It's a fantasy role-playing game.

DM: You are Scanlan Shorthalt, a gnome bard . You are the member of the famous group of adventurers. Previously, One, a duergar, is wearing similar armor to the guards but with silver and gold scrolling and wearing a long, dark, tattered purple cape, and a scar across the cheek that leads into a gnarled grey beard. On its back is a gargantuan scabbard holding a two-handed sword.
DM: -- not so small, not dwarven. Actually, very tall, lanky, long, black and purple robes, a hood, obscuring its features, stepping roughly two feet behind it as they both step on to the platform to address the rest of the guard and the approaching party of duergar dwarves you've been following. You can see some conversation happening, but you're too far away to really make out anything that's being said, do you want to move closer?
Player: Do I speak their language?
DM: Do you speak Undercommon?
Player: Nope!
DM: Then you-- it all sounds gibberish to you!
Player: Then, no thank you.
DM: Okay. But you see some conversation happening. This seemingly officious duergar, this general that steps out and commands the attention in the room, makes a few gestures, shouts out to amongst the other nearby. Not quite sure, but you get the idea he's giving orders or directions. The war party then begins to pull the slaves back away, and--
Player: The captives? Okay.
DM: The captives. Begins pulling them away toward another section on the side. As it does, the tall, lanky figure, which you now get the sense that it's not really walking. It's just kind of drifting--
Player: (apprehensive sound)
DM: -- holds its hand out. This long, long finger and lanky hand, and as it does, every single duergar in the vicinity, whatever it was doing, stops in place, and all turn and look at it, as one.
