them all stood 2 squads of Shadow Runners, the Living Shades of Luciana, numbering 32 strong. The nature of the Acaesian Island had been caught amidst the web of gossip and espionage expanding from within the Dominion- so female shadow runners were personally chosen, as to not arouse anymore suspicion than was bound to befall them. Even clad in their drukanite-reinforced goradon armor, their corpse-like complexion and supple figure was possessed of a cold and stoic beauty. It was one rumored to take men's breathe away, figuratively and literally. Twin-blades placed on either hip, their sable tips seeming the scream out for gore, though their masters stood silent. Faces shrouded in the shadow of their hooded cloaks, their crimson gaze was fixed forward as they awaited their orders.
The Dru'kai who would be giving such orders stood perched at the fore. There, with ebon boots pressed against the deck of the bow, stood Kalion Morathi, Istovelve to the Elghinn Yahh, faithful of Inumbriel. He had ventured verily across the face of Spryx; from the snow-capped peaks of Maccevelia to the heat-soaked crags of the Tocknaborne badlands - but never here. Here, to where the trees dotted the landscape and nature thrummed with ceaseless harmonies. So he decided to personally take on the will of the Elghinn Yahh when he was given his task. He spied the walls of the town, his gaze running along the battlements and towers, seeing to every nook and crevice his finely-tuned sight could find. He continued to observe, standing staunch in his posture as the boat pulled up to the docks of the small town.
Before the Tempest Runner wholly ceased its movement, Kalion heaved himself over the side, stomping down onto the rickety wooden docks. His cowl tucked, locks of silken sable flittered in the winds, coming to rest gently upon his shoulder. His complexion was gaunt but his jawline was sharp and his gaze was even more so. His sanguine orbs surveyed the immediate area before beckoning to his retinue to follow him. His soft, silvery voice a honeyed intonation that rolled off the tongue.
"Sevir lil'maurna!"
They moved in shades of silent nightfall, winds whislting through a midnight forest; those women of darkness. Disembarking the ship, they gathered at his back, bound in black, standing 4x8 in a disciplined formation.
Wary eyes were already fixed upon them. Acaesia has long been a matriarchy - by women, for women- and they had stood their ground against more and worse men than this...or so they thought. The hardy ladies stood proudly, but a sense of worry couldn't be ignored. They clutched their daughters, pressing them close to their side. Who were these pallor-fleshed foreigners? Were they elves? No, they seem much too...different. Still, a male lead them, this alone put them in a state of great unease. Were they mercenaries hired by the males on the Western edge of the island? Assassins? It was the unknown that endowed them with such fears - and their fears were rightfully placed.
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