The door of the Coach swung open and two more Warlords rushed out to hand down a beautiful woman, with long black hair, golden eyes, and light brown skin. She was paler than most of the long-lived of Dhemlan; her kind could not bear the direct kiss of the sun. It was only that pallor and the age in her glittering eyes that gave her away for what she was, the scent of dead flesh covered up by expensive perfume and blood.
Heketah, High Priestess of Hell, dead for other fifty thousand years.
"Thank you," she said batting her eyes at her escorts, her voice a girlish titter. She always spoke like that, even while detailing the cruelest punishments she could devise. Several in the crowd shuddered to hear it. "And, no, Ralt, I don't think there is."
Her eyes scanned the crowd and her lip curled. "I don't think everyone is here. Can you not see who is missing?"
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2013-03-08 07:18 am (UTC)Heketah, High Priestess of Hell, dead for other fifty thousand years.
"Thank you," she said batting her eyes at her escorts, her voice a girlish titter. She always spoke like that, even while detailing the cruelest punishments she could devise. Several in the crowd shuddered to hear it. "And, no, Ralt, I don't think there is."
Her eyes scanned the crowd and her lip curled. "I don't think everyone is here. Can you not see who is missing?"