Neverwinter Forest What the feck

astara felt something, perhaps jealous protection, as she watched the man bend over her stone. he spoke in a tongue she neither knew nor comprehended; it mattered little, for all tongues were foreign to the wraith save the void.

almost too serenely, astara watched as the male shifted. she did not predict he would bolt then, a fleeing flame with her stone in tow. her eyes, previously half-lidded (almost as if disinterested in his ritual) flew open wide; the deep melonii indigo of her gaze rent wide as sauron's eye in aubergine fury.

had she grasp of the tongue she would have screamed what the fuck -- but astara had grasp on only one thing, and that thing was violence. with a furious roar she rose hot on his heels, hellbent as a harpy. he would taste teeth and nothing but teeth for his crime against her; the stone was the last of her possessions that linked her to her dead mother and her estranged sister. it simply meant too much to be lost.

with the seeping strength of a soul desperate, astara lunged for hock -- anything at all to fell the bastard that dared steal the only token in astara's life that meant anything to her.