<div style="margin:20px; margin-top:5px"><div class="quotetitle"><input class="button2 btnlite" onclick="if (this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display != '') { this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display = '';      this.innerText = ''; this.value = 'Hide'; } else { this.parentNode.parentNode.getElementsByTagName('div')[1].getElementsByTagName('div')[0].style.display = 'none'; this.innerText = ''; this.value = 'Show'; }" style="text-align:center;width:100px;margin:0px;padding:0px;" type="button" value="Show"/></div><div class="quotecontent"><div style="display: none;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="http://i.imgur.com/slOkqfm.jpg?1">[ img ]</a><br/><span style="color: gray"><span style="font-family: Garamond;"><span style="font-style: italic">for reference use only</span></span></span><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">Name:</span> Q’Chae {kay-chay}<br/><span style="font-weight: bold">Race:</span> Drow {dark elf}<br/><span style="font-weight: bold">Age:</span> 121 years<br/><span style="font-weight: bold">Appearance:</span> Beginning at the crown, are a twosome of somewhat heavy and substantial horns. Q’Chae’s tresses are lengthy, reached to the small of her back with a wiry, almost cruel thickness, wind strewn and unkempt. Inky and comparable to unforgiving penumbra, her hair acts as amplifier to eyes of near pitch lazuli – so deep pupils and iris are without edge. Complexioned in chromatic iridescence, it would seem her skin is in itself, a prism: from olive to sable and ashen aubergine, distinguishing a single color is next to impossible. All that stands solid are her markings, flushed a molten saffron-copper as open hoops with contoured tongues, some thin and others broad. Regardless of a short stature – barely above 4’11 [149cm] – Q’Chae’s appearance is menacing. Broad in the shoulders, prominently full in the chest with a lean torso connected to wide hips, there is no mistaking her as female. At her hind is a tail, a head greater than her own height with a pyramidal end, sharp enough to puncture flesh as needed. The fingers of her golden right arm (her left being mismatched) are topped by spiky claws that compliment a stubby four-set of fangs. She is lithe more than athletic, though her drow blood provides decent sturdiness.   <br/> <br/><span style="font-weight: bold">Personality:</span> Trouble – from the start, Q’Chae has forever been trouble. She’s the mouthy sort, too opinionated for her own good and hardheaded to a fault. Add in what could be called a ‘chaotic’ nature, an uneven temperament with a salting of cleverness and one has the perfect concoction for a storm. A habitual offender in getting in over her head, Q’Chae is unfailingly irresponsible, indifferent when it counts and unwarrantedly selfish. She’s heavily indulgent, manipulatively witty and nastily deceptive, her motive is always unclear and her actions go without reason. Most would not think her to have a heart, but she does indeed, if not deeply hidden and harshly pruned. <br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">History:</span> Q’Chae is not the oldest creature to walk Elsbian, but her age is formidable. Born to a midlle-class family of dark magic practitioners with a mother as priestess to the drows’ most malignant deity, she has been surrounded in shadows from the start. At the commencement of the elves’ war with humanity, Q’Chae’s two elder brothers were killed in the midst of battle, which then required the three younger to partake. As a loving mother who wished the safe return of her sons, the priestess ushered her only daughter from their stone villa and to the temple of her god. It was there, between narrow walls and upon a dirt floor, that the priestess prayed the soul of her daughter away, thus giving Q’Chae to their deity as payment for her brothers’ lives. For weeks, nothing happened, there was no response, and then, as it was said, the god himself descended, digging a hand into her chest and snatching her heart. The memory is blacked in her mind, she merely awoke months thereafter, in what would seem a different body. Upon her rebirth, she was recognized as a martyr and begged by the drow to participate in the war. She did as was requested, using might as few other and becoming that of a legend. To the humans she opposed, she was a frightful enemy, known for destroying a notable number of battalions. She battled for some ten years before a skilled mage entombed her in an ancient tree, forcing her to slumber and causing her power to dwindle. Over nine decades passed with Q’Chae going unseen...until her recent liberation from the spell.  <br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">Power:</span> Psychokinesis – the ability to move objects 5x her size and to teleport medium distances. Unfortunately, since most of the drow have perished and her god goes unworshipped, Q’Chae can barely afford to lift a rock the size of her head and can teleport no more than ten paces from her immediate location. The sun weakens her and though she is highly resistant to magic, an injury to her horns may prove fatal.</div></div></div></div><br/><br/><span style="font-family: Palatino Linotype;">There was daylight, the presence of watery illumination, shed from a newly created hole above her skull. The warmth touched against textured horns, their sides like rock ornamented in reddish gold, twisting symbols. The feel of the giant star went without notice, its greeting fingers were unfelt, as was the nibble of glacial air, suddenly infiltrating her tomb. A third clap sounded, the shudder of wood berating wood, screaming as the fibers splintered and fractured. Another breath, one scented of fish and mold, strong enough to stir dust from within. It was followed by more vibration, the thump of a large foot to the terra, the holler of a tree being destroyed. Most of this fell on deaf ears, unable to enter a body and inept at calling attention to the brain. Ninety winters had rotated onward, for decades, the snows had arrived and dissipated at the approach of pushy spring. Summer reached heights of smoggy heat, relinquishing its grip to the chipper, colorful hold of autumn and starting anew all over again. There was no movement from within the tree’s massive stem, the huff of agitated exhales was absent, and any attempts at escape were nonexistent. And yet then, things were about to change – and to be matter-of-fact, were indeed, already changing. A Cyclops had taken note of the corpse wedged inside, and with a sluggish but steadfast conviction, had begun clobbering the barrier between itself and the awaiting prize. <br/><br/>Tan-skinned, heavily scarred and scraped with nothing but a greasy cowhide strung to its front, the single eyed beast was young, barely an adult and just breaching the border of dangerous. He thwacked, batting the bark and wood with a lesser tree, from the tall afternoon and into the short evening, when shadows started creeping. He did not pause, not for a long while, until the treasure within was graspable, and with a burly, rank hand, he scooped the body up and out. Into the open he clutched the woman between two pinching fingers, examining her with an acrid black glance. She was dusky about the skin, the greenish-brownish-purple offset by standout orange, ribbons and loops that curved her like war stripes. Her eyes were closed, and even as he gyrated her to and fro, she didn’t stir. Her limbs were overly languid, she was akin to a rope doll in his hold, threshing wildly with every shake he made. He inched her to his face, sniffing and rolling her lips. She was scented of musk, of the rain and the wind, but beneath that, was the fragrant tang of magic, something floral and sour, muddy yet sweet. He inhaled again and again, his mouth watering with carnivorous excitement. He would eat this woman, chomp her bite by bite with his dull teeth, relishing the taste of her incandescent flesh. He dangled her closer to his face, near enough that he could kiss her if he wanted to and examined her right up against his eye. She had the pointy ears and the angular face of an elf, though her features were plush and her lashes were long and winged, exotic and coppery. She glittered when he edged her from left to right, and though the Cyclops lacked greatly in the cognitive department, he knew there was something special about that woman. <br/><br/>Parting his jaws to reveal grotesquely yellowed teeth, a waft of odor hugged her face, humid and wretched. There was wetness trailing her leg, hard and scraping, and with that, her eyes opened and bugged. Her diaphragm shuddered upon her inhale, pollinating lungs that had long been stiff and now ached from absence of respiration. For a moment, the hulking and beastly humanoid didn’t register to her, there was solely the sound of birds, chirping and tweeting among branches along with the far off cry of a faun’s flute. Her attention coasted up to the sky, to the velvet azure, a profuse and untainted blue, pocked by traversing puffs of stringy ivory. The clouds traveled and circled the jagged bottoms of rock, where cities and great villages had always sat, separated from the rest of the world and yet part of it all the while. She could see the pinprick hulls of floating ships, some hovering idly while others raced along. It was then she noted the tight grip that squeezed her torso on either side, just as a grainy pink thing mushed across her face. Drool dribbled off her chin and she gagged at the taste of it against her lips. Only in this, did she realize she was captive, hung many feet above the turf at the mercy of a one-socketed heathen. Her vocal chords exploded before she could even think. <span style="font-weight: bold">“Your severe lack of manners is heinous! Unhand me you foul mongrel!”</span> At the sound of spoken Drow, a sharper, gravelly version of their kindred tongues, the Cyclops paused. With bald head shining and jaw still ajar, he fixated on her. By the second, Q’Chae was growing heatedly impatient, and before she could summon another breath, she hurled a goober at him. Missed by her assault and unbothered, he ran his tongue upon her again, and this round, she had enough. <br/><br/>She chomped on him, sinking short canines into a soft crease and causing the monster to pause. He held her still, until she arched her back and arrowed her tail into the underside, striking hard and drawing blood. The Cyclops thundered, it was a murderous and gurgling bellow as he yoked her backward, trying to free her painful grip from him. Q’Chae was determined and stayed locked on for as long as she could take his breath. With his fingers now tacked to her shoulders, she curled herself, lifting her knees to her chest and shooting her tail into his eye. She was dropped, jarringly released to the ground where she collided in a messy furl of bent limbs and wild hair. Instantly, she lifted up on her palms, bringing her feet underneath and springing off. <br/><br/>It was hard, running after all those years. The wind she stirred felt foreign, the way invisible hands laced through her hair was almost uncomfortable. She cleared a mossy log, scaling its side and cresting its top, landing on the opposite and falling through an unseen hollow. The Cyclops was at her hind, wailing loud enough to make the mountains quiver. She yanked herself free and was fleet, diving to the left when the tree trunk he used thudded with the ground right next to her. Quick as she was, his stride was longer, and for twenty or so of hers, he took a single step. She crisscrossed in front of him, headed for the trees that were much his taller, gnarled about their trunks and curtained in vines. She was no more than a few yards off when he smacked the dirt behind her, hard enough that she was propelled like a slung stone into the greenery. Q’Chae flailed, narrowly missing a blow-midair when the Cyclops raised his weapon. She clashed with the fat, skittering leafs of the external saplings, stirring massive winged beetles and gigantic moths from where they lay. She heeled a branch and sprang forward, gaining more of her momentary flight before she began to plummet. Heavy vines whipped against her back and snagged her legs, a few netted her horns and caused whimpers from her throat. She landed harshly with her spine to a bent root, the crack of bone outdone by the rumble of agitated footsteps and snapping wood. Cursing, she flipped herself over, bit her lower lip and started running again, directly after the Cyclops sighted her all over. He roared gutturally and hammered his tree trunk, destroying foliage and making the branches shake. Q’Chae skidded to the east, rounding a massive moss-quilted stone, her breaths hard from exertion. <br/><br/>Gaining momentum, her steps were abruptly brought to cease. She crashed into something, sturdy and yet forgiving, what could have been a chest or a back, for all she could detail. It made her fall, tailbone to the wet sod of the forest, legs splayed with her extra appendage pinned between them. Using a shaky hand and through another vocal blast of splintering wood, she flipped hair from in front of her and looked up. <span style="font-style: italic">Human</span>. Should she be correct, the creature before her was a sworn enemy, a breed she had combated for quite an extent before the trickery that bandaged her in slumber. <span style="font-weight: bold">“You,”</span> she pointed at him, rudely her tongue slipping on what she assumed to be his native language. It would seem by the seriousness in her face, she was prepared to say something important. Unfortunately, from around the same bend she had come, the Cyclops appeared, bleeding from his eye, clenching his face and beyond mad. He scented them, and in their direction, he began slamming his blunt object, careless and wild. Instantly, Q’Chae jumped up, risen to her feet in a mad scramble. <span style="font-weight: bold">“Eat him before I!”</span> She declared, ogling the human with both hands and then, bravely, sheltering behind him.</span>