[ The Hel-folk did not come often to Dunwall. They had gone beneath the earth centuries ago, and they preferred it there in their caverns. It was a world they controlled, which obeyed their rules as they preferred them. Their hatred for magic was something on par with the Everyman, but they also wore little bones and tokens, their weapons gleamed with the luminescent blood of the faeries they forged them with, that made them more durable. They liked the kind of magicks one wrought with their hands, as opposed to the things which rooted in your heart and corrupted your being.
The Hel-folk did not come often, and when they did it was always with some unfortunate tiding. That was their way, too much happiness and one might be suspected of playing with forces unseen. They believed in struggle, strife, and they were a hard-working lot there in the darkness, harvesting faeries for the insect clans in the deep.
The Hel-folk did not tread the upper world unless something drove them there. The last one to come had been an older soldier, blind in one of his reflective eyes from cataracts that gleamed milky beneath the moonlight. He had been driven out for consorting with the Outsider, when by all rights he should have been executed. There was something special enough about him that warranted only banishment. He did not stay in Dunwall, he dipped his head when the tang of spoiled water drew him to the Lord Protector in the night, but he left the gates swiftly and silently and was not seen again.
Now there is the woman, so many years later. She is standing in the daylight, her reflective eyes narrowed against the brightness of it. Her delicately pointed ears visible with her long black hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She is armored in iridescent pieces of beetle carapace, one of the Hel-folks glowing-veined weapons at her hip. ]
There will be extradition.
[ She's a severe woman, as sharp and as eager as her own blade. ]
We know the traitor remains in your city, it won't be tolerated. You will grant me rights to hunt him down, whatever the means.
[ Apparently, she has tracked another of her kind here... a magic user that she intends to drag back below for his execution. What warranted such a hunt, who had he offended. ]
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The Hel-folk did not come often, and when they did it was always with some unfortunate tiding. That was their way, too much happiness and one might be suspected of playing with forces unseen. They believed in struggle, strife, and they were a hard-working lot there in the darkness, harvesting faeries for the insect clans in the deep.
The Hel-folk did not tread the upper world unless something drove them there. The last one to come had been an older soldier, blind in one of his reflective eyes from cataracts that gleamed milky beneath the moonlight. He had been driven out for consorting with the Outsider, when by all rights he should have been executed. There was something special enough about him that warranted only banishment. He did not stay in Dunwall, he dipped his head when the tang of spoiled water drew him to the Lord Protector in the night, but he left the gates swiftly and silently and was not seen again.
Now there is the woman, so many years later. She is standing in the daylight, her reflective eyes narrowed against the brightness of it. Her delicately pointed ears visible with her long black hair pulled into a tight ponytail. She is armored in iridescent pieces of beetle carapace, one of the Hel-folks glowing-veined weapons at her hip. ]
There will be extradition.
[ She's a severe woman, as sharp and as eager as her own blade. ]
We know the traitor remains in your city, it won't be tolerated. You will grant me rights to hunt him down, whatever the means.
[ Apparently, she has tracked another of her kind here... a magic user that she intends to drag back below for his execution. What warranted such a hunt, who had he offended. ]