The reaction to the common depravity perked a brow from Nyllian. Her experience with which had thankfully been few and far between, her talents deemed too dangerous, and better suited to acting as a mindless weapon for hire. Her grin was unapologetic, [color=#b20080]“what would be the point in lying?” [/color]A rhetorical question as her gaze returned to the door, half expecting others to join the newcomer and when finding her to be alone among a sea of familiar faces Nyllian stilled the questions coming to mind.
The snap of fingers brought back her attention to Helena, the whites of her eyes flashing as the heat, pain of the ward's heavy effect flared into being. Her charges written across the branding spoke their own story. Apostate, dangerous, unhinged talent with subduing the undead. Lacking discipline and training, but natural affinity. Necrotic touch is unpredictable. Do not Touch. Nyllian’s jaw tensed, [color=#b20080]“You could have merely asked,” [/color]a scoff of a laugh before her fingers flexed their grip over the cots end.
A strained smile settled across her features though, the templar’s words washing off her like bathwater. If she were given the opportunity to bathe more frequently the elf may have agreed with the foul name calling, but Nyllian simply relaxed. Pain meant she felt something, that she was not quite dead yet and a shiver of pleasure ran down her back as she embraced the searing energy. [color=#b20080]“I have not seen the country for years. What do I care of it? Nothing. What civility, did it ever show me? None. Do I care? No. Why waste spoiled milk?”[/color]
Had the roles reversed, Nyllian wouldn’t spend her time asking such pointless things, making statements of such things that bored her entirely. She’d have sung in time with splitting her bones from one another, joint by joint. Her black gaze suddenly stared in the figure's direction, fixing on the dark with a cold clarity. [color=#b20080]“You say that, but take this off me and I will certainly suckle you and every. Single. Templar who touches me, dry.”[/color] And then as if a light switched on, her expression turned suddenly sweet, giggling like a lovesick lass who’s mind had clearly half-gone.
[color=#b20080]“Are we going on an adventure?” [/color]
The snap of fingers brought back her attention to Helena, the whites of her eyes flashing as the heat, pain of the ward's heavy effect flared into being. Her charges written across the branding spoke their own story. Apostate, dangerous, unhinged talent with subduing the undead. Lacking discipline and training, but natural affinity. Necrotic touch is unpredictable. Do not Touch. Nyllian’s jaw tensed, [color=#b20080]“You could have merely asked,” [/color]a scoff of a laugh before her fingers flexed their grip over the cots end.
A strained smile settled across her features though, the templar’s words washing off her like bathwater. If she were given the opportunity to bathe more frequently the elf may have agreed with the foul name calling, but Nyllian simply relaxed. Pain meant she felt something, that she was not quite dead yet and a shiver of pleasure ran down her back as she embraced the searing energy. [color=#b20080]“I have not seen the country for years. What do I care of it? Nothing. What civility, did it ever show me? None. Do I care? No. Why waste spoiled milk?”[/color]
Had the roles reversed, Nyllian wouldn’t spend her time asking such pointless things, making statements of such things that bored her entirely. She’d have sung in time with splitting her bones from one another, joint by joint. Her black gaze suddenly stared in the figure's direction, fixing on the dark with a cold clarity. [color=#b20080]“You say that, but take this off me and I will certainly suckle you and every. Single. Templar who touches me, dry.”[/color] And then as if a light switched on, her expression turned suddenly sweet, giggling like a lovesick lass who’s mind had clearly half-gone.
[color=#b20080]“Are we going on an adventure?” [/color]
02-01-2024, 03:39 PM
