(Oh hey look I'm feeling evil today. Also sorry if this is long but it just felt like a longer chapter to me and I just wanted to go ham with the writing today. Not completely sure this is how Bora would act seeing as I haven't interacted with him much, but I'm going by what I've seen)

A menacing figure stormed down the hallways of the massive underground castle, the sound of his heavy boots echoing through the stone hallways. A small vial filled with a shifting silver liquid was stashed safely into his pocket as he turned into the large ballroom. His piercing orange eyes quickly glanced about the room as he continued on his march through the room.

The gathering drow elven nobles and guards moved out of the way as he made his way over to a temporary bar, the bartender freezing upon seeing the emperor, the tyrant Zeerith, marching over to him.

"You. Come with me," the emperor growled at him with a beckoning motion of his finger, baring his sharp teeth ever so slightly. He watched silently as the younger bartender hurried around to the front of the bar. Zeerith quickly grabbed the bartenders arm, earning a yelp of surprise before he shadow jumped the two of them out of the ballroom.

"M-Mi'Lord?" The drow bartender asked in a small, wavering voice. Despite being about equal size of roughly seven foot, the emperor seemed to look down at the bartender.

"I have a task for you boy. The Gilded Runedancer Imolil has gotten in my way and humiliated me for the last time," his deep voice rumbled out as he stared the bartender down. He felt his pupils narrow into slits as the younger drow elf paused, the color draining slightly from his face. Good, the emperor thought to himself.

"I need you to slip this into his drink, then tell me," he demanded, grabbing the small vial from his pocket and shoving it forward. The bartender went even paler as he looked at the vial.

"I- I can't do th-" he started. Zeerith snarled as his free hand quickly shot forward, grabbing the other male by the throat and cutting him off. He gagged as his white eyes went wide and tried to free himself from Zeerith's iron grip.

"You can, and you will, if you know what's good for you boy," Zeerith hissed lowly. With his eyes watering the bartender gave a small sob and a very tiny nod. Zeerith tightened his grip ever so slightly to watch the other male wheeze, before he let him go.

With rough, ragged breaths the bartender collapsed to his knees, the emperor glaring down at him as he again offered the small silver vial. The younger drow looked up, his face almost deathly pale as he reached up with shaking hands, hesitantly grabbing the small vial.

"Good. He enjoys his wine, so make sure to keep that stocked for tonight.  Keep this silent, boy. We don't need everyone knowing about this yet," Zeerith huffed as he turned to leave, confident that the young drow wouldn't disobey him.

"B-but...but Mi'Lord..." he heard the young bartender whisper. He gave an agitated hiss as he stopped and turned back to him.

"What?" He demanded.

"What if...what if I can't? What if he finds out?" He whispered, his entire body visibly trembling. The emperor paused, his ear twitching.

"Then there will be two bodies tonight. So do not fail me."

*** *** ***

Imolil casually leaned back against his chair as his soft golden eyes scanned around the ballroom. He could feel the beat of the music within his chest as he watched people dance to the beat, a small smile on his face. Even without his hearing, he had always loved music. The way he could feel the deep drums within his chest and through the soles of his feet gave him the willpower he needed to learn to weave runes through movement, rather than verbal speech.

He shifted slightly in his chair as he brushed his loose golden hair out of his eyes. Usually he had it back and away from his face, but he felt like leaving it down for this party. A celebration dedicated originally to harvest and life on the surface, adapted to be a celebration of both life and love in the Underdark. He believed the equivalent to the humans was...Valentines day? Something along those lines. He never cared much for human festivals...they stole most of what they celebrated anyway.

He looked over at his runic tattooed hand with a slight pout, seeing the wine glass he held was nearly empty. With a small huff he finished up what was in the bottle, before the 7'5 male got up gracefully. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a familiar, pale skinned figure. He paused as a smile graced his face, recognizing the figure as his friend- no, his best friend, Bora. Among the dark skinned drow elves, his pale complexion stood out harshly, despite himself being a full drow. Like Imolil, he was a bit different from the normal populace with Bora being completely albinistic.

Imolil gave a small laugh at seeing Bora getting pulled into another conversation after having just managed to excuse himself from the previous one. He gave a gleeful wave over at the Szarki- the term given to albino drows- as Bora seemed to notice him. Even through the veil that covered his face, Imolil could tell that he was giving him a pleading look.

You got this man, he sighed with a playful smile from across the room. Bora's eyebrows furrowed slightly, just noticeably enough to where Imolil could see it. The Gilded Runedancer gave a laugh, feeling his vocal chords working within his throat as he gave his friend a playful wave of his hand.

With graceful strides he hurried over to the bar where the drinks were being served. He smiled at the two bartenders working in the back, giving a small wave as the younger one stopped and stared at him. He blinked at him curiously and gave a tilt of his head, noticing his almost...frightened stare? He must have only just entered the bar seeing as he wasn't there earlier when the party was just starting.

Can I have a refill on this please? The Fae one from Saevartel, he signed with a curious look. The younger drow bartender nodded as he carefully grabbed the empty glass from the counter, turning to go fetch a bottle.

Don't mind him, Imolil. It's his first big party in the castle. He's just nervous, the other bartender signed. Imolil smiled and gave an understanding nod at that.

Within moments the younger bartender returned, gently setting the wine glass down onto the counter with trembling hands. The runeweaver smiled as he took the glass into one hand, gently setting his other onto the younger ones shoulder. He paused a moment, recalling his verbal speech training.

"Good job," he said, once again feeling his vocal chords working in his throat. The young bartender looked about ready to cry at the compliment, his white eyes watering. The deaf elf gave a smile and gently pat the top of the young bartenders head before he turned, heading back to the table where he had been sitting.

He sat down, smiling broadly as he saw Bora finally making his way over to him. With a tired, deadpan look the Szarki sat down in a chair next to him. Imolil took a sip of his wine before putting the cup down to sign.

Having fun, Bora? He signed, his golden eyes mischievous as he playfully elbowed the other drow.

Not at all. Too big of a crowd, Bora signed with a deadpan.

I know you don't like crowds, but I wanted you to come. A celebration of life and love is welcome to everyone, and I wanted my best friend to be here, Imolil signed, playfully leaning back against his chair as he grabbed his eine glass, taking another sip. Even with the mask covering Bora's face, he could see the faint smile reach the corners of his eyes.

Thank you Imolil, Bora signed as the runeweaver smiled, taking another sip of his drink.

Of course. I did save a spot for you that's away from here so you can eat in peace, by the way. Just tell me when you start to get hungry, alright? Imolil signed. He shifted slightly in his chair as he practically felt Bora give a small sigh of relief.

Again, thank you Imolil. That means a lot to me, he signed, his eyes genuine. The deaf runeweaver smiled as he playfully leaned against the albino drow elf. He gave a small nod in answer as he took another sip of his wine.

He shifted again, a hand going over his stomach. He gave a small wince as he began to feel uncomfortably full, despite not having had much to eat yet. He must have grunted as he saw Bora turn and look at him, his friend's eyes concerned.

I'm alright, just getting comfortable, he signed as he set the mostly empty wine glass down on the table. Bora gave him a skeptical look before nodding. Imolil kept his hand over his stomach, whatever hunger he had rapidly diminishing. Perhaps he had eaten something bad...probably something from the surface. Maybe those cherries he had earlier weren't good? He didn't know, but whatever it was it was definitely messing with him.

He glanced up to see Zeerith slowly approaching them. The muscular male gave off a threatening aura, his orange eyes piercing and cold despite their hot color. His short silver hair was combed back neatly to his head and clearly recently trimmed. Honestly if he weren't such an arsehole, he might have even been attractive.

You're looking pale, Imolil. Are you alright? The muscular Zeerith signed, his hand motions curt and short. The Gilded Runedancer semi-glared at him before he clutched his stomach, grimacing hard enough to shut his eyes as a burning pain slowly flared up. He could feel Bora's concerned gaze on him, but with the emperor there, there was nothing the Szarki could do.

Imolil could only shake his head no in response.

Let me take you to the infirmary, the emperor signed. Imolil glanced up at the emperor through watery eyes, trying to judge the intimidating males intentions. There was something up, and Imolil knew it. Zeerith hated him, he would never offer to take him to the infirmary.

He felt a groan escape him as the burning pain in his stomach flared up again, and it took a great deal of energy to give a nod. Right now, an offer was an offer. Whatever was wrong with him was getting worse by the minute.

The emperor walked over and extended a hand to Imolil. The runeweaver glanced back at Bora, the albino drow looking both absolutely infuriated and terrified at the same time. Imolil gave a weak smile and gently patted Bora's shoulder, before he shakily stood. The emperor grabbed his hand roughly, before the room swirled sickeningly into blackness.

The darkness quickly faded and they reappeared by a large set of doors, though what they led to Imolil couldn't tell. He clutched his stomach as a wave of nausea smacked into him, the runeweaver's eyes shutting as he gave a cry.

A rough hand quickly grabbed his shoulder with an iron grip before he was shoved forwars. He gave a cry of surprise, and then pain, as he hit the stone ground. He felt the ground shudder slightly as he curled into a ball, gagging for air.

The burning in his stomach only grew worse and seemed to spread, moving into his chest and into his lower abdomen.

He forced himself to open his eyes a sliver, before they opened further in shock as he saw the two giant iron doors were shut tight, where they had once been open.

And he was on the inside of the doors, not the outside.

He pushed himself into a somewhat upright position before the nausea and burning became too much for him to handle. He gagged once, then teice, before his stomach heaved up its contents. He could taste the blood in his mouth as the burning sensation only got worse, spreading through his limbs and up through his neck.

Only glancing it out of the corner of his watery swirling vision, he saw the source of his pain. Silver veins slowly running up and down his arms.

He had been poisoned. He was, currently, in the middle of being assassinated.

Imolil gave out a cry of agony, of anguish, of anger as he collapsed back down onto his side, the burning only getting worse as the poison worked through and practically dissolved his system. His stomach heaved again, more blood and poison coming up and out onto the floor. He coughed and gagged as his throat burned, his eyes shut tight. He could feel his tears running down his face from the pain and the despair that he felt.

He grimaced as his entire body trembled, the runeweaver struggling to get a hand under him. Even moving his hand felt like dragging around a metal block as the poison destroyed his system from within. Hissing faintly he slowly pushed his front half up with trembling arms, his vision swirling. He heaved yet again, this time dry heaving up bits of the silver poison and blood.

He forced one leg under him as blood dripped down the side of his mouth, Imolil gritting his teeth as even his gums and tongue began to sting and burn. His vision swirled and his eyes burned as the poison spread ever quicker.

With a cry of frustration he forced himself into a kneeling position on his hands on knees. Good, now you have to stand, he told himself. Then you can shadow jump to the infirmary, and get help.

Even as he felt his heart slowing down and his lungs filling with his blood he looked over at the wall, panting heavily. The room he was in seemed to be an older armory of a sort, due to the types of racks along the wall. Great for pulling yourself up when you're stuck on the floor.

Imolil reached over with a hiss, his arm struggling to reach the lowest bar. No! He thought desperately as he forced his limbs to move to his command. No! I have to be able to reach! He thought, his eyes wide as tears fell down his cheeks.

The burning spread to his back and into his spine, the runeweaver hyper aware of the fact that he was rapidly losing feeling within his legs. He gave a sob as he gave one last push, his hand grabbing around the bottom rung.

His legs gave out as the poison destroyed his spinal column slowly, and his grip on the bottom rung failed.

Imolil collapsed back to the floor with an anguished cry, tears falling down his face as his cry turned into sobs, and then choking and gagging. Hopelessness, despair, distress, betrayal, and loneliness slammed into the dying runeweaver as he slowly lost feeling throughout his body from his legs up.

I'm not ready to die yet, he thought between his sobs. He could still feel the tears running down his face as he cried in agony. I don't want to die here! I don't want to die like this! Please, not like this! He didn't know who he was begging to, or for. But he hoped by some miracle that someone or something would come and save him...or at least put him out of his misery sooner.

His cries and sobs of anguish slowly died down into whimpers as he laid on the cold stone floor of the old armory. He stared blankly at the other wall, unable to move at all as his golden eyes traced a crack in the stonework.

The ground trembled ever so slightly, snapping him from his fading thoughts.

Only seconds had passed before he was aware of his paralyzed body being scooped into someone's arms. He forced his ever blurring vision to focus on the pale figure above him, managing to give a weak smile upon recognizing his best friend Bora. He could barely see him frantically checking him over, his eyes wide with panic. But he still had that damn mask on.

Imolil forced himself to take a few shuddering breaths as he watched Bora checking his heart rate, tears freely falling down his face and wetting the cloth mask that covered his mouth. The runeweaver could feel his heart rate growing ever slowly, and was well aware of his breathing growing lighter. He moved his head slightly so that it rested in the crook of Bora's elbow.

Bora frantically ripped the mask down, and Imolil could see his mouth moving as he spoke. But even as he tried to focus, the runeweaver's heart finally gave out. With a single jolt and a gag he went limp into the Szarki's arms, blood still trailing down his chin.

*** *** ***

Zeerith and Imolil belong to me
Bora belongs to -EclipsedShadows-