Vilrath had left the Red Dragon Inn, and was wandering about the streets of the market. He wore fine silks, a black silk shirt, breeches, and fine expensive leather boots. His belt had a violet silk sash tied under it, hanging loosely and elegantly from his waist. That belt held the twin scimitars that were famous back in his homeland of Erelhei-Cinlu. Draped over his shoulders was the drow piwafwi cloak, black with spider web designs laced into it with silver and violet silk. Every inch of his body was covered in some sort of enchanted article of clothing. His sunglasses even, had a bit of magic about them.
The drow looked up at the night sky, his silver eyes met the dancing lights of the twinkling stars, matched the hue of soft silvery light that the moon had bathed in such an elegant manner over the market's streets. It looked so peaceful at that moment, so much different from the home he had been born and raised in.
"A world of wonders..." he mused to himself in a near silent whisper. He had so far, found the surface to be just that, a world of wonders. Sure it had its hardships, racism being a very prominent one, but still; There was so much more for him here, than there was in the lightless tunnels of the Underdark.
It was in the midst of his musings, that he felt a slight shift in weight, a subtle tug at his belt. Silver eyes darted down to see a boy, perhaps twelve years of age, maybe a couple of years older, attempting to cut the string of his belt pouch, and steal his money.
Vilrath's eyes flashed dangerously, the boy saw that he had been spotted, and tried to run. But the moment he stepped back, Vilrath's hand shot out, fingers wrapped around the wrist that held the knife, and squeezed, loosening his grip on the weapon. A fierce shake of that wrist was given, and the boy let the knife fall to the ground. Vilrath drew his own dagger, from the sleeve of his tunic, and pulled the boy's hand towards it.
The blade slid down between the fingers and pressed just enough to draw a tiny line of blood. The boy paled and gulped, staring up wide eyed at the drow, who grinned maliciously. That was his name after all, Malice...
"You know what we do when thieves get caught in Erelhei-Cinlu boy?" Vilrath inquired of the would be pick pocket. The boy shook his head and gulped.
"Well..." he started, "Typically, we cut off a finger, or two, or five. It all depends on the value of what's been stolen...now how much money do you think is in that pouch you just tried to steal?"
The boy blanched at that, then shook his head again, vigorously that time.
"P-please sir, I-I won't do 't again..." the boy begged, his eyes welling up with tears.
Vilarth, however, just kept on talking.
"At least six fingers worth..." he said quietly, and pressed the blade firmly against the boy's finger, where the appendage met the hand.
The boy let out a pitiful whimper, and pleaded inaudibly for Vilrath to just let him go. The drow grinned at him, a wicked thing that grin was, full of malice and ill intent...
The drow looked up at the night sky, his silver eyes met the dancing lights of the twinkling stars, matched the hue of soft silvery light that the moon had bathed in such an elegant manner over the market's streets. It looked so peaceful at that moment, so much different from the home he had been born and raised in.
"A world of wonders..." he mused to himself in a near silent whisper. He had so far, found the surface to be just that, a world of wonders. Sure it had its hardships, racism being a very prominent one, but still; There was so much more for him here, than there was in the lightless tunnels of the Underdark.
It was in the midst of his musings, that he felt a slight shift in weight, a subtle tug at his belt. Silver eyes darted down to see a boy, perhaps twelve years of age, maybe a couple of years older, attempting to cut the string of his belt pouch, and steal his money.
Vilrath's eyes flashed dangerously, the boy saw that he had been spotted, and tried to run. But the moment he stepped back, Vilrath's hand shot out, fingers wrapped around the wrist that held the knife, and squeezed, loosening his grip on the weapon. A fierce shake of that wrist was given, and the boy let the knife fall to the ground. Vilrath drew his own dagger, from the sleeve of his tunic, and pulled the boy's hand towards it.
The blade slid down between the fingers and pressed just enough to draw a tiny line of blood. The boy paled and gulped, staring up wide eyed at the drow, who grinned maliciously. That was his name after all, Malice...
"You know what we do when thieves get caught in Erelhei-Cinlu boy?" Vilrath inquired of the would be pick pocket. The boy shook his head and gulped.
"Well..." he started, "Typically, we cut off a finger, or two, or five. It all depends on the value of what's been stolen...now how much money do you think is in that pouch you just tried to steal?"
The boy blanched at that, then shook his head again, vigorously that time.
"P-please sir, I-I won't do 't again..." the boy begged, his eyes welling up with tears.
Vilarth, however, just kept on talking.
"At least six fingers worth..." he said quietly, and pressed the blade firmly against the boy's finger, where the appendage met the hand.
The boy let out a pitiful whimper, and pleaded inaudibly for Vilrath to just let him go. The drow grinned at him, a wicked thing that grin was, full of malice and ill intent...