Member
Kaithe Dame
Bork Lazer
ButtsnBalls
Vampiretwilight
Neziul
Sp00ki
Pen Name
Estylwen
Nallore
“Hmmmm…” Iliskra mumbled aloud even as her mind swirled, ’The faith’. Shar, Cyric, or Mask I wonder. Iliskra’s eyes wandered over the man himself and then the actual mask he donned. The way he spoke of himself and his ways, Iliskra was quite convinced he was either a follower of Shar or the god of thieves himself, Mask. Cyric - when Iliskra actually considered him - was unlikely. Iliskra had only ever met three Cyric worshippers - an assassin, a witch, and a murderous tavern girl - and this cheeky if sharp tongued man in her presence lacked that same inner turmoil, madness even, that Cyricists seemed to be filled with.
Definitely a Maskaran. Iliskra kept this thought to herself.
“Well, it is good to know that you have the ability and will to keep us both alive. I have never called any priest or priestess my brother or sister in the shadows, no, but as they say there is a first time for all things. And if your skill matches your obvious sense of self-assurance then I think we should do well together.” Iliskra paused briefly then continued, “As for the Ashaba Talons… I have heard of them before. For several generations they were the most powerful criminal organization in this region, or close to it. From what I know their old guildmaster was among those to die from the plague years back and after dales’ capital plunged into disaster their guild started falling apart. Breck said their numbers were few and they were the weakest ones vying for power in Scardale Town. Perhaps so weak we may even be able to pick what remains of them apart ourselves.”
Iliskra suddenly heard a grumbling nearby and her hands moved impulsively to her weapons, coming to rest on their hilts as her eyes looked in the direction of the low noise. However, on seeing it was the dwarf from the encampment approaching Iliskra relaxed and dropped her arms back to her sides.
“Accursed snow and ice… better a boiling summer day than this Auril-forsaken winter…” the dwarf grumbled as he crunched through the flaky snow, arms pressed tight against his sides. Iliskra presumed the short warrior had spotted them already as he did not even acknowledge she and Leon with a moments’ gaze. Iliskra had first noticed the dwarf back in Chandlerscross yet for the first time really looked the dwarf over. For his kind he seemed the usual to her. He had a thick, bushy beard red in color that was tied into tight braids. His carrot-colored hair was cut high atop his head and stood up rather wildly. Heavy brows pressed down in a natural wrinkled grimace. And he boasted a stout, burly body shape. The dwarf wore a full suit of splintmail and his gleaming, wickedly sharp twin axes hung ready at his hips.
“Tempus’ sword straight into her maw, I say, straight into her frosted maw…” the dwarf spat as he came to a stop in front of Iliskra and Leon.
Iliskra smirked, “Not one for winter, master dwarf?”
“Call me Ibdur,” the dwarf growled rather casually and immediately, “and no, elf, I have little love for the biting cold of the winter season.”
“Iliskra,” Iliskra stated her name, her smirk withstanding, “and this man here is Leon. And I am a half-elf just so you know.”
“Alright.” Ibdur rumbled with uncaring flatness, his arms still at his sides and his emerald eyes looked out over the river. Despite being one so small he spoke spoke from his chest and his voice was husky and forceful.
“You are rather far north for someone who so clearly hates the winter.” Iliskra said pointedly.
“Tempus wills I go where there is the glory of battle to be found,” Ibdur said with a hint of pride, now meeting Iliskra’s gaze, “and this… Scardale Town is a city of battle.”
“And glory to be found?” Iliskra’s smirk lingered still though Ibdur seemed not to notice her impishness and replied with a low “indeed” and a fiercely curled fist.
This is going to be quite intriguing. Iliskra thought, wondering what Leon’s first impression of this battle-hungry dwarf was.
Definitely a Maskaran. Iliskra kept this thought to herself.
“Well, it is good to know that you have the ability and will to keep us both alive. I have never called any priest or priestess my brother or sister in the shadows, no, but as they say there is a first time for all things. And if your skill matches your obvious sense of self-assurance then I think we should do well together.” Iliskra paused briefly then continued, “As for the Ashaba Talons… I have heard of them before. For several generations they were the most powerful criminal organization in this region, or close to it. From what I know their old guildmaster was among those to die from the plague years back and after dales’ capital plunged into disaster their guild started falling apart. Breck said their numbers were few and they were the weakest ones vying for power in Scardale Town. Perhaps so weak we may even be able to pick what remains of them apart ourselves.”
Iliskra suddenly heard a grumbling nearby and her hands moved impulsively to her weapons, coming to rest on their hilts as her eyes looked in the direction of the low noise. However, on seeing it was the dwarf from the encampment approaching Iliskra relaxed and dropped her arms back to her sides.
“Accursed snow and ice… better a boiling summer day than this Auril-forsaken winter…” the dwarf grumbled as he crunched through the flaky snow, arms pressed tight against his sides. Iliskra presumed the short warrior had spotted them already as he did not even acknowledge she and Leon with a moments’ gaze. Iliskra had first noticed the dwarf back in Chandlerscross yet for the first time really looked the dwarf over. For his kind he seemed the usual to her. He had a thick, bushy beard red in color that was tied into tight braids. His carrot-colored hair was cut high atop his head and stood up rather wildly. Heavy brows pressed down in a natural wrinkled grimace. And he boasted a stout, burly body shape. The dwarf wore a full suit of splintmail and his gleaming, wickedly sharp twin axes hung ready at his hips.
“Tempus’ sword straight into her maw, I say, straight into her frosted maw…” the dwarf spat as he came to a stop in front of Iliskra and Leon.
Iliskra smirked, “Not one for winter, master dwarf?”
“Call me Ibdur,” the dwarf growled rather casually and immediately, “and no, elf, I have little love for the biting cold of the winter season.”
“Iliskra,” Iliskra stated her name, her smirk withstanding, “and this man here is Leon. And I am a half-elf just so you know.”
“Alright.” Ibdur rumbled with uncaring flatness, his arms still at his sides and his emerald eyes looked out over the river. Despite being one so small he spoke spoke from his chest and his voice was husky and forceful.
“You are rather far north for someone who so clearly hates the winter.” Iliskra said pointedly.
“Tempus wills I go where there is the glory of battle to be found,” Ibdur said with a hint of pride, now meeting Iliskra’s gaze, “and this… Scardale Town is a city of battle.”
“And glory to be found?” Iliskra’s smirk lingered still though Ibdur seemed not to notice her impishness and replied with a low “indeed” and a fiercely curled fist.
This is going to be quite intriguing. Iliskra thought, wondering what Leon’s first impression of this battle-hungry dwarf was.
