Read at your leisure...
Within the humid, tropical air or the Allar Embassy, the sound of webbed feet slowly padded their way down a hall. Each pair of small steps was punctuated by the dull thud of a walking staff. An Es-Allar, frog-like in appearance and perpetually looking like an upset child, slowly waddled his way down the hall. The creatures eyes were a glassy white, devoid of iris and pupil, while its skin was covered in purple Seraph runes that slowly pulsed a lazy glow. Above this strange, stubby creature swirled a cloud of butterflies, each of a elegant shape with delicate swooping wings.
As the Es-Allar, who commonly went by the name of Sselliaz Es-Vazziss, neared the end of the hall he reached a moderately sized door on his right-hand side. The door was of a fine make, but most conveniently there was a smaller door installed within the larger. With a grumble the Allar pushed open this smaller door and waddled into his study.
Closing the door behind him, the cloud of butterflies would slowly dissipate as each member fluttered off in a scattered direction and promptly popped out of existence. Sselliaz tiredly turned his featureless eyes over the room, taking a moment to make sure everything was in order. The room itself was brightly lit by four ornate windows on the right side, each with panes open wide to let the sunlight and warm air in. The wall across from the windows was lined three fourths of the way with crowded bookcases. One may even notice that every volume on the shelves was neatly placed in perfect alphabetical order. The final fourth of the wall sat a few shelves lines with ticking Qatils set perfectly straight in lines. Other oddities could be seen around the room hanging on the walls, maps, antique armor pieces, a set of long spikes (those knowledgeable would know they once belonged to a death mage), and other chats concerning magic practice. The room was itself was the pinnacle of immaculate, even the fine rug on the floor was without stain or dust.
Waddling to the far side of the room, Sselliaz would pull himself into a small chair that sat in front of a low-sitting desk. The top of the desk contained boxes of metal gears, springs, shafts, and other clockwork odds and ends. But, that was not what concerned the Es-Allar currently. In front of him, laid like a centerpiece to the desk, was a folded parchment containing Denouncement of Cro-Zzharlo. He heaved a heavy sigh as he looked to the paper. The very thought of the Cro-Allar he once served, the very one who saved his life, condemned to this could not sit well with him.
He was there once more. In the cobbled streets of Ssesollosa in Hadar as the fighting still raged. The Es-Allar's breaths were short as he laid on the ground, his white eyes locked onto the Ailor soldier who stood but paces away from him, his blade and face stained crimson. On the ground before the soldier was the unmoving corpse of a grey-scaled Digmaan. The Ailor locked onto the the mage and made a slow pursuit forward, his steps shaky and his arms loosely swinging as he stumbled. Sselliaz watch on as the man to bring him his death stumbled towards him with a blank and ragged expression. Then, in a flash of dark blue scales, there was a strained cry as the Ailor's neck fell into the merciless jaws of a Cro-Allar. As the man crumpled, the Cro-Allar turned it's bloodstained features to Sselliaz and slowly made his way toward him. The rest was a blur. Slowly being lifted up in Zzharlo's claws. Catching sight of an arm laying on the cobbled road. The pain where his own left arm should be. Then, the calm peace of unconsciousness.
Sselliaz opened his eyes to see his desk once more before him. He was back within his study in the very Empire that was the catalyst for those memories. In his thoughts, his webbed hand drifted up to his left shoulder. He had been without the limb for weeks after he was saved. Letting out a deep sigh, Sselliaz leaned back in his chair and slowly slipped a lemon-candy into his wide mouth. He closed his eyes once more and slowly let his mind wander once again.
Perhaps a part two if I ever feeling like fleshing more history of this froggo out...
Within the humid, tropical air or the Allar Embassy, the sound of webbed feet slowly padded their way down a hall. Each pair of small steps was punctuated by the dull thud of a walking staff. An Es-Allar, frog-like in appearance and perpetually looking like an upset child, slowly waddled his way down the hall. The creatures eyes were a glassy white, devoid of iris and pupil, while its skin was covered in purple Seraph runes that slowly pulsed a lazy glow. Above this strange, stubby creature swirled a cloud of butterflies, each of a elegant shape with delicate swooping wings.
As the Es-Allar, who commonly went by the name of Sselliaz Es-Vazziss, neared the end of the hall he reached a moderately sized door on his right-hand side. The door was of a fine make, but most conveniently there was a smaller door installed within the larger. With a grumble the Allar pushed open this smaller door and waddled into his study.
Closing the door behind him, the cloud of butterflies would slowly dissipate as each member fluttered off in a scattered direction and promptly popped out of existence. Sselliaz tiredly turned his featureless eyes over the room, taking a moment to make sure everything was in order. The room itself was brightly lit by four ornate windows on the right side, each with panes open wide to let the sunlight and warm air in. The wall across from the windows was lined three fourths of the way with crowded bookcases. One may even notice that every volume on the shelves was neatly placed in perfect alphabetical order. The final fourth of the wall sat a few shelves lines with ticking Qatils set perfectly straight in lines. Other oddities could be seen around the room hanging on the walls, maps, antique armor pieces, a set of long spikes (those knowledgeable would know they once belonged to a death mage), and other chats concerning magic practice. The room was itself was the pinnacle of immaculate, even the fine rug on the floor was without stain or dust.
Waddling to the far side of the room, Sselliaz would pull himself into a small chair that sat in front of a low-sitting desk. The top of the desk contained boxes of metal gears, springs, shafts, and other clockwork odds and ends. But, that was not what concerned the Es-Allar currently. In front of him, laid like a centerpiece to the desk, was a folded parchment containing Denouncement of Cro-Zzharlo. He heaved a heavy sigh as he looked to the paper. The very thought of the Cro-Allar he once served, the very one who saved his life, condemned to this could not sit well with him.
He was there once more. In the cobbled streets of Ssesollosa in Hadar as the fighting still raged. The Es-Allar's breaths were short as he laid on the ground, his white eyes locked onto the Ailor soldier who stood but paces away from him, his blade and face stained crimson. On the ground before the soldier was the unmoving corpse of a grey-scaled Digmaan. The Ailor locked onto the the mage and made a slow pursuit forward, his steps shaky and his arms loosely swinging as he stumbled. Sselliaz watch on as the man to bring him his death stumbled towards him with a blank and ragged expression. Then, in a flash of dark blue scales, there was a strained cry as the Ailor's neck fell into the merciless jaws of a Cro-Allar. As the man crumpled, the Cro-Allar turned it's bloodstained features to Sselliaz and slowly made his way toward him. The rest was a blur. Slowly being lifted up in Zzharlo's claws. Catching sight of an arm laying on the cobbled road. The pain where his own left arm should be. Then, the calm peace of unconsciousness.
Sselliaz opened his eyes to see his desk once more before him. He was back within his study in the very Empire that was the catalyst for those memories. In his thoughts, his webbed hand drifted up to his left shoulder. He had been without the limb for weeks after he was saved. Letting out a deep sigh, Sselliaz leaned back in his chair and slowly slipped a lemon-candy into his wide mouth. He closed his eyes once more and slowly let his mind wander once again.
Perhaps a part two if I ever feeling like fleshing more history of this froggo out...
