#strighym replies

[noamuth]

Goblins. It's always goblins. They seem to be the favored cannon fodder for the traitorous drow Minthara. At least this time the group is small--a couple brawlers with beat-up swords, each with a strange spotted dog-pet-thing at their side. Who is taking whom for a walk? he wonders. Or perhaps they were searching for their next meal. Unfortunately, Dalamus and the group crossed paths with them, and the goblins could not resist the allure of fresh humanoid meat.

Dalamus faces one of the dog things and its master, the spotted creature letting out a disturbingly human-sounding cackle at the promise of a large meal. It lunges, but before its jaws can reach Dalamus, the boom of an incantation fills the air. Three red spears of Gale's Magic Missile spell catch the creature in its side mid-leap, sending it flying several feet to the side where it whimpers until it expires with a sigh.

Just the goblin left, then. It wields a blade, but Dalamus wields two. Dalamus dodges a horizontal swipe of the scimitar, slashes with his poisoned dagger and connects just barely with the goblin's cheek--but it is enough. The open wound lets the toxin in to begin its own work. Dalamus parries another blade strike with his left hand dagger, but the goblin must have realized his right hand dagger is not for defense, and swings for that side instead.

Another booming incantation from Gale, presumably casting a spell to aid their other companion, and Dalamus flinches just long enough to catch the edge of the scimitar against his ribs. Before it can reach bone or below, Dalamus uses his defensive dagger to shove the blade away, holding it in the hilt's "cage", and lashes out with his poisoned dagger again, this time slashing at his enemy's throat. If the poison does not fell him, then the blood loss will. The goblin stumbles backwards in shock and attempts to futilely control the bleeding, but fails, and expires.

With some huffing and puffing from exertion, Dalamus slowly lowers himself beside the goblin's corpse, holding his wounded and bleeding side while he frisks his enemy for anything useful or valuable. Gale and the other seem to be doing... Fine. Probably.

[noamuth]

@roquenxnar continued from here (X)

Dalamus observes Belthan's miserable state with mild scrutiny. The older drow's yellowed eyes betray his flagging health, not that it could be kept a secret with his whimpering and groaning and sweating. His voice is weak and painful. He is going to need more than a simple cup of water to replenish everything. Not that Dalamus cares, of course.

"I have ideas," he admits a little too easily, too readily. "Compared to your current state, it might even be a mercy." But he makes no move to touch either of the daggers at his back, his hands and a couple bandaged fingers instead folded in his lap. Even as Belthan shifts and struggles to push himself into a more comfortable position, Dalamus offers no help.

You did not have to bring me water, he says, and Dalamus has half a mind to stand and leave the tent in that instant. The bristling defensiveness is immediate, shoulders tensing, and he is unsure why. Perhaps because Belthan is right--he did not have to bring the water. He could have asked someone else to do it. But he did not. Heat rises to his throat and the tips of his ears in embarrassment.

"Well, I did bring you water, and you are welcome. Sweating like a cave pig and looking more like a damned ghoul every second, you are liable to give Haleth a fright."

[noamuth]

(continued from reply on this post) @boarchasers

After a short time, the rat returns. It seems to have noticed that it has company, as its movements are much slower: no longer scampering but creeping, almost sideways in its approach, fur puffed out from its body, taking a sniff after every few cautious steps. As it draws within biting distance of the mushroom it watches Dalamus with an oddly fixed stare. [Tumblr won't let me reply with a different account so I guess the Boar-Chasers have temporarily adopted a rat.]

Dalamus is patient, red eyes focused on the small creature before him. He does not see a brain, so it is not a Cranium Rat, not an Illithid spy. With a tadpole behind his eye, a spy may not be necessary.

The rat does not appear diseased or cursed, does not have the awkwardness or fright of a young one. Perhaps surface rats are simply small. Still.. its stare unsettles him.

While one hand holds the mushroom steady, the other hand whips out in an attempt to snatch the rat from above--not to harm it just yet, but hold it securely and examine it. If only he had Animal Speaking, this would be simpler.

[noamuth]

(continued from here) @yaivai

"Oh ha ha, very funny, Dal." She pouts and puts the mug down. "At least I know how to live a little, you're just an old grump." Truthfully, she didn't know his age, they were both elves, after all, and it's not like she had ever bothered asking. But Yaivai was the type who likes to get under people's skin, poke around and see what gets uncovered. She poked the same at their other equally cursed companions, though she got accused of doing it for her own amusement. "This drink, by the way, is the opposite of living, like something died in it."

"We are not friends. You do not get to call me Dal." No one has earned that privilege yet, the privilege of addressing him with the same nickname his brother had used. Dalamus frowns, unimpressed by her goading about his supposed age, but neither does he correct her. He is not old, but does not wish to be perceived as inexperienced--whether it is true or not.

Her comment on the tea, however, makes him smirk from under his hood. "Like something died, hm? Like your manners? Spoiled the tea before it even reached your lips. Or perhaps you simply do not have a palate refined enough to enjoy it. I am surprised you tasted it at all, the way you poured it down your throat."

[noamuth]

Repayment

@roquenxnar

Dalamus holds the newest cabochon between his fingers, feeling for any unevenness, and turns it in the light to look for scratches. It is immaculate, if he were to say so himself. And he would. Surely, this will suffice.

Although his business is with Haleth alone, Dalamus decides to play it safe and approach Belthan, himself, first. The old drow is clearly protective of her, as he should be.

"I have need to see Haleth, as I have repayment for the stones she offered me." As proof, he shows his hand. Within it is a teardrop shaped cabochon of red agate, barely larger than the end of his thumb. Browns and oranges and reds are separated into cells by a deep red lines, like plates of cracked earth, while two bands of white circle its ends.

[noamuth]

Ravaged Beach

@tadfooled

The sun peeks over the horizon, illuminating the aftermath of the Nautiloid crash for all to see--a gory crater within a cracked shell, split in half under its own weight after hitting a small ridge, like an egg crushed under foot. Ship viscera litters the ground in a perimeter the size of a small town. Slimes and acids pool underneath, soaking into the land. Their acrid stench mixes with the scent of burnt, rubbery flesh as flames lap at the wreckage and scorch the ground, embers traveling on the breeze like seeds to sprout fires elsewhere.

The fall from the ship, somehow, had not killed Dalamus, but as he returns to consciousness and perceives the aches across his body, he almost wishes it had. Red eyes open only to squint tightly against the glare of the sky overhead. The sky is blinding, the air shimmers with heat, and his nostrils fill with the scent of smoke and cooking flesh. Suffocating. Suffocating. He needs to find shade. He needs to find... His piwafwi. Where is his piwafwi?

He turns onto his side and a whimper escapes him before he can catch it. The fall has not killed him, but his back is screaming. Every other breath forces him to cough, and pain stabs at his lower spine with each dry retch as his body rejects the fetid air. Once his lungs reluctantly acclimate, Dalamus rolls onto his stomach with a groan, then pushes himself up onto hands and knees. Even the sand reflects sunlight to stab at his eyes--how do surface dwellers get anything done when it is so fucking bright?

The sand and sun are hot against his skin, but he spots his piwafwi a few feet away, caught precariously on a chunk of debris, flapping in the wind, at risk of being lifted away at any moment. Before he can even get his feet underneath him, an ear swivels left to hone in on nearby footsteps, the sound of sand crunching under boots, and his gaze follows.

A human woman, with fair skin and hair partially tied back, walks slowly along the beach. Is she searching for survivors? For corpses to loot? For supplies? Dalamus does not know, but refuses to be an easy target. His first attempt to get his feet underneath him fails. He wobbles and falls to one knee, breath hissing through his teeth as shock travels up his spine and pulses all across his back. He burns with anger at his own weakness, as surely as his skin burns under the sun.

[noamuth]

The Grove (Dalamus & Belthan)

@roquenxnar

Why him? Why is he the one chosen to return to the Grove? How had they forgotten camp supplies while they were here last?

He could just take the money and run. Ah, but run where? None of this land is familiar, and none of these people are fond of drow. Once again, he is forced to concede that traveling in the group is best, at least while they all share a goal. ...And not all of his new "companions" are entirely insufferable.

Dalamus watches as the gate is raised for his entry, and steels his nerves against the creaking of rope and wood as it is lowered behind him. He now stands trapped in what could, at any moment, become enemy territory. He pulls his ragged piwafwi tighter around himself. While its invisibility magic has been destroyed by the accursed sunlight, it still has use in shielding his eyes and skin from the same fate as he follows the main path towards the merchant he seeks.

The halfling--Arron, apparently--is amiable enough, determined to offer help to all, even an out-of-place Lolthite drow. As long as he behaves himself. If only the tiefling children had gotten the same memorandum.

Dalamus turns swiftly and grabs the would-be thief by one of his budding horns, disguising the pain of the movement by snarling down at the tiefling child, red eyes glowing brighter under the shade of his hood. "Clumsy. You would have better luck stealing an eye from a Beholder. Now, return what you took."

The boy is crying, gripping at Dalamus' arm in a feeble attempt to pry the hand from his left horn. Dalamus has no intention of harming him, and yet everyone nearby begins yelling at him to let the child go. Is thievery not a crime here? Are children exempt? Is he just to accept that a child can shove their greedy hands in his pouch and he must allow it to happen even if he witnesses it?