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“Am I safe with you?” [ @dryadalismagicae ] { Na'elle }

The laugh that follows her question is sudden and sharp and unkind, yet how amusing it all is!

Before, she would have been in peril because he was under the thrall of some mind-flayer scheme. And now? Now, even should he wish to do so—and why would he?—he lacks any and all ability to draw upon the magicks that his pact with the Absolute had bestowed unto him. The laugh is double-edged and slices him, also, to the core.

The reason, how-ever, is not one he intends to share. He had done well covering his powerlessness since leaving Grymforge. He has no intention of revealing his predicament now.

"Safe with me?" he repeats, every syllable measured and serrated.

"I do not think that you could have asked a more insipid question if you had tried to find one."

Let her assume the reason for his scathing remark: that he feels not the slightest indebted to her, that he has no attachment to any of these ridiculous fools, that he would just as soon let them all suffer the consequences of whatever asinine decision they might next make and take the artifact for himself.

She can think whatever she likes. It is no matter to him.

[ He knows the truth. ]

Jaheira leaned back on the chair, rocking it slightly as she regarded Nere, her eyes unfocused but filled with mischievousness. “Nere... Nere...” she mumbled, slurring his name as if it was a strange new song. "Neeeere... Ner-reee, yeah, that’s a good one." She paused, squinting at him with exaggerated curiosity, a grin tugging at her lips. “Did you pick it yourself, or did your mama just... toss it at you? I mean, it’s a great name! Nere, sounds so... so... important. Like you’re supposed to be a big deal or something. I bet you’ve got a whole... backstory for it, right?” She let out a giggle, almost losing her balance as she swayed the chair back again.

@harpershigh

She mocks him.

He does not care to be mocked. He has never cared to be mocked. All he has wanted for his entire life was respect [ and freedom, though that is a far more difficult thing to say, or even to understand to one who has lived as he has lived ].

Why then does it seem as though every gods-forsaken person to have crossed his path in recent months finds it not only acceptable but hilarious to do so.

At least this one is drunk. Perhaps she means what she says and perhaps she does not. In the end, it does not truly matter. Despite what any here might think, he is no fool. While he was unaware of this [ ancient ] hero's status and legend with their first meeting, he is a quick study. He is exceedingly aware of it now.

He is also quite cognizant of the fact that she holds power while his own continued existence within the good graces—or perhaps tolerance—of the group remains tenuous at best [ and to provoke a fight would be unwise in his current diminished state, regardless ].

He cannot allow his pride to get the better of him here and now, no matter how her words gall him, how they burn at him just as Baenre's scathing remarks.

And yet, though he cannot make it so exceedingly plain as he would like, still he does not feel that he need bow to her queries either.

He takes a deep breath, pushes further down that roiling anger within his chest, and, after another moment, he corners his eyes to look at her.

"I hope you will excuse that I see no point in wasting my breath by explaining my name's origin with someone who is too intoxicated to remember it by the morning."

@fiendishfinesse continued from here

Raphael strode into the chamber, his presence crackling with an electric hunger that filled the air. His auburn eyes glowed as he spread his arms wide, a wicked grin carving across his face. “Ah, little soul” he purred, gesturing grandly, “the night is calling, and I, like the wolf, run the show. Tell me, are you ready? Ready to be rocked like a hurricane? To feel the fire and lust that can’t be caged, to lose yourself in a chaos you’ll never recover from? Come now, don’t keep me waiting—it’s time for a show.”

Nere does not move. For a moment that is far longer than he would care to admit, he does nothing at all except to stare... until the moment that he moves beyond his disbelief to process what he had heard.

It is an almost herculean task, to halt the sneer that threatens to appear at being so basely propositioned, and by such a being as this, no less. It only further rankles him that the other seems of the opinion that he is simply irresistible.

Still... it would serve him well to display at least some level of civility in the presence of this creature, rather than to freely show the utter revulsion he feels at being treated thus again.

"It was my understanding that you had matters of some manner of import to discuss. But if this is all it was that you desired, you would have been better served to say as much from the start as I am disinclined to acquiesce to your request."

That... was civil, wasn't it?

bites him. >:( // @veilblade

"Release me at once, you utterly wretched creature! I will not tell you again!"

"You are no vampire---spawn or otherwise---to require any consideration be given in pardoning such barbaric behaviors, and they will not be tolerated!"

"I have no quarrel with any of her mercenary pets so long as they do not overstep their bounds—or presume to think that, because they are many and I am one, I would be easy prey that they might further their standing in the camp."

Of course, even as Nere stares across to where the drow mercenaries sit together within their own space, two of them glance his way as they whisper amongst themselves. He has no doubt that they are having a similar discussion about what they might do if he should try anything against them.

Such is the way of the Underdark.

Not that it matters to him now...

Whatever the mercenaries might choose when all is said and done, he may never return to the Underdark, no matter how his light-sensitive eyes might strenuously protest the damnable sunlight of the Above.

"... If it is an agreement of non-hostility that you seek from me, I give you my word that I shall not be the aggressor. However, if any should intend me harm, I shall not hesitate to put a permanent end to such ill-conceived endeavors."

{@neredoesnotfail liked for a short starter}

"If we cannot trust each other, we're dead, no matter what we choose." Their little group's most recent additions all seemed terribly suspicious of each other, but surely none of them were foolish enough to play the traitor's part, dooming themselves along with everyone else.

❛ you have no power over me. ❜ // @starlyht { sol'rys }

Nere laughs, loud and sudden and sharp. It is neither a kind nor a happy sound, a fact that likely becomes as apparent with the disdainful expression as he regards the other male drow.

"You say that as though I should wish to make such a claim," Nere answers, shaking his head.

"What need have I for a sellsword when I am no doubt just as adept—if not more so—in battle? You far overestimate your importance."

"And yet! perhaps it is Baenre with whom you intended to speak, and wished only my critique on the delivery of such a proclamation. If that is the case, I would recommend having a blade at the ready. You might need it."

❛ i just like to argue with you cause it’s funny. ❜ // @starlyht { Sszefryn }

"And yet, perhaps it would be best were you to seek out that barbarian or the ranger. Such individuals should be more well-suited to provide you with a conversation more closely aligned to your own level of understanding."

"I prefer to waste neither my time nor my breath for another moment with refuting the utterly insipid utterances of the unenlightened."

And with that, he returns his attention to the heavy tome he had been studying prior to this ridiculous discussion.

❛ i’ve met scarecrows with more spine than you ❜ // @starlyht { kyran }

"Twice over would you have been gutted in Menzoberranzan for such assumptions. The first: that you assume a lack of interest in these petty conflicts and squabbles indicates a lack of spine. The second: that you assume you might speak to me in such a manner unanswered."

The drow corners a look of warning at the other, though he makes no move yet to rise from his place at the campfire.

"I have deigned to bestow upon you this first and only warning; know that I will not give another."

❛ oh, look at you, an attempt at greatness! pity it’s just an attempt.  ❜ // @spiderwarden

In an instant, he has spun about on his heel to face her, uncaring if any of their companions might see as the quiet, indignant rage of centuries at last reaches its ignition point.

Drawn up to his full height, he towers over the smaller drow.

His height and frame—so unnatural to the drow race—had served him well in the Underdark. That coupled with his skill and strength had made him difficult to oppose and even more difficult to kill among other males. It had continued to keep him alive even after he had been sold to settle his matriarch's debt and forced to fight in those gladiatorial matches put on for the matriarchs and their female spawn for sport.

Drow females were the ones who taught him to bow his head and to make himself small and to avert his eyes from them lest they decide that he needs reminding of his place.

Drow females who made it clear that he was a plaything for their mercurial whims, a tool towards their egomaniacal ends, and a weapon to wield and to point in whatever direction they so chose.

Drow females for whom he fought against other drow and all manner of other creatures simply for the right to keep his life, that they might be entertained.

Drow females who looked upon him and spoke to him just as this one does now.

Shoulders squared back and every muscle tensed and ready for the potential consequences to the retort already loaded on the tip of his tongue, he rather pointedly lowers himself that he might meet her eye to eye.

"We stand no longer in Menzoberranzan, Baenre, nor in any other place where I need tolerate you speaking to me in such a manner," he all but hisses, teeth nearly bared and pulse already pounding in his ears.

[ This is not done. It simply is not done. Centuries of living in the dark of that city scream at him to cease this, but he will not listen now, no matter how well he knows the danger of it. He is a slave no longer. ]

"You hold no power over me. We are both of us in equal standing now: forsaken."

❛ We must move on, we cannot linger. ❜ // @lcftyambiticns

"That may well be the most sensible statement you have made since first our paths crossed," he retorts, though there is not the prior sharpness to his tone [ perhaps owing to exhaustion and no small number of injuries ].

"One would think, having encountered undead guardians, magma mephits, an adamantine golem, more magma mephits, and a lava elemental should prove more than sufficient cause to depart. To remain in this accursed place any longer would almost undoubtedly welcome some further misfortune, the severity of which I do not care to learn."

At the slur, the totally unabashed vitriol of the ignorant or perhaps the willfully stupid, Nere's own expression darkens as the sky before a storm, crimson eyes flashing dangerously as they narrow. Drawing up to his full height, he lowers his head to make a point of looking down at the other.

"You are the one who should show caution, fool. What-ever your alleged power, it would be a difficult feat indeed to cast your paltry spells with neither tongue nor hands."

LORROAKAN'S SELF-IMPORTANT expression darkened, hazel eyes narrowing.

"Careful, underelf," he hissed, his tone dripping with venom. The way he spat the word carried all the disdain he harbored for their kind ——cave-dwelling savages, as far as he was concerned. "Lest I decide to end your pitiful existence."

He raised his chin, arrogance shielding his ire. "...Consider yourself fortunate that we have need of you intact," he sneered, gesturing dismissively in the drow's direction. Taunting. Smug. "Deluded and, ah, confused as you are, there is still a chance — however slim — that you might prove useful."

❛ do not forget what i am.  ❜ // @lcftyambiticns

"And what is that?" the drow questions with a mocking not-quite-smile, that telltale [ patronizing ] sing-song to his voice.

His head canted slightly to one side, he continues, pondering the potential answers aloud.

"A ne'er-do-well? A cad? A wizard of... questionable renown? A mere mortal hoping to cast off his mortality? What, precisely, is it that you wish us to remember that you are?"

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