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Out of the Abyss IC
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<blockquote data-quote="CanadienneBacon" data-source="post: 6772545" data-attributes="member: 11146"><p><a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/group.php?discussionid=1414&do=discuss" target="_blank">RG</a></p><p><a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/group.php?groupid=457" target="_blank">Community</a></p><p><a href="http://www.enworld.org/forum/showthread.php?473086-Out-of-the-Abyss-OOC" target="_blank">OOC</a></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center"><img src="http://i64.tinypic.com/346kmz4.jpg" alt="" class="fr-fic fr-dii fr-draggable " style="" /></p> <p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-size: 9px">Credit: pinterest.com Artist: Unknown</span></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: 18px"><span style="font-family: 'Garamond'"><em>It had been two days since The Flaying, as His Highness Prince Derendil liked to call it. The Flaying. They took the runty deep gnome, the one with blackest skin. Shoor had laughed his wheezing high-pitched glee at the gnome's panicked bleating about needing to live, <strong>wanting</strong> to serve. But Mistress Ilvara had been bored that day. Bored with Shoor. Bored with her command. Bored, perhaps, with the drudge of life in an insignificant outpost. The gnome lasted an hour, dinner theater, his screams stretching from the drow's dining hall, tendrils of misery creeping across the rocky cavern wall into the inky dark of the prison cell. His end was punctuated with laughter. Cat-calls in the queer gutteral tongue of the drow.</em></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 18px"><span style="font-family: 'Garamond'"><em></em></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 18px"><span style="font-family: 'Garamond'"><em>Fifteen prisoners, stuffed in a natural cavern. Iron bars and a lock the size of a fist sealed the entry. A prison. Everyone knew by now to avoid His Highness Prince Derendil. Oh, he could be urbane. Witty, even. He liked to lift a pinky finger as he talked, raised as if he were taking high tea. But, as Sarith discovered to his woe, refer to the great hulking shaggy beast as a "quaggoth," and you would know suffering. Sarith still flinched a little when His Highness drew near. </em></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 18px"><span style="font-family: 'Garamond'"><em></em></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 18px"><span style="font-family: 'Garamond'"><em>Buppido was the first to make introductions, shaking hands all around. The male derro was particular in his habits, refusing to piss near his bed, always wiping his hands in a futile attempt to clean them before eating. He was friendly, though. Harmless. A font of knowledge and information, once you got him talking. A foil to the brutishness of His Highness and Ront the Orc who moped sullen in the corner. </em></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 18px"><span style="font-family: 'Garamond'"><em></em></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 18px"><span style="font-family: 'Garamond'"><em>Inside your prison, the spark of magic died. There was no <em>light</em>, certainly no warmth, and it was not dry. Though your feet were free, your hands were manacled, a chain running from the manacles to an iron belt clapped at your waist. The slave collar at your neck, though. That chaffed. Just where your gear had gone, well, that was a mystery. The drow had taken it when you were captured.</em></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 18px"><span style="font-family: 'Garamond'"><em></em></span></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 18px"><span style="font-family: 'Garamond'"><em>And always, always, always, the sound of rushing water roared somewhere in the distance, never to be seen, always heard.</em></span></span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="CanadienneBacon, post: 6772545, member: 11146"] [url=http://www.enworld.org/forum/group.php?discussionid=1414&do=discuss]RG[/url] [url=http://www.enworld.org/forum/group.php?groupid=457]Community[/url] [url=http://www.enworld.org/forum/showthread.php?473086-Out-of-the-Abyss-OOC]OOC[/url] [center][IMG]http://i64.tinypic.com/346kmz4.jpg[/IMG] [size=1]Credit: pinterest.com Artist: Unknown[/size][/center] [size=5][font=Garamond][I]It had been two days since The Flaying, as His Highness Prince Derendil liked to call it. The Flaying. They took the runty deep gnome, the one with blackest skin. Shoor had laughed his wheezing high-pitched glee at the gnome's panicked bleating about needing to live, [b]wanting[/b] to serve. But Mistress Ilvara had been bored that day. Bored with Shoor. Bored with her command. Bored, perhaps, with the drudge of life in an insignificant outpost. The gnome lasted an hour, dinner theater, his screams stretching from the drow's dining hall, tendrils of misery creeping across the rocky cavern wall into the inky dark of the prison cell. His end was punctuated with laughter. Cat-calls in the queer gutteral tongue of the drow. Fifteen prisoners, stuffed in a natural cavern. Iron bars and a lock the size of a fist sealed the entry. A prison. Everyone knew by now to avoid His Highness Prince Derendil. Oh, he could be urbane. Witty, even. He liked to lift a pinky finger as he talked, raised as if he were taking high tea. But, as Sarith discovered to his woe, refer to the great hulking shaggy beast as a "quaggoth," and you would know suffering. Sarith still flinched a little when His Highness drew near. Buppido was the first to make introductions, shaking hands all around. The male derro was particular in his habits, refusing to piss near his bed, always wiping his hands in a futile attempt to clean them before eating. He was friendly, though. Harmless. A font of knowledge and information, once you got him talking. A foil to the brutishness of His Highness and Ront the Orc who moped sullen in the corner. Inside your prison, the spark of magic died. There was no [I]light[/I], certainly no warmth, and it was not dry. Though your feet were free, your hands were manacled, a chain running from the manacles to an iron belt clapped at your waist. The slave collar at your neck, though. That chaffed. Just where your gear had gone, well, that was a mystery. The drow had taken it when you were captured. And always, always, always, the sound of rushing water roared somewhere in the distance, never to be seen, always heard.[/I][/font][/size] [/QUOTE]
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