Steve
The wind howled like a banshee through the pines, snow blowing in a frightening display of white. Ice crystals danced a confliction of beauty and pain, stinging her face and hands as she bowed her hooded head against the onslaught. Each step was an effort to exact her own will against the elements.

The trees offered little help in cutting the ferocity of the blizzard, dumping great sheets of snow off of their limbs in resounding *Thumps*, or entire branches coming down with thunderous cracks, wood splintering under the weight. 
She had lost her horse in the storm, feared him dead at the bottom of a ravine she had come upon just as the storm hit and he had bucked and spun, throwing her before thundering off into the sheets of white. 
Her gold eyes lifted, to search the landscape, though she could see only a few feet ahead. Ice clung to her lashes and burned her cheeks. Her hands were closed in rabbit fur, which also lined her hood, white as the snow she fought. 

But there was something within sight, a great maw of darkness ahead where an odd luminous light flashed briefly. An entrance to a cave and shelter from the storm. She stumbled out of the grip of the wind and ice, hand braced against the wall of the cavern, letting herself catch her breath. Once the torrent had been blocked from her, she took a moment to explore the wide cavern. Someone else had taken shelter once. There was still the stones of a fire, though scattered now. But wood was stacked, mostly dry. *Heaven sent* 
She pushed off the heavy coat she wore, which dropped with a thud to the ground, revealing a long sleeved tunic embroidered in celtic runes, a sword belted at her hip. Thick woolen breeches tucked into sturdy boots edged in fur. 
She pulled the mittens from her hands and set about shaving off bits of bark from one of the branches, making tinder.
Luz
Ryll rode his horse through the white torrent of snow. The horse stumbled within the heavy snow, shrieking weakly from hours braving the elements. Ryll placed a gentle hand on its mane, feeling its weak breath vibrate against his hand. He knew it didn't have much left in it. Glancing around, his crimson eyes barely visible beneath his black hood, his lower face concealed by a bandana, revealing only his eyes and a hint of his cursed purple Drow skin.

His eyes fixated on a dark cave in the distance. Leaning down to his horse, he brought his mouth close to its ear. "It's okay, boy. It's almost over," His words sparked a final burst of energy in the horse as it trudged towards the cave entrance.

Ryll dismounted, nearly tripping as his armored boots emerged in the freezing cold of the snow. He tucked into himself trying his best to to escape the biting wind with his cloak to no avail. Amidst the blizzard, he couldn't see the woman inside the cave.
Securing his horse, he stabbed a dagger into the cave wall and wrapped the reins around it. Turning around, he could now fully observe the cave. Spotting the woman, he instinctively drew his two daggers, assuming a defensive stance. His red eyes, initially fierce, softened as he analyzed her. With the initial shock gone, he realized she was likely seeking shelter, yet the presence of a sword suggested she knew how to use it.


"Got enough room for two, or..." He trailed off, gripping his blades tightly and waving them, conveying the message.
Steve
She was so weary, and the spark was refusing to take, going out twice as it struggled in the damp shavings. She wiped her brow with the back of her hand, pausing to work her cold fingers into movement. 
Hearing the crunch of snow and scuff of horse hoof, sent adrenaline surging and the warrior turned, rising at once to her feet to draw an elven blade before even seeing his. An instinctual discipline, born of countless trials.. The *Shink* Of metal echoed on the walls. 
 *Drow* She thought. Could it be worse-could be orc. At least some drow could be reasoned with.* -would he be one? 
"I was here first... So ye better leave yer blades at the entrance if ye seek shelter here." Her voice held the clear power of a commander, and the undeniable accent of gaelic tones.
Luz
Clad in black leather and plated armor, almost like ranger, he wore a snow-caked cloak. His large daggers weren't his only weapons; throwing knives adorned his belt and leg straps, and a bag held supplies and archaeological artifacts.

Analyzing the woman's body language, he sensed her experience as a warrior. Considering his current condition, a fight seemed unwise. Backing away, he lowered his daggers.

"I can be agreeable." With a single finger, he pulled down his bandana, revealing his weathered but handsome face, marked with battle scars from years of raiding.

"Only fair if you join me, right?" He smiled, gesturing from her to the blade in her hands. Edging towards the cave's mouth, he prepared to leave his blades if she agreed.
Steve
Her gold eyes narrowed just as the bit of fire she had struck lit, a crackling of small twigs... A glimmer of light to dance off the sea crystals woven into her long braids. *She had to tend that fire or it would go out quickly.* She also had other weapons, though prefered her sword, but she shook her head. "I'll keep my blade. I was here first." She did sheathe the weapon though, and unbelted it... Sliding it into the darkness of the extended cave *Behind* Her. Who knew what lurked in those vast echoing chambers. Her weapon was close enough to lunge for if he turned briggand on her and in the meantime, that fire would be crucial for their survival. 
With a watchful eye that he set his weapons down, she sank to her knees to try to keep that precious flame burning long enough to bring them life-giving warmth.
Luz
Ryll briefly frowned, his face contorting into a grimace. He seemed on the verge of retorting but restrained himself. He didn't need his blades to defend himself, he chose not to let pride interfere. Watching her tend to the fire, he concluded it wasn't worth the dispute, especially given their bad conditions due to the storm. Discarding his weapons by the cave's mouth, he arranged the visible knives on the ground, careful to keep them out of the snow. Only a small knife in his boot remained, just in case.

Joining her by the fire, Ryll knelt down, removing his hood and the rest of his bandana. A sigh of relief escaped as his head embraced the warmth of the burgeoning fire.

An apprentice of infernal magics and dark sorcery, Ryll had acquired some spells. Conjuring a small bit heat and flame would come easily to him. Extending his hand toward the fire, he subtly infused it with a bit of magical heat, unnoticed to the naked eye but aiding the fire's growth.
Steve
Her hands were half numb, which she was thankful he did not know about, as she held them to the sudden burst of flames. She spent time carefully stacking the wood in a way that it would fall inward and not out of the circle of stones, and burn efficiently. As the heat began to thaw the deep chill out of her bones, she set her gold gaze upon him, then ... His horse. That beast was probably going to save his life come daylight, and get him out of the mountain pass... If the blizzard settled. If not, they would be stuck there. She was dead tired, but there was no way she could sleep now. Not and keep an eye on him. 
"Were ye tryin' ta make it over the pass when the storm hit?" 
The firelight expanded onto the walls around them, revealing a glitter of quartz. Threads of it ran through the granite stone making strange runic patterns on the walls. The light bathed her features in a warm glow, a face that had seen hard battle, yet still kept some sort of youthful appearance.
Vernon
Ryll began shedding layers of snow-caked overwear, removing his cloak and bags, strategically placing them before the crackling fire to dry them. Nestling closer to the warmth, he rubbed his hands together, finally allowing himself to relax and embrace of the heat. The tension that marked there initial confrontation with the woman had dissipated; he seemed far more at ease now. Convinced that if she harbored ill intentions, she would have acted already
His gaze fixated on the woman, now able to truly take in her presence. Illuminated by the cave's luminescence, she appeared beautiful, yet Ryll, not one to easily be swayed by such allure, saw a warrior first and a woman second. Her armor, physique, scars, and the way she held her sword – she embodied the essence of a warrior, earning Ryll's respect.
"Yes, quite the unexpected foil. Usually, storms like this come with warnings, but what can I say? I've always had shit luck," He smiled at the woman, his crimson eyes reflecting the flames' glow. "I'm an explorer, you could say. Been searching for..." He paused, a moment of hesitation hanging in the air, "...Artifacts. Explored a few and was heading towards my next target when this blighted storm struck." As he spoke, he wiped the last remnants of snow off his body, revealing the weariness of his journey
Steve
She set her hand against the back of the cave wall and slid to a sitting position before the fire, wincing slightly. Drawing up one knee to her chest, she fed small sticks into the fire, watching them shrivel in the heat of the flame. 
"Tis a strange storm this. I'm thinkin' tis no normal blizzard. Not the way it came out of the south... Seems a strange direction. She listens to his explanation of what he is doing in the mountains and the hesitation on searching for artifacts is not lost on her. *Damn drow... Why did you have to be handsome? I'll bet yer huntin' somethin' ye dinna think I'll approve of. An' if that's the case...* Her hand curls lightly against her boot, a casual movement, but one that presses against the leather in such a way as to hide the blade that had shifted in its sheath and was starting reveal itself. 
"Seems yer a might far off to be findin' *Artifacts* Way up in these mountains." She lets the suspicion enter her voice, just to keep him on edge.
Vernon
"Yes, artifacts, history, scripts. There's so much power in history. The legends we tell, which repeat again and again. Those who know the past have the future," His words carried a hint of forced sarcasm. Despite his charismatic tone, Ryll couldn't entirely mask the significance of the topic. His eyes gleamed with wonder as he spoke. His ambitions were multifaceted, but the pursuit of artifacts held a crucial place.
Ryll sought demonic remnants in these mountains, remnants of wars from the beginning of time. His goal: demonic artifacts and knowledge, with the hope of acquiring a hellshard's power. Raised in a raiding warrior society, he once preyed on nearby settlements, a apex predator among raiders. However, a second chance at life changed his perspective, pushing him to break free and strive for something more then the cycle of death and life, even if it meant embracing infernal hellish powers, dragon, or even the divine. Ryll was determined to control his fate, even if it damned him. Because he couldn't live with himself if he didn't 
Ready to say more, he stopped himself, realizing he was getting ahead of himself. Cursing his momentary lapse in judgement **All it took was a pretty face for me to let my guard down**
A softness that had briefly surfaced vanished.

"Enough about that. How did you end up in this?" He asked , redirecting the conversation.
Steve
His words rang true to her ears, surprising to be coming from a drow. She settled more easily to listen to him speak, now that she was warmed. She could really use a drink of water, but had lost her pack along with her horse, all of her supplies gone. She would search for it once the storm had abated, but if she didn't find it, she would have a hard time trekking out of these mountains with just the clothes on her back. She'd done it before, decades ago, but it was not going to be a pleasant journey. 
"I love history, personally. An' books. I believe our greatest treasure is knowledge. To know all there is ... Grants great power. Course... One must learn ta use that power wisely... Otherwise yer just another dictator who ends up on the pointy end of a spear. 
Myself... " Here her gold eyes might give the faint hint of an alternate shift in color, a flicker of emerald in those gold hues... Too brief to know if that was just a trick of the light. "I am on my way to Aismir. Just a destination. No particular purpose. I just finished a mercenary trek escorting some merchants to Hearths-Keep. I like to keep moving." *And not stay tied down to anyone or any place.. That always leads to emotions... And emotions lead to difficult choices.*
Vernon
Ryll became enthralled in the conversation, leaning closer to the blazing fire.
"Yes, that's why it's not for everyone. The many fools of the world outweigh the bright, and thank the universe for that," He smirked, briefly getting up to fetch a satchel of water from his bag. After a few sips, he tossed it to the ground next to Lysira, with a look from it he turned his attention back to her.
Observant, his gaze lingered on her shimmering eyes. Though brief, he wasn't hiding the fact that he was checking her out. Though her eyes were most catching his eyes wandered down her body, taking in her clothing and body 
"I always refused those sorts of contracts. When I was a little younger, I used to do a little mercenary work myself," He admitted, his warrior's body and scars suggesting that he hadn't always been the explorer he claimed. But it wasn't his life as a mercenary that has left those scars but his past as a tribesman of the savage Morthuul clan which had truly shaped him into the warrior he had become.
Steve
She shifted her weight and reached for the water bag. Thank the gates he had some. She uncapped it and drank deeply, closing her eyes as the liquid refreshed her, easing some of the fatigue. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and tossed it back. 
"My thanks fer that." She suddenly wondered about his name. "I am Lysira Farraige, " Pronouncing it far ru gah, rolling the r's. She decided to leave off her titles. They certainly meant nothing here on this night. 
And had he just said that he was grateful for there being more fools in the world than bright minds? That amused her. Her own gaze took time to appreciate his form.. Her warrior eyes assessing his skill though the play of honed muscles, his quiet grace. She could tell he had fighting skill and, like the sioda warrior she was, could only wonder what it would be to test that skill to her own. 
She gave a slight shrug and a small smile curled the corner of her mouth at his words about avoiding mercenary work.
 "Well, a girl's got ta eat." Her gold eyes holding a gleam of mirth. When she smiled, it changed her features, softening them into something almost akin to beauty -not quite... Her's was a hard grace, still, it didn't hurt.
Vernon
"Oh, where are my manners? I apologize. Ryll T'aer," He introduced himself with pride, savoring the significance of his name.

"No, no, I commend you. Babysitting merchants while they complain about how hard their simple lives are... It's something I could never do," He expressed, his eyes wandering to the cave surroundings. His time as a merchant wasn't a phase he cared to dwell on, merely a means to an end after leaving the caves of the Underdark and the Morthuul clan.

"In truth, I worked as a mercenary for a few years. The vast majority of my contracts were bounty contracts," He mentioned, a playful undertone in his voice challenging her with the mention 
"Is there a bounty in Aismir? Or something else," He asked, the playfulness in his tone contrasting with the intensity in his gaze. His red eyes locked onto hers, searching for any subtle reaction on her face
Steve
She met his gaze with her own level one, not flinching in the slightest. This one was... Very different from other drow she had met. She tilted her head, not breaking their eye contact. One of her braids slid across her shoulder, a few crystals woven into it catching the light from the fire and dancing small motes over the wall of the cave like a fire fly. 
"A bounty?... I'm no bounty hunter, ifn' that is what yer implyin'. I just help merchants get their wares from one place to the other.. Mayhaps I protect them... From the likes of yerself, *Ryll T'aer*."
 Her command of his language, speaking his name with the correct influction, might impress him. Or not. But it would give him a hint that she was much more than she was proclaiming. A mercenary? Surely there was a very rich history in her own past that she only alluded to.
Vernon
"From the likes of myself? Hmmm," Ryll responded with amusement. Instead of frustration, he seemed to be relishing the challenge. Raising his hand, he turned it around, drawing attention to his purple skin—dark and shining against the orange light.

"Does being a drow make you nervous?" His question carried an accusatory tone, revealing hidden hurt. Despite his facade of enjoying being feared, a part of him longed for acceptance and love. Ryll, a man of vast ambitions, didn't include love among them. Yet, he was a man with a broken core, deeply insecure and scared, willing to do anything to control the world around him.. He scooted his body over to the water bottle taking another brief sip. The sip of someone that knows how to actually conserve water
Steve
She chuffs a small laugh then her golden eyes almost took on smokey undertones as she looked at him from beneath a lowered head - a predatory gaze, full of challenge. "Do I look nervous?" She wrapped an arm around her updrawn knee, resting her chin upon it while she watched him. "Green, blue... Purple..." Her brow gave a small twitch of amusement. "Skin color has nuthin' ta do with what's inside a person... Or what makes them tick. I'm curious what makes yerself tick, Ryll T'aer. I'm thinkin' yer much more complicated than yer tryin' ta appear." Her eyes roam over him for emphasis. She's noticed he is conserving his water and she smiles to herself, she had drank her fill, just in case they ended up in blows. Now she was refreshed and ready to fight. It had been his water, afterall. No skin off her back.
Vernon
Ryll chuckled, attempting to steer the conversation away from himself swiftly. He gestured towards his bag, which held relics and artifacts from various ruins, most stemming from the demon dragon war. Though the bag was closed, a chain from an amulet spilled out from the top, having slipped out when he opened it.

"As I said, I'm just an explorer. I've done many things in my life and seen many edges of this world. My curiosity drives me. It always ate away at me. When I didn't have the answers, I always needed them. So now, I make sure I always have the answers," He explained, briefly lost in thought, reflecting on the dark truths he had uncovered. Memories of when demons played with his mind surfaced, a time when he felt helpless to their mental torture. However, he had since hardened himself, determined never to be powerless again.

"Your the one not being honest. No one just travels through the mountains alone with a blade it to travel"
Steve
She sees a flicker of something haunted in his eyes, some past horror. But they all had those, didn't they? Her own recent encounter with a demon-were-beast and the subsequent aftermath rears fresh in her mind, bringing a twitch of repressed grief to the corner of her mouth. She had remarkably few visible scars, though most of her is covered by hardened armor or padded tunic, and he wouldn't see the fierce knot of healed scar tissue on her abdomen. But there is a fine scar that lines her lower cheek from her ear to almost the tip of her jaw. 

"Curiosity killed the cat," She muses. Her gaze drops to the chain hanging from his bag. "Looks like ye've collected somethin' of interest there.." She nods to his bag. "Is there a story behind it? We've many hours ahead of us, an' not likely either of us trusts the other to sleep. Might as well swap stories." 

There is a faint ...Ever so faint sound deep within the darkness of the cavern... Possibly just a rat or movement of water on stone.
Vernon
"The cat could get killed, or it could gain understanding of its world that no other cat could comprehend," He laughed, lightening the mood.

Following her gaze to the necklace, he retrieved the chain, gently pulling it by the end. Holding it up to the light for a moment, Ryll revealed a tribal necklace, its bone chain adorned with a wrapped trinket. Blood caked the chain, a mixture of his and others. The trinket appeared chipped, slashed at the corner. Leaning over, his purple chest was exposed, showcasing a slash where the necklace used to lay.

"Just an old necklace from when I was younger," He explained briefly, avoiding delving into his time within the Morthuul clan. After the brief look, he carefully stowed it back in his bag, ensuring it was securely closed. Such necklaces were common among his clan, meant as good luck charms and trophies adorned with bones and gems as warriors gained kills and glory. The wound that nearly killed him shattered his necklace, causing him to see it as a bad luck charm thereafter.
With the sound coming from deeper within the cave, his face whipped to the source. His eyes would take in the darkness, the trained eyes of a predator which once stalked the under dark
Steve
Her mouth quirked at his humor, which twice now, has mirrored her own. Her eyes follow his movement as he reveals the amulet. As he speaks, her gaze falls on his chest, noting the scar. A discarded amulet, never the less, one he kept. Sentimental value? He did not seem the type, yet again.. So that was another reveal to his inner psyche. She is about to respond when the sound and his alert response brings her to her feet, eyes searching the darkness. She side steps toward her sword, a few feet away, her movements reflecting the silence of a shadow.
She glances at him briefly, her eyes and expression conveying her words silently *Looks like we have company.*
Vernon
Within a split second, Ryll was on his feet, extracting his last dagger from his boot with supernatural grace. His entire being shifted into a state of readiness, his glare fixated on the shadow. His eyes briefly darted from her to the dagger in his hand, a silent promise to explain later. But in that fleeting moment, his attention was solely on his target.

Bounding forward, Ryll danced around the fire with a series of sidesteps, moving swiftly towards the shadow. He didn't concern himself with the woman; his focus was on his prey. His arm pulled back as he approached, muscles tensing in preparation for a leaping slash at whatever lurked in the darkness.
Steve
She had swept up her sword in an easy move, pulling the blade free and setting down her scabbard. She didn't miss that he had pulled a dagger from his boot, not surprised in the least. Her eyes studied him, not the possible movement in the cavern. She was gauging his fighting skill, speed, dexterity, where he set the balance of his weight, and how he held his blade. In that moment she knew she could have slain him,- taken his horse- with his attention fully on whatever was lurking. Did he already trust her so completely? That surprised her. 
Then her attention focused on the movement in the cave, her own posture sliding into readiness... Muscles moving like a lioness on the prowl.