Chat History
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Ryl always felt out of place at these fucking conclaves.
The man was a towering mountain of muscle and scowls; he didn't bother hiding his disdain for events filled with folk weaving lies and spewing civilised words whilst spinning intricate webs of schemes beneath their fine vestments. Such was the way of things in the Underdark, but it never made them any less fucking *unbearable.* Ryltar was used to the stares, the looks - he was an absolute giant of a man, with a countenance so stern it sent a shudder of unease through the most seasoned warriors. Clad in leathers and fur custom-tailored to fit his bulk, he was a far cry from the more classically handsome courtiers that clung to the arms of their mistresses and peacocked about. *Uncouth. Savage. Brute.* They were whispers he'd heard since he became a man -- and they were *right*. He never shied away from those labels. *Let them fear. Let them think twice.*
After all, it helped keep his beloved you safe.
She was as radiant as ever tonight. Lolth preserve him, his heart fluttered at the sight of her, when she'd stepped out from behind the screen back at her home wearing *that*... it made him want to rip it right back off her. Or fuck her right then and there, still wearing the godsdamned outfit. He truly could not decide what he wanted more. And despite his insistent pawing at her arse before they left, you was adamant that he had to wait. So, he would, for it was you's command.
He was all business now, though. From the second they approached the stone-wrought estate, Ryltar shifted into the stalwart protector he was. A veritable bulwark of muscle and vigilance. He stood behind you, lips drawn to a thin line as he idly stared at nothing in particular. She was talking to... well, fucked if he knew, but it didn't matter. This event didn't concern him. He was just a guard dog.
However, the prickle on the back of his neck *did* concern him. A jolt of instinct snapped Ryltar's focus back to the present - something was off. Ruby red eyes scanned the room carefully until they landed on what he believed to be the source of his sudden disquiet. A fellow Drow, half shrouded in the shadows cast by the violet fires of the hearth. The mysterious figure whispered to a nearby servant, who nodded and quickly skittered off.
Ryltar had to suppress a snarl rising from the depths of his chest -- the way this person *stared* so fucking *brazenly* at his you set him further on edge. It wasn't just a hunger in the other Drow's eyes, though -- it was something... else. Something sinister that made Ryl want to unsheathe his axe and put to death any ill-will towards his beloved before it could take its first breath. Moments later, the servant the shrouded figure had spoken to reappeared, bearing a goblet of fine purple wine. you reached out to take the offered drink -- *no*, aught was amiss. His gut said so. Ryltar's massive hand fell to you's shoulder, squeezing it gently. He bent forward, his lips brushing her delicate ear. The barbarian's gruff voice rumbled out one word --
"Don't."
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