As they move through the house, Nill keeps her expression perfectly neutral, even when Valerian suddenly grabs her hand. Her eyes flick to the elves around her with quiet curiosity, but she follows Storm without hesitation.
Once inside the room, she examines the scattered rocks, gems, and furs with attention. Her gaze drifts to the bed, but she simply tilts her head.
“Storm, I am thinking you have the confusion. This room is not having the place for the sleeping.” She shakes her head slightly. “But that is being fine. I can do the climbing on the roof.”
Without waiting for a response, she turns around and begins walking back out into the house.
Read More...
At the sound of the screeching, Nill startles, springing into a defensive stance, wings twitching slightly as if ready to bolt. Seeing no alarm from Storm or Ruvean, she hesitantly relaxes back into a normal posture. When Ruvean greets her, she performs her series of odd hand movements, then holds her fingers out expectantly. “It is nice to have the meeting of you.” She tilts her head slightly. “Please be excusing me, but may I be asking of why there is the screeching? Is there not being the danger? I have the confusion."
Read More...
“I have the understanding. I will do the whistling if I am having the need.” Nill slips off her hood, carefully threading her horns back through the worn holes before giving a small shake of her head to settle her dark hair. With the fabric gone, her pointed ears are fully visible, each adorned with nearly a dozen piercings. She tilts her chin upwards, studying the structure before them. “Why are undead doing the building of the structure?” She asks, head cocked in quiet curiosity. “I have not had the seeing of one before.”
Read More...
Nill doesn’t return the smile, but she quickly scampers after Storm. “You did the saying that I will die if I am removing of the collar…” She tugs at her scarves, fingers lingering around the fabric. “I have the wanting to remove it, but not if it is causing me to die…”
She nods decisively.
“We can be going to the place of Kog’Thrak. Not having the tired will be nice. I would be liking that greatly.”
Read More...
“Orcs are being friends? I am starting of the thinking that stories of Orcs and Draconians by the faeries are not of the truth.” She taps her chin with her finger. “Will the place be having a nice corner of alley for me to do the sleeping?”
Nill hops off the stool with a small flutter of her wings, her head barely reaching the height of the counter. She tilts her chin upwards to look at Storm and nods.
“I will do the coming with you. You have been doing the explaining to me, so I am not thinking you are of the tricking me.”
Read More...
Nill stares intently at the counter as Storm explains the pixies dying after having their collars removed, her fingers twitching slightly at the fabric before covering her metal band again.
“Hmm? Oh, yes.” She lifts her gaze, expressionless, and begins to tell her story with slow, deliberate hand movements, each motion tracing the events in the air.
“I was doing the escaping… running in the forest, but then I had the falling, and did the standing in a forest of new. Trees were being everywhere, but not that I had been seeing before.” Her fingers rise and fall with each phrase. “Then, I was being struck by a carriage, but the clothes of my wearing were caught, and I was having the dragging along a path for… time.” She pauses for a moment, recalling the details before continuing.
“Then the carriage did the hitting of rocks, and it was letting go of myself. I did the falling into a ravine of deep, then did the climbing out. I was having the thinking that a place to go would not be found by myself, but then I had the seeing of the city of here, and did the walking over. Fortunate.” She tilts her head slightly, then nods once, signaling the story is finished.
Read More...
Nill studies the glass for a moment, tilting her head as if weighing her options. She reaches for a pouch at her belt, only to realize there isn’t one there. Her fingers pat over her clothes, and they finally settle on her pants pockets. From one of them, she pulls out a small, rough rock and slides it across to Storm.
Her attention returns to the glass. She nudges it closer, then dips the tip of her tongue in the liquid in a catlike motion. When Storm mentions the collar, her eyes widen for a heartbeat, but she immediately resets her face to its usual neutral setting, as though the reaction had never occurred. She turns her gaze back to Storm.
“You are knowing of the collars?” She pulls the fabric aside to reveal a metal band resting there. The skin around the collar is red and irritated, almost as if it is burning into her flesh. Her voice takes on the faintest edge of urgency, quiet but sharp. “Do you have the knowing to take it off?”
Read More...
“I am not knowing.” She shrugs lightly. “I did the escaping of imprisonment, but I am ending here, not Gèmtìs-Et.”
Nill tugs at the fabric around her neck again, and her voice drops slightly.
“Perhaps here is the better… Are pixies being of the enslaved?”
Read More...
“Please be forgiving me, but I am not having anything of trade for the drink. I will be passing.” Nill tilts her head once more, her expression unchanged. “Why are my wings being of issue? Because there are not of other fae?” She pauses, considering. “I have not had the noticing of any besides you, and you are not being the fae exactly.”
Read More...
“I am not knowing how I got to this Volaire.” Her eyes dart around, observing the other tavern patrons. “You are being of the Draconian… but you are offering the helping? Not the attacking?”
She turns back to Storm and performs a brief, peculiar series of hand movements, then holds her fingers out, watching the Draconian expectantly.
=12.0pt“I am calling myself Nill.”
Read More...
“It is meaning of the Chaos Fae… you are being of the Draconian?” She studies Storm intently. “I have not had the seeing of a Draconian before. I was not knowing they had wings.”
Her fingers fidget uncomfortably with something beneath the fabric around her neck.
“I have the confusion of this place. This is not being the Sidhe?"
Read More...
Upon spotting the wings and horns, the Pixie drops lightly back to the ground and hurriedly shuffles towards the tavern door. She slips inside and makes her way across the room to the other winged figure, climbing onto the stool beside her. When she speaks, her voice is quiet and even, her expression perfectly neutral. =11pt“Please be excusing me, I have the confusion-” She pauses mid-sentence, her gaze lingering on the Draconian’s scales. Her face doesn’t change, but she tilts her head slightly, considering. =11pt“You… you are not being of the Unchosen…?”
Read More...
Early one afternoon, a small hooded figure drifts into town, her tattered black clothing flapping lightly with each tentative step. Behind her, small dark wings extrude from her back, twitching nervously, and curved horns jut out through worn holes in the top of her hood. Her arrival in Volaire is peculiar: she steps backwards through the gate, then spins in a fluid motion to face forward again, carrying on as if nothing unusual happened at all. On the main street, she pauses, her tiny frame dwarfed by the townsfolk around her. She shuffles off to the side, tilting her head as she studies the unfamiliar scene. Every passerby seems to startle her at first. If someone glances her way, she quickly darts into an alley, only to peek out again moments later, curiosity overriding caution.
Her hands fidget constantly with something tucked beneath the layers of fabric around her neck, the gesture almost obsessive. She reaches out to poke at the world around her, tracing the rough texture of the walls, the uneven cobblestones, and the carved wooden signs and doors of the town. Eventually, the tavern draws her attention. With a flutter of her wings, she lifts herself just enough to perch at the edge of a window, peering inside curiously.
Read More...