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Gwindolyn Spiritor and AelKennyr Rhiano
Nimros's eyes widen, and he stops in mid-reach for the utensils. "Olwe?" he supplies her, his eyes light up, face eager.
Ilharess snaps up as if bitten. "Yes... yes... I do believe that was his name." She pauses and pulls her face to a dark, worried expression. "The rumors say he is insane." She uses her worry that they have cured him to keep her look appropriate. She lightens her features to say, "But that simply could not be true if he were king and obviously so adored by yourself." She smiles and takes a piece of mushroom and nibbles it to help him feel more comfortable eating. All her drow report how humans drop their guard while eating; perhaps elves do too - not that this one was guarded, but better be safe than sorry.
Nimros drops his gaze and his hand, giving a short nod. "I heard the same. Lady Elwing the White said he is very ill, indeed." He stares at the plate, his appetite lost for the moment. "He is a great king, kind, loving. My people call him 'Anamel,' the Compassionate. Alqualonde is such a land, my lady. All the jewels of Eru's creation were used to create it, the palace, the homes, even the market. Never in all of Aman has there been a place so fair." He heaves a long sigh. "I ache to be back there."
Ilharess looks into his eyes, her blue eyes with thin red lines through them carefully blank. The whole underdark stank of evil and chaos, so her personal dosage of it would likely not be distinguishable to the young elf. She lifts a hand to run it along his cheek. It can be hard to be away from all that you love and know." She thinks of the pain she feels being on the surface to give a real tone to her voice. As she does this, she scoots her body a bit closer to him.
Nimros turns his head slightly, and presses his cheek against her hand, just barely. His eyes close for a second and open as he sucks in a small breath, a flush of red coloring his cheeks. The emotion in her voice, coupled with the movement towards him, was not unnoticed. He nods and swallows. "It can be," he agrees.
Gwindolyn Spiritor lowers her hand from his face and looks down to the plate, smothering a smile. She takes a bit of mushroom and offers it to his lips with her fingers. "You are safe here to heal and when ready, you will be sent home properly. I have word on that." She doesn't mention how she defines 'properly' or 'when the time is right.'
He cannot help his eyes from travelling over body, the exposed curves of her thighs, the swell of her breast. He feels within him a stirring and looks away, to hide the redness of his face. Never has he seen a female so scantily clothed, and never has he been so aware of the touch of another. The barest touch of her hand was enough to have him turn towards it, to seek it out. Now, as she offers him the bite of mushroom, he forces himself to turn back to her and keep his eyes affixed to her fingers with their silver tips. He starts to reach for the bite with his own fingers and says, hurriedly, his voice a little shaky to his own ears, "Tell me of your world, here, in this place." He rails at himself, inwardly, for sounding so unsure and tried to cover the youthful uncertainty. "I do not even know your name."
Ilharess does not miss how he looks her over. She doesn't miss his reaction to the eye roaming either. She looks to him taking the food offered to his lips with his fingers instead. She doesn't say a word, but allows it as she didn't want to push and ruin the building momentum. "This is the underdark, miles under the surface. It is constantly dark here. You will never see if the lights go out, so take care of that torch." She gives him a crucial tip, but neglects to offer her name. "The spiders are sacred here, so take care of them as well. They are not so kind to any who mistreat the spiders."
Nimros looks over at the torch and allows his eyes to take in the room again, now that he is more awake and aware. The lichen on the wall give a faint glow, and he notices more fully the smell of the air. Deftly taking the bite she offered with his fingers, he pops the mushroom into his mouth, the taste of it more earthy..at least it was his perception. He nods at her warning, but does not comment. Born under the twilight sky of the Undyling Lands, darkness did not hold any menace for him, and as he noted the lichen, he had a little hope that should he be without artificial light, their glow would provide him with some help in making his way around. At least out of the room. His brow furrows at the mention of spiders, and he almost mentions the spider he had encountered in the land in which he found himself after losing consciousness. Something inside him warned him to silence. His stomach gave a rumble, and he gave a rueful grin and slight blush, reaching to pluck another bite of the mushroom. "This is very good," he said. He chewed and then, as he plucked another bite for himself, he said, "I can understand if you are a bit shy to give a strange male elf your name."I will give you mine first. I am Nimros. Nimros of Alqualonde." He popped anther bite into his mouth.
Ilharess notes that he now takes the room in a bit more seriously. She sees the confidence rise in his eyes, and she can't help but want to laugh. The dark is so deep that surface eyes can't see anything, like being blindfolded. Drow only see through the infrared they adapted through centuries in the caverns. She doesn't dispel his delusions, knowing that was to her advantage. She picks up a piece of rothje - underground version of goat, very hairy, smelly, gamy with its own unique taste that a surfacer could never figure out how to describe. She takes a bite herself in order to keep him at ease and talking. She then offers him the rest of the piece she just ate from. Her fingers again to his mouth. She hears his name and where he is from. She confirms much in her knowledge. "I am called jabress". She says as if it were a title and not a name. In drow, it means Mistress.
Nimros's nostrils flare involuntarily as she brings the meat closer to his face. He looks up from the bite to her face and back again. He opens his mouth as though to speak and then closes it. He gently raises a hand and pushes her wrist down. "I'm...full," he says, after a brief pause, wondering how she could eat meat that has obviously gone rank. Then again, from what little she told him, perhaps she has had to get used to spoilt meat as a way of life. He gives her a smile to try to reassure her, mindful of his mother's injunction for politeness. "I do not want to eat what must be your own meal." He holds her wrist for a few more moments and then slowly releases it. "Tell me more about the.."he pauses, "The Drow?"
She pops the meat into her mouth as he declines it to show him it was fine, but takes no more as this was his meal. "Well, your stomach obviously disagrees that two bites of mushroom were enough." She notes that her ruse is working as he is drawing in more and more to her. "So if the meat is too distant from your tastes, eat more mushrooms." There is a slight hint of impatience, but it is covered with honey. "We are trained warriors from birth. A better trained race, you will not find. We practice often our skills." She doesn't mention the almost daily wars within the cities in the underdark. Nor does she mention the mandatory skill honing classes from toddler age that last up to 18hours a day, depending on the skill and the ability and the promise. The more promising the more the training.
Nimros hears the tone in her voice and in reaction, place a hand lightly on her thigh. Feelng her bare skin, he jerks it back as though burned,dropping his eyes. In answer to her tone, he hurriedly says," Oh, no, sweet Lady, I did not mean to insult. I do not wish to be a burden upon you or yours." He purses his lips and then adds, "Your people must forage on the surface. I am a good hunter. Very good, my father says, as did a member of Olwe's rangers. I can help hunt, if needed. I would be glad to." His belly rumbles again, and he bows his head. "Perhaps a bit more mushroom." He pulls off a large bite, pops it in his mouth, and chews. "I should like to see your people practice their skills. Is that possible? Tell me more? I should like to be trained at weapons instead..." he pauses..."instead of learning my father's trade. IT is not very exciting, I am afraid."
She watches him place the hand, pull it back and then eat a bite quickly to occupy his hands. She waits until his hands were empty once more and grabs his wrist. She gently guides the hand back to her thigh. She rests her hand on it to tell him it was ok. She keeps her eyes on his hand for a moment as she lets her emotions flow just a bit. Before she lifts her head, they are gone once again. She looks at him with her emotionless eyes, "I'm afraid you would be killed should I let you near them." She did mean that as any drow would kill an elf in the training arena for the fun of practice before anyone could say two words. Or at least they would die trying, if they were not up to the task. Death would be preferable to the idea of defeat at the hands of an elf - their most hated enemy.
Nimros swallows hard at the feel of her flesh below his hand. Inwardly he is pleased and disturbed at the same time. When she answers him, he cannot gauge any emotion in her words, merely stating facts. His young face betrays his bitter disappointment as he reaches out with his free hand for another bite of mushroom. "Your people sound fierce," he says slowly. "Very strong." He slowly chews another bite and dares to look over where his hand is, then back at the plate.
She can hear his disappointment and does not want to lose him. "Our people are not use to outsiders and not good with them. There are reasons we practice so often and reasons we live the way we live." She leaves out words like 'by choice,' 'gods worshiped' or any other crucial bits of truth here. She makes it sound like there are dangers outside the city, which there really were. Drow don't travel the underdark alone for good reason and they KNOW the underdark. She watches him eat, and she loosens her hand that holds his hand to her thigh, testing him.
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Ilharess snaps up as if bitten. "Yes... yes... I do believe that was his name." She pauses and pulls her face to a dark, worried expression. "The rumors say he is insane." She uses her worry that they have cured him to keep her look appropriate. She lightens her features to say, "But that simply could not be true if he were king and obviously so adored by yourself." She smiles and takes a piece of mushroom and nibbles it to help him feel more comfortable eating. All her drow report how humans drop their guard while eating; perhaps elves do too - not that this one was guarded, but better be safe than sorry.
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| Nimros in the Underdark |
Ilharess looks into his eyes, her blue eyes with thin red lines through them carefully blank. The whole underdark stank of evil and chaos, so her personal dosage of it would likely not be distinguishable to the young elf. She lifts a hand to run it along his cheek. It can be hard to be away from all that you love and know." She thinks of the pain she feels being on the surface to give a real tone to her voice. As she does this, she scoots her body a bit closer to him.
Nimros turns his head slightly, and presses his cheek against her hand, just barely. His eyes close for a second and open as he sucks in a small breath, a flush of red coloring his cheeks. The emotion in her voice, coupled with the movement towards him, was not unnoticed. He nods and swallows. "It can be," he agrees.
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| The Ilharess Gwindolyn |
He cannot help his eyes from travelling over body, the exposed curves of her thighs, the swell of her breast. He feels within him a stirring and looks away, to hide the redness of his face. Never has he seen a female so scantily clothed, and never has he been so aware of the touch of another. The barest touch of her hand was enough to have him turn towards it, to seek it out. Now, as she offers him the bite of mushroom, he forces himself to turn back to her and keep his eyes affixed to her fingers with their silver tips. He starts to reach for the bite with his own fingers and says, hurriedly, his voice a little shaky to his own ears, "Tell me of your world, here, in this place." He rails at himself, inwardly, for sounding so unsure and tried to cover the youthful uncertainty. "I do not even know your name."
Ilharess does not miss how he looks her over. She doesn't miss his reaction to the eye roaming either. She looks to him taking the food offered to his lips with his fingers instead. She doesn't say a word, but allows it as she didn't want to push and ruin the building momentum. "This is the underdark, miles under the surface. It is constantly dark here. You will never see if the lights go out, so take care of that torch." She gives him a crucial tip, but neglects to offer her name. "The spiders are sacred here, so take care of them as well. They are not so kind to any who mistreat the spiders."
Nimros looks over at the torch and allows his eyes to take in the room again, now that he is more awake and aware. The lichen on the wall give a faint glow, and he notices more fully the smell of the air. Deftly taking the bite she offered with his fingers, he pops the mushroom into his mouth, the taste of it more earthy..at least it was his perception. He nods at her warning, but does not comment. Born under the twilight sky of the Undyling Lands, darkness did not hold any menace for him, and as he noted the lichen, he had a little hope that should he be without artificial light, their glow would provide him with some help in making his way around. At least out of the room. His brow furrows at the mention of spiders, and he almost mentions the spider he had encountered in the land in which he found himself after losing consciousness. Something inside him warned him to silence. His stomach gave a rumble, and he gave a rueful grin and slight blush, reaching to pluck another bite of the mushroom. "This is very good," he said. He chewed and then, as he plucked another bite for himself, he said, "I can understand if you are a bit shy to give a strange male elf your name."I will give you mine first. I am Nimros. Nimros of Alqualonde." He popped anther bite into his mouth.
Ilharess notes that he now takes the room in a bit more seriously. She sees the confidence rise in his eyes, and she can't help but want to laugh. The dark is so deep that surface eyes can't see anything, like being blindfolded. Drow only see through the infrared they adapted through centuries in the caverns. She doesn't dispel his delusions, knowing that was to her advantage. She picks up a piece of rothje - underground version of goat, very hairy, smelly, gamy with its own unique taste that a surfacer could never figure out how to describe. She takes a bite herself in order to keep him at ease and talking. She then offers him the rest of the piece she just ate from. Her fingers again to his mouth. She hears his name and where he is from. She confirms much in her knowledge. "I am called jabress". She says as if it were a title and not a name. In drow, it means Mistress.
Nimros's nostrils flare involuntarily as she brings the meat closer to his face. He looks up from the bite to her face and back again. He opens his mouth as though to speak and then closes it. He gently raises a hand and pushes her wrist down. "I'm...full," he says, after a brief pause, wondering how she could eat meat that has obviously gone rank. Then again, from what little she told him, perhaps she has had to get used to spoilt meat as a way of life. He gives her a smile to try to reassure her, mindful of his mother's injunction for politeness. "I do not want to eat what must be your own meal." He holds her wrist for a few more moments and then slowly releases it. "Tell me more about the.."he pauses, "The Drow?"
She pops the meat into her mouth as he declines it to show him it was fine, but takes no more as this was his meal. "Well, your stomach obviously disagrees that two bites of mushroom were enough." She notes that her ruse is working as he is drawing in more and more to her. "So if the meat is too distant from your tastes, eat more mushrooms." There is a slight hint of impatience, but it is covered with honey. "We are trained warriors from birth. A better trained race, you will not find. We practice often our skills." She doesn't mention the almost daily wars within the cities in the underdark. Nor does she mention the mandatory skill honing classes from toddler age that last up to 18hours a day, depending on the skill and the ability and the promise. The more promising the more the training.
Nimros hears the tone in her voice and in reaction, place a hand lightly on her thigh. Feelng her bare skin, he jerks it back as though burned,dropping his eyes. In answer to her tone, he hurriedly says," Oh, no, sweet Lady, I did not mean to insult. I do not wish to be a burden upon you or yours." He purses his lips and then adds, "Your people must forage on the surface. I am a good hunter. Very good, my father says, as did a member of Olwe's rangers. I can help hunt, if needed. I would be glad to." His belly rumbles again, and he bows his head. "Perhaps a bit more mushroom." He pulls off a large bite, pops it in his mouth, and chews. "I should like to see your people practice their skills. Is that possible? Tell me more? I should like to be trained at weapons instead..." he pauses..."instead of learning my father's trade. IT is not very exciting, I am afraid."
She watches him place the hand, pull it back and then eat a bite quickly to occupy his hands. She waits until his hands were empty once more and grabs his wrist. She gently guides the hand back to her thigh. She rests her hand on it to tell him it was ok. She keeps her eyes on his hand for a moment as she lets her emotions flow just a bit. Before she lifts her head, they are gone once again. She looks at him with her emotionless eyes, "I'm afraid you would be killed should I let you near them." She did mean that as any drow would kill an elf in the training arena for the fun of practice before anyone could say two words. Or at least they would die trying, if they were not up to the task. Death would be preferable to the idea of defeat at the hands of an elf - their most hated enemy.
Nimros swallows hard at the feel of her flesh below his hand. Inwardly he is pleased and disturbed at the same time. When she answers him, he cannot gauge any emotion in her words, merely stating facts. His young face betrays his bitter disappointment as he reaches out with his free hand for another bite of mushroom. "Your people sound fierce," he says slowly. "Very strong." He slowly chews another bite and dares to look over where his hand is, then back at the plate.
She can hear his disappointment and does not want to lose him. "Our people are not use to outsiders and not good with them. There are reasons we practice so often and reasons we live the way we live." She leaves out words like 'by choice,' 'gods worshiped' or any other crucial bits of truth here. She makes it sound like there are dangers outside the city, which there really were. Drow don't travel the underdark alone for good reason and they KNOW the underdark. She watches him eat, and she loosens her hand that holds his hand to her thigh, testing him.
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