>>5430006There is Sengar and Jhamrius, of course. These two are the Drow with whom you are most familiar, besides Jazkarmel herself. They are loyal, both to her and now to you, and dependable. Both of elf-men of masculine muscular build… Well, as elf-men go. Jhamrius shaved his head bald, lending extra prominence to his long and pointed ears, while Sengar wears a hairstyle similar to yours, but with a ,long hanging braid. Both are skilled with dagger and bow, though Sengar favours the blade and a shortbow, and Jhamrius the long-bow and a sort of misericord for decisive, singular thrusts.
Among those newer additions to the group, though, two stand out in particular. First is an elf-made named Azonia. You won’t pretend that the first thing which drew your eye to her was not her chest—even heavily bound by overlapping, tightened strips of silken cloth, her truly tremendous bosom strains with each leap or short jog. The attention this brought her highlighted other charms, though: a streak of bright dye through her otherwise white hair, to match her almost unnaturally-bright purple eyes, for one thing; much more importantly, her truly-impressive martial prowess. The elven soldiers often spare during rest-periods, and Azonia dominates each training match in which she partakes.
Though her chest and abdomen are undefended, Azonia wears pauldrons and bracers, as well as greaves, made of chitin and studded with sharpened shards of metal. AT first this strikes you as a silly, stylistic choice, but watching her carefully-and with only a manageable amount of >appetite>--allows you to really appreciate how she uses this curious equipment. She wields two simple-but-effective shortswords, both made of flint and with silk-wrapped handles, using these to poke and prod and hold a foe at bay; only when they overextend does she sweep in close, entering their range and going for the ‘point’—a mock kill-shot. Those who try to back up and away find themselves tripped with a swift kick from the greaves; those who lean into the attack to grapple her flinch away at the spikes armour, and find that she skillfully pivots these armoured extremities in the way of any sword-strike.
“I fought the spiked-men,” she explains curtly when you ask about her peculiar technique. “An elf can’t match their reach, strength, or speed… But we can imitate their spikes, and technique can make up the rest.”
You tilt your head, realizing the dual implications of what she says by the way she is sizing you up: she is stating, in the subtle manner of an elf, that she thinks she could take you. Stating that she does not FEAR you, even at twice her height. If you didn’t know better, you’d ALMOST think it was a challenge…
