Thread: A Stop on the Road [Tomboy and Sigr]

I mean, it can't be that hard right? it seemed that there was no end to his whining. Vaeril Umelen was a elf wizard of ill repute, even when it came to elves. And wizards. Haughty and effeminate, he seemed to be a theatrical embodiment of all things most races didn't like about them. Sure, he was a very good wizard, with arcane knowledge to match his enormous ego, but he was almost insufferable. I haven't heard that orcs were allergic to water, are you? You don't melt into a green puddle if you touch it, right? he continued, wrinkling his nose. They were setting camp near to a lake, and the elf hasn't stopped ever since. Such a place could be a dangerous one, but he insisted, he needed a bath after a couple days of journey and he wasn't going to pass the chance of having one. Soon the topic moved to why his unlikely companion, a female orc warrior, didn't have a bath of her own. It was a couple of days ago since Vaeril entered the tavern, boisterous and noisy. He needed muscle for a task, the retrieval of an old tome from a catacomb nearby, and he was ready to pay well, not to mention that any other spoils that weren't the tome would be for his companions. And yet, knowing how he was and without the patience to stand his company, no one offered their services to him. He ended up accepting an orc of all things as a partner, be it because she was new around and didn't know him or really needed the money. Her motives were of no interest to him, he had enough having to endure the presence of someone from the most crude of humanoid races. Those two days were a pain for the two of them, but they soon should be at the catacomb and once looted they could part ways. Suit yourself Vaeril finally said, not wanting to waste any more words trying to convince the orc of washing herself. He walked beyond a few brushes and trees, getting close to the lake shore. He disrobed himself, leaving fine garments of sky blue and golden embroidery carefully hanging from a tree branch. His body was thin and without much definition, but still had a delicate beauty of its own, pale flesh shining under the sun. Long blonde hair flowed around, framing a face that could be easily mistaken for a female of his race, if there was anyone that could match his usually sour expression. Once completely bare, he started to submerge in the water, carefully treading around, watching his step. The water was clear and warm, and relaxed his demeanor. It was the worst part of his dedication to the studies of arcane knowledge, having to leave his mansion to hunt forgotten books in forsaken places. In his relaxation Vaeril didn't see the incoming danger. A water wyvern, its elongated and snakelike body roamed the place, and soon smelled a prey. They usually fed on anyone or anything that came close, but their draconic nature made them feel specially attracted to the ones that could wield magic, the better they were, the stronger the urges. Vaeril's scream when he felt something grab his leg was cut short, as the wyvern dragged him underwater. Unable to voice the arcane words and with his other implements in the camp, the frail elf was as defenseless as a kitten, and he had no other avenue but elevate a prayer to the gods.