Zalviira AravalBasic InformationAge: 112
Race: Drow, Vulkoori
Religion: Vulkoor
Origin: Xen'drik, Eberron
Virtues and VicesWrath
Pride
Diligence
Temperance
Her jaw set. The blade split her flesh open, leaving behind a blindingly stinging sensation. The drowess' jaw disobeyed her will then; she released a cry she couldn't hear. A strong hand gripped her shoulder, steadying a body that would have fallen to lie on the jungle floor.
"Do not forget how this will bring you to the Hunter's will. You are my daughter. You will not fall before Him."
She could not hear him over the blood rushing in her ears, carrying the venom, but she understood. The drowess steeled once more. Her body became rigid as the knife carved into her skin again, stripping slivers, leaving venom in the open wounds. A rough brush spread more venom over the wounds. The venom stung deeper than she remembered. Against her will, she screamed and broke through her father's hand, but was powerless enough to fall to the ground.
"Weak . . . weak . . . you're weak . . . You're not my daughter . . . "
Zalviira couldn't see it, but she knew a knife was held over her, aimed at the spot between her shoulder blades. She knew it morphed into a sacrificial blade, curved like a scorpion's tail. Something was wrong. Vulkoor would never make his people sacrifice each other, much less their own daughters for falling to the ground. Only outsiders. Only intruders. Not her. For all the Hunter's love, not her.
The knife fell.
Then she stirred. Her rubies passed over the still-sleeping human beside her. A bitter hiss escaped her; the pain was gone, but the pain of faithlessness took its place. She has said too much. Fraternized with outsiders. Then again, isn't it all necessary for survival? Zalviira felt at her shoulder blades: no, there were no new markings. She laid back beside him, folded her hands over her chest, and struggled to enter meditation once more. Ergo, she kissed Thaon's cheek, left the bed, and prostrated herself in prayer.
