Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5543592-20141022235724/@comment-12599067-20141030010721

When Daria and Dral returned to the foot of Arenthia, the Reachman promptly excused himself to go fetch his things and then give one last goodbye to his "old friend". Dralnach disappeared into the tree-city and vanished into the upper levels, heading towards his quarters. Shortly afterwards he came back out bearing his knapsack and moving in the direction of the city's dungeons. He slipped inside and vanished from sight, stopping only to ask someone for directions to a certain cell.

Dralnach stopped just outside of a cell towards the far end of the dungeon, which was obscured mostly in shadow. A dark figure was curled up facing the wall, although Dral couldn't make out much more than the figure's silhouette even with his sharp vision. However, the Reachman thought little of it and simply cleared his throat in preparation for his last words to his "old friend".

"Good to know you're not dead yet, you furry bastard," Dralnach said in a voice full of mocking hatred. "Although we both know that won't be the case for very long. They're going to let you rot for a while longer before they decide to kill you. You ever wondered how they're going to do it? I haven't seen any chopping blocks around here, and they can't throw you in a fire, so I'd guess they'll just fling you off the highest branch. Of course, that's only my guess. Whatever they decide to do with you, though, I'll be sure to get a letter sent to me so I can here all about it," he mused.

The shadow didn't answer.

"Ah, it'll be good to see home again. 'Course, you wouldn't know that. You've never had a home of any kind, have you?" Dral growled, his hatred growing from Ma'Jharo's silence.

The shadow didn't answer.

"What's wrong? No longer smiling and laughing, are you, you traitorous son of a bitch?" Dralnach snarled.

The shadow didn't answer.

"You're a disgrace," Dralnach spat at the back of the shadow, at a loss for words, so great was his hatred. He turned and left before he could anger himself further, but his rage still remained unsatisfied. He wished that he could say something that would sting at Ma'Jharo, but there was nothing left to say. He found himself unable to find something, anything, left to say. It felt as the iron-clawed hand of fury strangled him into silence.

Just as it had done the night before, when Ma'Jharo had caught the guard outside his cell by the throat and choked the life from him, before he cut his throat, took his keys, dragged the body into his cell, and fled into the wilderness before any of the few elves left to guard Arenthia knew a thing.