Meeting Zeyariel

Yes/No (Even)

[5,6] Yes, and…

Lavorra hurries over to the Tiefling woman, and follows her into her shelter.

NPC Generator Identity: [7C] Merchant (physical)

Goal: [QD] Escape (technical)

Features: [2] Notable nature - [5D] New (technical)

Attitude to PCs: [6] Extraordinary

Conversation: [JC] Recent Events (physical)

—

Reaching the house - one of the few with a mostly-intact roof - Lavorra takes one last glance over her shoulder.

It’s empty and deserted now, the gloom laying heavy over the village, lit only by an eerie purple half-light.

She heads inside with a shiver, instinctively moving to close the door behind her, finding it missing.

The second she turns to face the room, she has the wind knocked out of her, as a blur of red rushes forward.

The Tiefling woman throws her arms around Lavorra, hugging her tightly. Stunned and wide eyed for a moment, Lavorra slowly wraps her arms around the other woman, tentatively at first, and then genuinely, the Tiefling’s enthusiasm and affection infectious.

They hug, faces buried in each others manes of hair, bodies pressed close together. They seem to be similar heights, and the stranger is at least as busty as Lavorra is - she becomes rapidly aware of their chests squashing close together, an embarrassing but not unpleasant sensation.

Eventually the woman pulls back, holding Lavorra at arm’s length by the upper arms, beaming at her. She reminds Lavorra strongly of Kaliana, her dear friend and travelling companion, but has a fuller figure closer to Lavorra’s own, with a small waist and ample hips. She realises too, that they are both rather scantily clad: Lavorra in her leggings, tunic and corset-armour, the Tiefling wearing a tattered skirt that barely holds together, baring her right flank and leg, and a similarly torn and busty bodice.

“Gods below it’s good to see a sensible face. I’m Zeyariel - but call me Zeya.” She speaks rapidly, barely giving Lavorra a chance to respond, but she cannot help but find this Zeya deeply charming. “They haven’t got you yet, have they?”

“Got me?” Lavorra asks, then realises, as Zeya mimes a bump over her stomach - Lavorra registers that, despite her clear disarray, Zeya’s belly is as flat as her own. “No. Matron, no, I’ve only just arrived.”

“I figured. Besides, they tend to be fussier about Elves.” Zeya nods, taking Lavorra by the hand, and leading her to a charred table. She hops up onto it, and perches, swinging her slender ruby legs, patting the place beside her.

Surpressing a smile as she sits up beside Zeya, Lavorra takes in a series of heavy backpacks, crammed with all manner of knick-knacks, books, and oddities. “I’m Lavorra, by the way. You’re a merchant? Are you new here too?”

“Am.” Zeya nods, lifting one leg onto the table and settling her chin on her knee, fixing on Lavorra with her large brown eyes.

“I was only planning on passing through. Only the sky went purple. Daemons killed my assistants.” She nods to the bags, “I’ve been stuck here a few days now. I really can’t say how glad I am to see another sane face. The poor bitches who live here won’t give me the time of day. They see me in my ruby-redness and think I’m one of the Daemons’ whores. Which, technically, I suppose I am.”

She delivers the last comment with a sigh, but sucks in her lips, clearly not as blasé with the situation as she seems. Lavorra touches her arm tenderly, but says nothing. She doesn’t need to.