<strong>Name:</strong>Draahzallyk (https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=287132.msg14135191#msg14135191)<br/><strong>Location:</strong>At the map table in Elfbane's command tent<br/><strong>Tag:</strong>Elfbane, Aryz'Endor, and all others present<br/><strong>Initiative:</strong>3<br/><strong>Free Action:</strong>--<br/><strong>Swift Action:</strong>--<br/><strong>Standard Action:</strong>--<br/><strong>Move Action:</strong>--<br/><strong>Feats or SA used:</strong>--<br/><strong>Warning:</strong>None (PG rating).<br/><hr/><br/><br/>Draahzallyk shows a touch more fang as the other kobold whacks the snout of his dragonskull-like mask with the rolled up map...And then is foolish enough to actually rub her head against his claws.<br/><br/>Closing his grip, the dark-armored kobold gets a secure hold on Aryz' head, fingers curled between her short (at least compared to his impressively draconic crown) horns and twisted in the red fluff between them. “It will be done, Master.” he responds to the Warmaster, then dips his head respectfully to Cynica's statement.<br/><br/>That done, there is another...small...matter to tend to. Draahzallyk lowers his long, fangy snout down next to Aryz'Endor's ear. His voice is a low whisper, and his language is Draconic. Some here may understand it, but he's working to keep his voice low and this conversation mostly private.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">In the Language of Dragons</div><div class="spoiler_body">“The map will suffice. For now, pink cousin, your services are required by my Master. When you take me lightly, consider two things: One, you may not always be so needed by him, and to me you are far from the only egg-layer in this encampment. Two, consider that when you behave foolishly before the chief of chiefs, you give him more reason to believe we are not worthy of respect."</div></div><br/>The antipaladin lifts his other hand up before Aryz'endor's eyes, gauntleted fingers unfolding like a dreadful, taloned flower; a flower whose core is a cold, dancing black flame which smells of terrible things. Rot, helplessness, hopelessness, and slow death curl and swirl in dark effervescence between his clawed fingers as if aching to be unleashed upon the world.<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">In the Language of Dragons</div><div class="spoiler_body">“I carry blades, yes, but evil itself sits in the palm of my hand. I am not one to take lightly. I am not one unworthy of respect. You may think yourself clever and sneaky, and perhaps on better days your opinion of yourself is not unfounded...But before you mock me, remember that I have merely to touch you to condemn you to a long, suppurating death as your very blood thickens and rots in your veins. Mark well who is most likely to be your ally here, then think about being more of a benefit, and less of a nuisance.”</div></div><br/>EDIT: To be clear, he's not trying to hide this conversation from Elfbane (or anyone else), he's just trying not to create a fuss big enough that it might give offense.