Basic Information
Name: Elena Blazhe
Aliases: The Red Bard
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Age: 24
Profession: Bard, sellsword, ex-pirate
Languages: Common and a few others.
Accent: Luskan
Physical Information
Height: 5'5''
Weight: 135
Body build: Lean and toned
Skin type: Sun-tanned, white.
Hair style: Shoulder length black hair.
Scars: None visible.
Tattoos: She has a tribal tattoo on her left thigh and the tattoo of a rose on her right wrist under her bracer.
Eyes: Ocean blue
Mental Information
Philosophy: "It's a blessing for a man to have a hand in determining his own fate," - Edward Teach, A.K.A. Blackbeard.
Deity/Beliefs: Not shared.
Additional Information
Gear: Often wears red clothes, from traveling attire to dresses. Commonly wearing a red vest and tight trousers with tanned leather boots.
Jewelry: Small seashell earings.
Habbits/hobbies: Music is her greatest passion. She enjoys drinking and smoking pipeweed.
Favorite Drink: Spiced rum. And occasionally some sangria.
Elena does not talk much about herself or where she comes from, but there are a few things that are apparent about her to suggest some of her history to the keen observer.
Elena Blazhe
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*Bloodlines
- Posts: 139
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
((This is intended to be a bit of backstory of certain events that will follow. Will post more later. Please treat this as OOC knowledge unless you get permission. ))
"Fifty thousand,” Doyle said.
Elena Blazhe knew that was a laughable offer. The two men sitting across from her table at the Bottle and Jug had been pitching offers to her about her vessel, The Jericho, ever since she had finished her nightly performance. She wasnÂ’t even two drinks in when they took their seats, uninvited too.
“She’s not for sale,” Elena said, tapping her finger on the table. “Now leave me to my drink. I’m not interested in your money.”
Now that she thought about it, Elena had seen these men the other night. One of them, Doyle she believe he said, was tall and built like a warrior with short blond hair and a trimmed beard while the other, Surrey, was slim with dark brown hair. Compared to the rough and tumble of the Hive wardÂ’s popular bar, these men had clean clothes, were well groomed, and very out of place. Yet what caught ElenaÂ’s eyes, or ears rather, was that both of them spoke in a very familiar Luskan accent.
“I think she will be after you hear us out,” Doyle said. “How many do you have in your crew?”
“Don’t got one,” Elena said.
“Are you recruiting?”
“No.”
“So you have a ship, but you don’t have a crew,” Doyle said. “A spelljammer needs a lot of maintenance and a full crew to keep up with her. Fifty thousand and we’ll take it out of your hands.”
“About enough to buy me an expensive whore,” Elena said. The offer was insulting. “Sod off.”
Elena turned her head away from them as if that was that, paying more attention to the new singer on stage, a young human woman wearing what must have been the nicest white dress a Hiver could own. She was singing about a man traveling with her daughter on a long road. A bit too flat, but not a bad mezzo-soprano. She could use lessons. In the meanwhile, Doyle and Surrey shifted out of the corner of ElenaÂ’s eye, exchanging in silence. Elena turned her attention back to them as if to ask why they hadnÂ’t left, but then noticed Surrey was playing with a small glass ball.
“How about this,” Doyle said. “Seventy five thousand and a place in our crew. We can start you off with a fifth more than what the others make, given your experience.”
“Ain’t bad, but I’m not looking to join a crew,” Elena said.
Surrey spun the glass ball on the table and whispered to Doyle, something ElenaÂ’s years of musical training had no problem hearing.
”We can’t leave empty handed,” Surrey said.
”Other plan then,” Doyle said.
Doyle looked back at Elena and smiled. “How about a drink?”
Elena shrugged. “If you’re paying. I’ll have another brandy.”
He then waved the serving wench over and purchased a glass of scotch for Elena. Wrong bloody drink. The gesture was nice, at least. “I think you’d reconsider. We operate mostly out of Pandira. I believe you are familiar with it.”
That stirred up an unpleasant memory. “Can’t say I am,” Elena lied.
Doyle took the glass from the wench and took a sip. “It’s a nice set-up. Would you be willing to meet with our employer?” He then pushed the glass over to Elena.
This feeling. Elena chewed on the side of her lip as she watched the two men, knowing full well they werenÂ’t going to leave her alone. Surrey kept playing with that damn ball too, and rolled it over the center of the table.
Elena slapped her hand over it. Surrey moved to take it, but he recoiled when Elena met his eyes.
Doyle and Surrey then sat back and watched her, their eyes slowly dropping to her hand, or rather, what was under it.
“Who is your employer?” Elena asked.
They kept their eyes on her hand, occasionally looking up at her. Something about that made a shiver crawl down her spine. She removed her hand, the glass ball under it no longer spinning, giving her a good look.
A glass eye. Small, with a vibrant blue iris. The same color as hers.
Elena looked up at the two men, their hands now under the table as they sat, staring at her.
“Are you going to take the offer or not?” Doyle said.
Elena felt as though her blood was boiling. “The Jericho isn’t for sale.”
“Then at least meet with our employer,” Doyle said. “I’m sure he could convince you.”
“I bet you’d like me to come with you, eh?” Elena said. “Tell him I’m not interested.”
There was a clicking sound, one she recognized as the hammer of a flintlock pistol. Shit. Elena glanced at Doyle. “Mind I at least finish my drink first?”
“I bought it for you,” Doyle said.
Elena picked up the glass of scotch and slammed it back, then slapped the glass on the table. “Never liked this swill like he does,” she said. “Shit for a last drink, don’t you think?”
Elena flipped the table up. Three rapid flashes of light, a cloud of choking smoke, and three loud blasts. A shot tore into her hip, another blasted chunks of wood and glass into the air. The table landed legs up on top of Surrey, who was now on the floor holding his gut.
Doyle rushed over the table with a knife while Elena drew a second flintlock from her bag of holding. She aimed and discharged it, only for Doyle to duck under it with alarming speed. He drove his knife toward her neck, but Elena caught it with her hand, the knife puncturing her flesh and through the back of her hand. They staggered into another table, scaring away several customers. Doyle pressed Elena against the table. Elena went for her belt knife, but Doyle got a hold of her wrist to stop her. Elena abandoned the attempt and grabbed his ear and yanked it so hard she thought it might tear off before he could react.
Doyle cursed and tried to get ElenaÂ’s hand off of him, but then she kicked him in the groin and forced him off of her, his blade sliding out of her hand. She winced, then grabbed a nearby stool and clubbed him on the head. Doyle collapsed to the floor, dropping his knife.
Elena took a moment to collect herself, then picked up the knife and approached Doyle. She then kicked him onto his back and set her boot on his neck.
“Tell the bastard I ain’t selling his ship back to him. Now get the *** out of my bar.”
She kicked him out cold.
"Fifty thousand,” Doyle said.
Elena Blazhe knew that was a laughable offer. The two men sitting across from her table at the Bottle and Jug had been pitching offers to her about her vessel, The Jericho, ever since she had finished her nightly performance. She wasnÂ’t even two drinks in when they took their seats, uninvited too.
“She’s not for sale,” Elena said, tapping her finger on the table. “Now leave me to my drink. I’m not interested in your money.”
Now that she thought about it, Elena had seen these men the other night. One of them, Doyle she believe he said, was tall and built like a warrior with short blond hair and a trimmed beard while the other, Surrey, was slim with dark brown hair. Compared to the rough and tumble of the Hive wardÂ’s popular bar, these men had clean clothes, were well groomed, and very out of place. Yet what caught ElenaÂ’s eyes, or ears rather, was that both of them spoke in a very familiar Luskan accent.
“I think she will be after you hear us out,” Doyle said. “How many do you have in your crew?”
“Don’t got one,” Elena said.
“Are you recruiting?”
“No.”
“So you have a ship, but you don’t have a crew,” Doyle said. “A spelljammer needs a lot of maintenance and a full crew to keep up with her. Fifty thousand and we’ll take it out of your hands.”
“About enough to buy me an expensive whore,” Elena said. The offer was insulting. “Sod off.”
Elena turned her head away from them as if that was that, paying more attention to the new singer on stage, a young human woman wearing what must have been the nicest white dress a Hiver could own. She was singing about a man traveling with her daughter on a long road. A bit too flat, but not a bad mezzo-soprano. She could use lessons. In the meanwhile, Doyle and Surrey shifted out of the corner of ElenaÂ’s eye, exchanging in silence. Elena turned her attention back to them as if to ask why they hadnÂ’t left, but then noticed Surrey was playing with a small glass ball.
“How about this,” Doyle said. “Seventy five thousand and a place in our crew. We can start you off with a fifth more than what the others make, given your experience.”
“Ain’t bad, but I’m not looking to join a crew,” Elena said.
Surrey spun the glass ball on the table and whispered to Doyle, something ElenaÂ’s years of musical training had no problem hearing.
”We can’t leave empty handed,” Surrey said.
”Other plan then,” Doyle said.
Doyle looked back at Elena and smiled. “How about a drink?”
Elena shrugged. “If you’re paying. I’ll have another brandy.”
He then waved the serving wench over and purchased a glass of scotch for Elena. Wrong bloody drink. The gesture was nice, at least. “I think you’d reconsider. We operate mostly out of Pandira. I believe you are familiar with it.”
That stirred up an unpleasant memory. “Can’t say I am,” Elena lied.
Doyle took the glass from the wench and took a sip. “It’s a nice set-up. Would you be willing to meet with our employer?” He then pushed the glass over to Elena.
This feeling. Elena chewed on the side of her lip as she watched the two men, knowing full well they werenÂ’t going to leave her alone. Surrey kept playing with that damn ball too, and rolled it over the center of the table.
Elena slapped her hand over it. Surrey moved to take it, but he recoiled when Elena met his eyes.
Doyle and Surrey then sat back and watched her, their eyes slowly dropping to her hand, or rather, what was under it.
“Who is your employer?” Elena asked.
They kept their eyes on her hand, occasionally looking up at her. Something about that made a shiver crawl down her spine. She removed her hand, the glass ball under it no longer spinning, giving her a good look.
A glass eye. Small, with a vibrant blue iris. The same color as hers.
Elena looked up at the two men, their hands now under the table as they sat, staring at her.
“Are you going to take the offer or not?” Doyle said.
Elena felt as though her blood was boiling. “The Jericho isn’t for sale.”
“Then at least meet with our employer,” Doyle said. “I’m sure he could convince you.”
“I bet you’d like me to come with you, eh?” Elena said. “Tell him I’m not interested.”
There was a clicking sound, one she recognized as the hammer of a flintlock pistol. Shit. Elena glanced at Doyle. “Mind I at least finish my drink first?”
“I bought it for you,” Doyle said.
Elena picked up the glass of scotch and slammed it back, then slapped the glass on the table. “Never liked this swill like he does,” she said. “Shit for a last drink, don’t you think?”
Elena flipped the table up. Three rapid flashes of light, a cloud of choking smoke, and three loud blasts. A shot tore into her hip, another blasted chunks of wood and glass into the air. The table landed legs up on top of Surrey, who was now on the floor holding his gut.
Doyle rushed over the table with a knife while Elena drew a second flintlock from her bag of holding. She aimed and discharged it, only for Doyle to duck under it with alarming speed. He drove his knife toward her neck, but Elena caught it with her hand, the knife puncturing her flesh and through the back of her hand. They staggered into another table, scaring away several customers. Doyle pressed Elena against the table. Elena went for her belt knife, but Doyle got a hold of her wrist to stop her. Elena abandoned the attempt and grabbed his ear and yanked it so hard she thought it might tear off before he could react.
Doyle cursed and tried to get ElenaÂ’s hand off of him, but then she kicked him in the groin and forced him off of her, his blade sliding out of her hand. She winced, then grabbed a nearby stool and clubbed him on the head. Doyle collapsed to the floor, dropping his knife.
Elena took a moment to collect herself, then picked up the knife and approached Doyle. She then kicked him onto his back and set her boot on his neck.
“Tell the bastard I ain’t selling his ship back to him. Now get the *** out of my bar.”
She kicked him out cold.
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*Bloodlines
- Posts: 139
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
It's common to say that most things are easier the second time around. Getting shot? Not one of them.
Elena arrived in the Weary Spirit Infirmary not long after being escorted out of the Bottle and Jug. Performing there as often as she did had given her a bit of leeway with the owner, so the bouncers politely asked her to leave while they cleaned up the mess. Doyle and Surrey? Well, they were somewhere face down in an alley getting roughed up by a few Hivers. It didn't matter to Elena if they made it back to that man or not.
One of the Hivers that volunteered in the infirmary saw Elena's wound and offered to help, but Elena shooed him away. She had heard too much about things that happen in the infirmary and wasn't about to let someone drug her in the guise of altruism.
"Give me a bunk, one o' your kits, and privacy," she said, and was led to one of the straw beds surrounded by a cloth curtain to get to work.
As soon as the curtain as drawn, she removed her top and felt around the wound. The shot had pierced through her chain shirt and into her side. She moved her hand around to her back and hoped.
"Shit," she muttered. No exit wound. The bullet was still inside.
Elena never liked this part, but she made do and took a draw from her flask, letting the alcohol dull her senses before she went to work. With the kit beside her, she took out the forceps, sterilized them, and brought them to the mouth of the wound.
Then, she held her breath, and slowly stuck the forceps inside. Pain shot through her abdomen and made her stomp her foot on the floor. Just a little more. She groaned, but she ignored as much of it as she could. She'd felt worse.
The first time she was shot was a strong lesson she never forgot. One of the first few months on her old ship The Sea Hawk, the pirate crew stumbled across an Amnish trader trying to cross through the Korinn Archipelago on their way to Highport. Boarding the trader was simple enough, and most of the crew surrendered quick, which made the job seem all too easy. Killing was too messy.
Well most of the crew did. The rest had barricaded themselves in the hold where the more valuable cargo was. Captain Duncan decided to smoke them out, so they brought in a bag of coals and pots to burn them in, fanning the flames with blankets under the door. It worked too, because eventually the Amnish bull-rushed out of the room, figuring they'd take their chances with the pirates than with the smoke.
In the chaos, Elena, rather green at the time, had hesitated when she trained her pistol on a boy that was no older than her. That hesitation left her a scar on her leg to remember. She didn't hesitate after that. Years later, she's pulling out another bullet.
Tink. Elena dropped the bullet into a small tray. She then went about cleaning, but then saw something out of the corner of her eye move. Someone was behind the curtain.
Elena grabbed up her flintlock pistol and pointed it at the figure. "Impolite the stare," she said. "This spots already paid for."
The figure spoke. Harmonium? Shit. And Elena thought this day couldn't get any worse.
Elena arrived in the Weary Spirit Infirmary not long after being escorted out of the Bottle and Jug. Performing there as often as she did had given her a bit of leeway with the owner, so the bouncers politely asked her to leave while they cleaned up the mess. Doyle and Surrey? Well, they were somewhere face down in an alley getting roughed up by a few Hivers. It didn't matter to Elena if they made it back to that man or not.
One of the Hivers that volunteered in the infirmary saw Elena's wound and offered to help, but Elena shooed him away. She had heard too much about things that happen in the infirmary and wasn't about to let someone drug her in the guise of altruism.
"Give me a bunk, one o' your kits, and privacy," she said, and was led to one of the straw beds surrounded by a cloth curtain to get to work.
As soon as the curtain as drawn, she removed her top and felt around the wound. The shot had pierced through her chain shirt and into her side. She moved her hand around to her back and hoped.
"Shit," she muttered. No exit wound. The bullet was still inside.
Elena never liked this part, but she made do and took a draw from her flask, letting the alcohol dull her senses before she went to work. With the kit beside her, she took out the forceps, sterilized them, and brought them to the mouth of the wound.
Then, she held her breath, and slowly stuck the forceps inside. Pain shot through her abdomen and made her stomp her foot on the floor. Just a little more. She groaned, but she ignored as much of it as she could. She'd felt worse.
The first time she was shot was a strong lesson she never forgot. One of the first few months on her old ship The Sea Hawk, the pirate crew stumbled across an Amnish trader trying to cross through the Korinn Archipelago on their way to Highport. Boarding the trader was simple enough, and most of the crew surrendered quick, which made the job seem all too easy. Killing was too messy.
Well most of the crew did. The rest had barricaded themselves in the hold where the more valuable cargo was. Captain Duncan decided to smoke them out, so they brought in a bag of coals and pots to burn them in, fanning the flames with blankets under the door. It worked too, because eventually the Amnish bull-rushed out of the room, figuring they'd take their chances with the pirates than with the smoke.
In the chaos, Elena, rather green at the time, had hesitated when she trained her pistol on a boy that was no older than her. That hesitation left her a scar on her leg to remember. She didn't hesitate after that. Years later, she's pulling out another bullet.
Tink. Elena dropped the bullet into a small tray. She then went about cleaning, but then saw something out of the corner of her eye move. Someone was behind the curtain.
Elena grabbed up her flintlock pistol and pointed it at the figure. "Impolite the stare," she said. "This spots already paid for."
The figure spoke. Harmonium? Shit. And Elena thought this day couldn't get any worse.
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*Bloodlines
- Posts: 139
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Elena never thought she'd meet a Harmonium that didn't get on her nerves. She was no stranger to dealing with the authorities, but most of the time it involved one of her or her crew's drunken antics at port. She and a handful of her best friends had spent quite a lot of their shore leave in the town's drunk tank.
In any case, the Harmonium had come to question her about the incident she had with a certain beggar. Elena had considered not saying anything and preferring to instead exercise the need for a lawyer, but something about this particular Measure told her she may not need to.
So she was honest, at least as honest as she could be, about what had happened. Mutt, the beggar, said something about a topic of Elena's interest that caught her eye. The rest wasn't important enough to reflect upon other than the beggar took his own life.
Something about Annabelle terrified him. That distressed Elena a great deal, a fact she hoped to conceal for the time being. Why was the beggar so scared? What did he see and know? Maybe it was a different Annabelle than the one Elena knew, but that was impossible. Elena knew it was the same one. Annabelle and little bird. No mistaking it.
Then there was the two men that confronted her in the Hive Ward. The Harmonium asked if she wanted to press charges, but that would draw attention she didn't want. If he had found her in Sigil, they'd come back, assuming Doyle and Surrey didn't die in the gutters.
In any case, the Harmonium had come to question her about the incident she had with a certain beggar. Elena had considered not saying anything and preferring to instead exercise the need for a lawyer, but something about this particular Measure told her she may not need to.
So she was honest, at least as honest as she could be, about what had happened. Mutt, the beggar, said something about a topic of Elena's interest that caught her eye. The rest wasn't important enough to reflect upon other than the beggar took his own life.
Something about Annabelle terrified him. That distressed Elena a great deal, a fact she hoped to conceal for the time being. Why was the beggar so scared? What did he see and know? Maybe it was a different Annabelle than the one Elena knew, but that was impossible. Elena knew it was the same one. Annabelle and little bird. No mistaking it.
Then there was the two men that confronted her in the Hive Ward. The Harmonium asked if she wanted to press charges, but that would draw attention she didn't want. If he had found her in Sigil, they'd come back, assuming Doyle and Surrey didn't die in the gutters.
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*Bloodlines
- Posts: 139
- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Old Friends - Part I
“Where are you?” her father said, moving through the cargo hold.
A young Elena, no more than eight, couldnÂ’t help but laugh into her palm as she saw her fatherÂ’s feet move past her, oblivious to her being there. She was so good at hiding and had picked a spot behind a stack of barrels that were aligned in rows up and down the hold. Once he had passed, Elena brought her silver flute to her lips and played a few soft notes.
The silk merchant spun about at the sound and jump around the other side of the barrels as if he had found her, but she was already gone. He feigned his disappointment and continued his search.
This was always so much fun for her. Being out to sea for months at a time confined to her fatherÂ’s merchant ship was the worst nightmare for any eight year old, but she had her father and her crew which was more like family to her than anyone else back in Neverwinter. She played another note.
“Ha!” her father exclaimed as he jumped around the other side of another crate, but she wasn’t there.
The ship rocked ever so gently, the sound of creaking wood and the shifting contents in the cargo deck masked ElenaÂ’s steps. She held the skirt of her white dress up high enough so she wouldnÂ’t trip as she snuck around another set of crates, her father still ever-looking.
Then her father surprised her, jumping around another set of barrels to stand in front of her with arms out stretched.
“Found you!” he said.
Elena let out a surprised yell and laughed as her father scooped her up into his arms and began smothering her with kisses.
“I’ve found you, little bird.”
Though her fatherÂ’s kisses were not felt, and the sound of his laughter was not there. Elena looked upon the face of her father, broad features with dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard, but contorted in a ghoulish manner. His breath stank of rotting meat and his eyes were hollow and lifeless.
Elena snapped her eyes open and panic took firm hold of her. This was not her father. She was not that little girl of eight. The dirty, wet cobblestone beneath her was not part of the deck of her fatherÂ’s ship. She saw the pale sky above her, the tall winding structures of stone and wood, and she smelled the foul air. She was in Sigil, and an undead monstrosity leered over her as she lay somewhere in the many crevices of the Lower Ward.
The undead thing, a gangrenous face of filth and decay, snapped at hers as though she was an easy meal. Elena snapped out of her dreaming haze and shoved her hand into the undeadÂ’s throat, stopping it inches before he was able to sink its teeth into her.
Reality had set in. She was not supposed to be there, but she was now. No time to think.
The undead moaned with a sluggish defiance and scratched at her. Elena's heart pounded in her chest. She let out a yell and kicked the creature back, knocking it off of her as she drew her flintlock pistol and trained it on the undeadÂ’s head. Then, as if the undead realized she was not worth the effort, it meandered off to find another meal.
Elena kept the pistol trained on it even still, her hand shaking. Was it fear? Confusion? She wasn't sure. When the undead was out of sight, she dropped her arm and sighed with relief. She must have lost consciousness. There was a moment during her flight she was allowed to breathe, but the poison in her veins must have finally overtaken her. She was lying in that crevice, the street of the Lower Ward some eight to ten feet above her, recollecting just how she had found herself there now.
ThatÂ’s what it was. She remembered now. Elena had to move. She moved to stand up, but a sharp pain in her side made her recoil and remain lying on her back. She padded her side, hoping to Umberlee nothing had pierced her body during the fall or the undead hadnÂ’t chewed into her.
To her great fortune, she was whole. Though even though she felt no wound or could see that she was bleeding, she knew something was wrong. Two, no, maybe three ribs broke. The side of her face ached; the fingers of her left hand were dislocated. It was all coming back to her now, painfully clear.
End of Part I
“Where are you?” her father said, moving through the cargo hold.
A young Elena, no more than eight, couldnÂ’t help but laugh into her palm as she saw her fatherÂ’s feet move past her, oblivious to her being there. She was so good at hiding and had picked a spot behind a stack of barrels that were aligned in rows up and down the hold. Once he had passed, Elena brought her silver flute to her lips and played a few soft notes.
The silk merchant spun about at the sound and jump around the other side of the barrels as if he had found her, but she was already gone. He feigned his disappointment and continued his search.
This was always so much fun for her. Being out to sea for months at a time confined to her fatherÂ’s merchant ship was the worst nightmare for any eight year old, but she had her father and her crew which was more like family to her than anyone else back in Neverwinter. She played another note.
“Ha!” her father exclaimed as he jumped around the other side of another crate, but she wasn’t there.
The ship rocked ever so gently, the sound of creaking wood and the shifting contents in the cargo deck masked ElenaÂ’s steps. She held the skirt of her white dress up high enough so she wouldnÂ’t trip as she snuck around another set of crates, her father still ever-looking.
Then her father surprised her, jumping around another set of barrels to stand in front of her with arms out stretched.
“Found you!” he said.
Elena let out a surprised yell and laughed as her father scooped her up into his arms and began smothering her with kisses.
“I’ve found you, little bird.”
Though her fatherÂ’s kisses were not felt, and the sound of his laughter was not there. Elena looked upon the face of her father, broad features with dark hair and a neatly trimmed beard, but contorted in a ghoulish manner. His breath stank of rotting meat and his eyes were hollow and lifeless.
Elena snapped her eyes open and panic took firm hold of her. This was not her father. She was not that little girl of eight. The dirty, wet cobblestone beneath her was not part of the deck of her fatherÂ’s ship. She saw the pale sky above her, the tall winding structures of stone and wood, and she smelled the foul air. She was in Sigil, and an undead monstrosity leered over her as she lay somewhere in the many crevices of the Lower Ward.
The undead thing, a gangrenous face of filth and decay, snapped at hers as though she was an easy meal. Elena snapped out of her dreaming haze and shoved her hand into the undeadÂ’s throat, stopping it inches before he was able to sink its teeth into her.
Reality had set in. She was not supposed to be there, but she was now. No time to think.
The undead moaned with a sluggish defiance and scratched at her. Elena's heart pounded in her chest. She let out a yell and kicked the creature back, knocking it off of her as she drew her flintlock pistol and trained it on the undeadÂ’s head. Then, as if the undead realized she was not worth the effort, it meandered off to find another meal.
Elena kept the pistol trained on it even still, her hand shaking. Was it fear? Confusion? She wasn't sure. When the undead was out of sight, she dropped her arm and sighed with relief. She must have lost consciousness. There was a moment during her flight she was allowed to breathe, but the poison in her veins must have finally overtaken her. She was lying in that crevice, the street of the Lower Ward some eight to ten feet above her, recollecting just how she had found herself there now.
ThatÂ’s what it was. She remembered now. Elena had to move. She moved to stand up, but a sharp pain in her side made her recoil and remain lying on her back. She padded her side, hoping to Umberlee nothing had pierced her body during the fall or the undead hadnÂ’t chewed into her.
To her great fortune, she was whole. Though even though she felt no wound or could see that she was bleeding, she knew something was wrong. Two, no, maybe three ribs broke. The side of her face ached; the fingers of her left hand were dislocated. It was all coming back to her now, painfully clear.
End of Part I
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*Bloodlines
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- Joined: Thu Jan 01, 1970 12:00 am
Old Friends - Part II
Hours before
Elena was not sure how they had broken in.
Ever since Doyle and Surrey, Elena had made an effort to cover her tracks. She stopped performing at the Bottle and Jug, for one. She also decided to move out of the Hive and into the slightly more expensive apartments in the Lower Ward. The change of location allowed her to have a little more anonymity. After her day was over, whether it was with the Takers or performing at DionÂ’s now, Elena would head back to her home in the Lower Ward by traveling a different route each time. She had a feeling someone was tailing her, and would randomize her route until she had shaken that feeling off.
Home was no different. SheÂ’d broken into a few places herself during her time aboard the Sea Hawk, so she knew a little bit about how to better secure her place, or at least set up some sort of alarm system through magical and mundane means that would keep her alert in case someone tried to play games with her, or some unsuspecting Hiver decided to break into the wrong home.
So again, she didnÂ’t understand how they had broken in.
There were two of them, just like before, though far better equipped than the sods he had sent to try to buy the Jericho off of her. The first one, a man of a few years older than her, was dark skinned and as thin as a pole. His tribal garb of tanned leather and hides struck Elena as a voodooist somewhere from the Korinn Archipelago. There was something about the silver piercings that rimmed his ears and eyebrows that was familiar to Elena, but she couldnÂ’t recall.
Elena had seen men like him from Pandira before, their abilities strange, but dangerous. He was the first one she noticed in her home too, wrapping his arms around himself and twisting his legs around the other as he sang. To ElenaÂ’s surprise, the song compelled her to do the same, and she found her arms wrapped around herself moments before something struck her on the head, turning her whole world dark.
She must have been out for at least half an hour, because all of her belongings were scattered about the place as soon as sheÂ’d regained consciousness. She would have checked her aching head if it was bleeding, but the intruders had bound her wrists behind her while she was out. Elena sat up, her back against the wall as she saw the voodooist and the second figure, a woman, dumping drawers and knocking down furniture.
Right, the second one. Elena recognized her, a fact alone that made ElenaÂ’s heart sink into her stomach. The woman turned to regard Elena for a moment, lips curled back into a bright smile. She had an average prettiness about her, fair skin and bright green eyes underneath a mane of shoulder-length blond hair. The woman approached her, reaching behind her gray waist coat to draw a small knife.
“Hello, Elena,” she said, as if she was greeting a best friend.
“Sistine,” Elena said flatly.
“It’s been, what, four years now?” Sistene said. “I was beginning to think you’d been lost to the sea.”
Elena eyed her, then glanced about at the disarray that was her home. “Can I help you find something?”
Sistene squatted down in front of Elena. “Just tell me where the ship is and I’ll be out of here.”
Elena frowned. “So you’re working for him now too. Thought you were better than that.”
Sistene twirled the tip of her knife on the floor. “And I thought you were smarter than this. You stole from him. You knew it was only a matter of time until he came looking for you. Be glad he sent me and not someone else.”
Elena rolled her eyes, shifting her wrists about in her bonds. “I don’t see how I should be grateful.”
Sistene smiled. “Chaka.”
The voodooist smiled and began to sing that same song Elena had heard him sing before, the one that caused her body to move as if possessed.
Sistene reached out and ran her fingers through ElenaÂ’s hair, giving her ends a little tug before she drew back and let a few loose strands fall from her palm. That made Elena grimace.
“Go to hells,” Elena spat.
As he sang, Chaka hit his fist against the side of his ribs. Then, a sharp pain exploded into ElenaÂ’s sides, as if sheÂ’d been clubbed in the ribs by a bat. She winced in pain and buckled forward, resisting the urge to scream. The voodooist did it again and the pain sent Elena reeling onto her side.
Sistene sighed, pulling Elena by her hair until she was sitting upright again. “Just tell me where the ship is and I won’t bring you back to him.”
Elena groaned, glaring at her, but offering nothing. She knew better.
Sistene smiled. “You wouldn’t have scribed its location on a map.” The woman traced the edge of her knife along the circumference of Elena’s face. “No, it’s somewhere behind here…Chaka.”
Chaka sang a few notes and flicked his hand against his chin. A blast of pain struck Elena square in the jaw and rocketed her head back, slamming into the wall. The exchange between the three continued for what felt like hours to Elena. Sistene droned on with questions while her taciturn companion inflicted another dose of pain anytime Elena didnÂ’t answer. The question didnÂ’t change either, and Elena knew they wouldnÂ’t stop so long as she remained conscious. Still, going unconscious would be worse. She wasnÂ’t sure where sheÂ’d find herself when she woke up.
Elena turned her head and spat what must have been a spoonful of blood onto the floor.
Sistene, sifting through some of Elena’s belongings by the hearth, decided not to look at her battered and bruised old friend. “When we were girls, we used to watch the ships sail in and out of the harbor. I remember asking you if you had a ship of your own, if you’d go back to Neverwinter to find your family. Do you remember what you said to me?”
“*** you,” Elena said.
Sistene laughed. “No. You told me that if you had a ship, you’d sail to the edge of the world, just to see what was there. Do you remember what I said after that?”
Elena grimaced, leaning her head back against the wall and closing her eyes. “You asked me to take you with me. I told you I would.”
Sistene walked back over to Elena. “I’ll never forget the day you left on the Sea Hawk. You left me and the others behind in that awful place while you sailed up and down the Sword Coast and beyond.”
“I couldn’t take you with me,” Elena said.
“Then you should have stayed with us, with your friends. But you didn’t. You left us all behind. I was your best friend, Elena. I thought you’d have at least took me with you.”
“So, what?” Elena scoffed. “You joined that man’s crew just to spite me? Knowing how much I hate him?”
“I did what you did,” Sistene said. “I saw an opportunity to better my life and I took it.”
Elena chuckled – it hurt to laugh – and shook her head. “A better life. Piracy isn’t a better life, dumbass.”
“It would have been for me.” Sistene folded her arms, then grinned. “But then again, I heard all about you. The Red Bard. I heard about what your attempt at revenge cost you.”
Elena went blank at the mention of her old name.
“He told me you brought five with you, old friends of yours too, I wager,” Sistene said, squatting back down to stare at Elena. “How’d that turn out?”
Elena looked up at her, hatred filling her eyes. “Leave them out of this.”
Sistene smirked and stood back up. “Let’s get her ready, Chaka. We’re heading back.”
Sistene turned to look at the voodooist, but then a loud snap caught her attention. The blond woman spun about to see Elena standing, hands free, and pointing a flintlock pistol at her.
Elena squeezed the trigger.
End of Part II
Hours before
Elena was not sure how they had broken in.
Ever since Doyle and Surrey, Elena had made an effort to cover her tracks. She stopped performing at the Bottle and Jug, for one. She also decided to move out of the Hive and into the slightly more expensive apartments in the Lower Ward. The change of location allowed her to have a little more anonymity. After her day was over, whether it was with the Takers or performing at DionÂ’s now, Elena would head back to her home in the Lower Ward by traveling a different route each time. She had a feeling someone was tailing her, and would randomize her route until she had shaken that feeling off.
Home was no different. SheÂ’d broken into a few places herself during her time aboard the Sea Hawk, so she knew a little bit about how to better secure her place, or at least set up some sort of alarm system through magical and mundane means that would keep her alert in case someone tried to play games with her, or some unsuspecting Hiver decided to break into the wrong home.
So again, she didnÂ’t understand how they had broken in.
There were two of them, just like before, though far better equipped than the sods he had sent to try to buy the Jericho off of her. The first one, a man of a few years older than her, was dark skinned and as thin as a pole. His tribal garb of tanned leather and hides struck Elena as a voodooist somewhere from the Korinn Archipelago. There was something about the silver piercings that rimmed his ears and eyebrows that was familiar to Elena, but she couldnÂ’t recall.
Elena had seen men like him from Pandira before, their abilities strange, but dangerous. He was the first one she noticed in her home too, wrapping his arms around himself and twisting his legs around the other as he sang. To ElenaÂ’s surprise, the song compelled her to do the same, and she found her arms wrapped around herself moments before something struck her on the head, turning her whole world dark.
She must have been out for at least half an hour, because all of her belongings were scattered about the place as soon as sheÂ’d regained consciousness. She would have checked her aching head if it was bleeding, but the intruders had bound her wrists behind her while she was out. Elena sat up, her back against the wall as she saw the voodooist and the second figure, a woman, dumping drawers and knocking down furniture.
Right, the second one. Elena recognized her, a fact alone that made ElenaÂ’s heart sink into her stomach. The woman turned to regard Elena for a moment, lips curled back into a bright smile. She had an average prettiness about her, fair skin and bright green eyes underneath a mane of shoulder-length blond hair. The woman approached her, reaching behind her gray waist coat to draw a small knife.
“Hello, Elena,” she said, as if she was greeting a best friend.
“Sistine,” Elena said flatly.
“It’s been, what, four years now?” Sistene said. “I was beginning to think you’d been lost to the sea.”
Elena eyed her, then glanced about at the disarray that was her home. “Can I help you find something?”
Sistene squatted down in front of Elena. “Just tell me where the ship is and I’ll be out of here.”
Elena frowned. “So you’re working for him now too. Thought you were better than that.”
Sistene twirled the tip of her knife on the floor. “And I thought you were smarter than this. You stole from him. You knew it was only a matter of time until he came looking for you. Be glad he sent me and not someone else.”
Elena rolled her eyes, shifting her wrists about in her bonds. “I don’t see how I should be grateful.”
Sistene smiled. “Chaka.”
The voodooist smiled and began to sing that same song Elena had heard him sing before, the one that caused her body to move as if possessed.
Sistene reached out and ran her fingers through ElenaÂ’s hair, giving her ends a little tug before she drew back and let a few loose strands fall from her palm. That made Elena grimace.
“Go to hells,” Elena spat.
As he sang, Chaka hit his fist against the side of his ribs. Then, a sharp pain exploded into ElenaÂ’s sides, as if sheÂ’d been clubbed in the ribs by a bat. She winced in pain and buckled forward, resisting the urge to scream. The voodooist did it again and the pain sent Elena reeling onto her side.
Sistene sighed, pulling Elena by her hair until she was sitting upright again. “Just tell me where the ship is and I won’t bring you back to him.”
Elena groaned, glaring at her, but offering nothing. She knew better.
Sistene smiled. “You wouldn’t have scribed its location on a map.” The woman traced the edge of her knife along the circumference of Elena’s face. “No, it’s somewhere behind here…Chaka.”
Chaka sang a few notes and flicked his hand against his chin. A blast of pain struck Elena square in the jaw and rocketed her head back, slamming into the wall. The exchange between the three continued for what felt like hours to Elena. Sistene droned on with questions while her taciturn companion inflicted another dose of pain anytime Elena didnÂ’t answer. The question didnÂ’t change either, and Elena knew they wouldnÂ’t stop so long as she remained conscious. Still, going unconscious would be worse. She wasnÂ’t sure where sheÂ’d find herself when she woke up.
Elena turned her head and spat what must have been a spoonful of blood onto the floor.
Sistene, sifting through some of Elena’s belongings by the hearth, decided not to look at her battered and bruised old friend. “When we were girls, we used to watch the ships sail in and out of the harbor. I remember asking you if you had a ship of your own, if you’d go back to Neverwinter to find your family. Do you remember what you said to me?”
“*** you,” Elena said.
Sistene laughed. “No. You told me that if you had a ship, you’d sail to the edge of the world, just to see what was there. Do you remember what I said after that?”
Elena grimaced, leaning her head back against the wall and closing her eyes. “You asked me to take you with me. I told you I would.”
Sistene walked back over to Elena. “I’ll never forget the day you left on the Sea Hawk. You left me and the others behind in that awful place while you sailed up and down the Sword Coast and beyond.”
“I couldn’t take you with me,” Elena said.
“Then you should have stayed with us, with your friends. But you didn’t. You left us all behind. I was your best friend, Elena. I thought you’d have at least took me with you.”
“So, what?” Elena scoffed. “You joined that man’s crew just to spite me? Knowing how much I hate him?”
“I did what you did,” Sistene said. “I saw an opportunity to better my life and I took it.”
Elena chuckled – it hurt to laugh – and shook her head. “A better life. Piracy isn’t a better life, dumbass.”
“It would have been for me.” Sistene folded her arms, then grinned. “But then again, I heard all about you. The Red Bard. I heard about what your attempt at revenge cost you.”
Elena went blank at the mention of her old name.
“He told me you brought five with you, old friends of yours too, I wager,” Sistene said, squatting back down to stare at Elena. “How’d that turn out?”
Elena looked up at her, hatred filling her eyes. “Leave them out of this.”
Sistene smirked and stood back up. “Let’s get her ready, Chaka. We’re heading back.”
Sistene turned to look at the voodooist, but then a loud snap caught her attention. The blond woman spun about to see Elena standing, hands free, and pointing a flintlock pistol at her.
Elena squeezed the trigger.
End of Part II