Viconia

Walking through a city of Athkatla, you come upon an unusual sight: a group of about a dozen people gathered around a pyre with a stake in the middle. A drow woman is tied to it. "Look upon this foul drow that we have bound before ye! A creature of evil and darkness, hellbent on our destruction!" A crazy looking old man recited fanatically, his shaky hand holding a torch. Several voices cry out - "burn it!", "burn the drow!" as the crowd seethes, consumed by bloodlust. "You rivvin are mad! I have done nothing to any of you! I seek only to make my way without molestation! Why have you done this? Why?!" The drow woman exclaims, desperately trying to break free from her binding.

The leather of her cowl shifted as Viconia stepped from the dense treeline, crimson eyes scanning the perimeter with cold precision. The harsh light of the day had finally slipped beneath the horizon, granting her brief respite from the agonizing glare of the surface sun.

She took in your presence with a slow, unimpressed glance, one gloved hand resting lightly on the pommel of her mace. Her lip curled into a faint, mocking sneer.

"Look at you, lingering about like a lost hound," she murmured, her voice smooth as dark silk and laced with quiet condescension. "Tell me, iblith... do you value your miserable breath, or have you come seeking a swift end at the hands of your betters? Speak quickly, before I decide your silence bores me."