Dark almost jet black tendrils of hair fall in her face while brown almond eyes scan the room, her feet always shuffling her fingers always fidgeting. Izabelle is by no means tall her stature barely larger then a tall elf but her spirit seems to shine far brighter then her five foot two inch frame would seem to allow. Her curiosity seems to outweigh her good sense, if she ever had any, as she walked into a cave that most would, at the very least, have cautiously delved into; she bounded in, almost with a skip in her step and a gleam in her dark eyes that spoke of fire. Now she finds herself held captive in a room far from the surface and completely alone.
Her inner flame, as some might state, seems to burn brighter then most, some have even commented that flames seem to lick the backs of her eyes, as if such a thing is possible. There is a crackle around her, as if something perhaps not always good but usually interesting is about to happen. Izabelle tends to scamper or if not completely full out run wherever she needs to be; a hold over from her youth that has now become a part of her downfall.
Her fingers continue there restless assault to conjure something to remove the binds around her wrist if not then at the very least slip them. Her purple outfit would not be considered prim or proper but seems to reflect some of her heritage from the desert region of Calimshan. A dark purple bodice trimmed in light grey with a patchwork skirt of sorts matching, and but of course rounded off with a purple cape encase the slender figure as she writhes trying to get a hand free. She can only imagine how long she has been down here after being knocked out by a rudimentary rock trap; perhaps an hour?
Izabelle hears voices that seem to be speaking in some guttural language that she can only guess might be goblin, until a small green wretched smelling little humanoid makes his appearance. One is wearing what some might consider a hat, but a piece of badly dried out sewn together leather does not a hat make. The other has some sort of amulet around his neck, and it appears that they are fighting about what to do with her, as they squawk and point paying her little attention. She wonders how these things always happen to her neglecting the fact that it is usually herself that gets her into these situations, but curiosity might have killed the cat but Izabelle is fire, and those that play with fire tend to get burned.
It was many months ago now, Izzy was playing with her fire mephit whom she named Mine when she was rather small but currently refers to as Sparky. They were in their room at an Inn, not in the very best district of Waterdeep, but the streets were clean and it was easy enough to be a fire eater and earn enough coin for the rent. She had traveled here by originally stowing away on a caravan leaving Calimport, they were a bit surprised to find a dark skinned small girl in one of their large wooden boxes filled with costumes. The caravan was comprised of minstrels, traders and gypsies was the best denotation for them, who transversed the realm in brightly colored wagons and such. But all this really means little until, later that night asleep in her bed dreaming Izabelle heard a voice, dark and bright, mysterious and low resounding in her head, she shifted back and forth fitful and restless and it was in this night that Sparky also known as Mine, saw his mistress a child of only 19 glow, her brown skin seemed to be pulsing with brilliance. Mine stepped closer and he felt the heat radiating off her, before Sparky could awaken his beloved if sometimes impetuous mistress the room bust into flames, but she was not burning, well neither was he, but after all he was a fire mephit. He picked her up and flew out the second story window; it was in all reality more of a glide then actual flight with her one hundred and ten lbs. cradled in his arms.
Others had begun to evacuate the Inn and one such fool, Melvin, whom Sparky had never really cared for; his eyes always seemed to stay far too long on his Mistress’ figure, cried out “It was him, who stared the blaze”, with one finger pointing directly at Mine. At Melvin’s screeching Izzy woke up looked to Mine then to the burning building and scrambled to her feet. She grabbed a hold of Sparky before he could utter one syllable and before a fully formed mob could be assembled and fled Waterdeep that night with nothing but the smoldering clothing on her back.
So now tied up watching the two goblins bicker, she closes her eyes and calls for “Mine”. Perhaps it is not a true summoning spell, she has no hands to make the true motions but if he can hear her, she knows that he will appear. Eyes shut tight, all her mind focused on his little winged form “MINE”. When her eyes flutter open, it is still just her in a cell looking at two very ugly goblins from behind her cell bars. Then she heard a flap and without turning she knows who is behind her. Mine easily unties his mistress and then without even being directed opens his mouth and breaths a small fire ball at the goblin with a crappy leather hat, incinerating him on the spot. The goblin with the amulet still looking at where his friend used to be stands dumb founded as Izzy performs a simple knock spell to unlock her cell door, cracking him in the head as she runs out knocking him to the floor and presumably out.
Not knowing how she got to this particular room, she is unsure exactly how to get out of the caverns, but this time she remembers to look for traps.
Wed Dec 01, 2010 2:54 pm