Dark red eyes wandered over the wood, and a pair of full, lush lips curved into a light smile, as Lac'nala looked around the empty wood. Her trademark attire was even tighter than she normally wore it, accentuating her form, making her that much more noticeable to any eyes that happened to see her. Her dark skin contrasted with the light colored top and skirt. Her bare feet revealed well kept nails, and her hair, though long enough to reach the ground, was pulled into a bun-and-tail, keeping the end just off the ground.

Her harp was nowhere to be found, kept in the room in the Purple Lantern where she stayed. She had come here simply because everyone said that it was too dangerous for a female to come alone. In all honesty, she was here to prove them wrong.

A low hum broke from her lips, as she hummed a few bars of her favorite love song. Love. Something she scorned, and had never felt. She didn't believe in it. Slowly, her body began to move, exhibiting an unnatural grace that had nothing to do with practice, and everything to do with the deadly society she had been raised in.

Erolam watched the drow from the shadows, skin blending with the darkness that haunted these woods, a little bit of the plane of darkness. He smiled, observing her intently. A pink tongue flashed over his lips as he watched, beginning to imagine the taste of drow blood. This one seemed helpless enough, and it would be a new taste, as the other drow were almost always outclassed him in most ways.

He leaned up against a tree, weight making the dead trunk groan as it held up the satyr-demon. He clenched a cloak in one hand and his saw-toothed glaive in the other, Edge crusty with blood. Any other blade would have rusted, or at least stained. But this particular spear was forged in the depths of the abyss, used in combat by a Barbazu, an elite shock troop in demonic armies, whose name was Abaelshazarr. And currently took residence in him. Being infused, the demon was not only in his mind, but was part of him, only physical mark it had made so far being the red sigil that stood clearly against one eye.

The drow began to dance, and Erolam found his eyes wandering her form. Deciding it was best to step in now, when she was off-guard, Erolam pushed off the tree and walked towards her, cloak lying in the leaves, glaive resting in the crook of his arm as he clapped with large, clawed hands.

“Very nice, Drow.” He said simply, voice low and holding all the musical quality of crunching gravel. “I enjoy a good show.” He laughed simply, appearing completely at home in the woods. Silver eyes gleamed in the darkness, seeming to hold a light of their own. A faint odor of brimstone flowed from his large form, a scent of beauty to his own nostrils.

His own hostile signs were answered by two different appearances from Lac'nala: a dagger, pulled from where it had been resting in her tunic, in her right hand, and her left was wreathed in arcane energy as she pulled her only spell to the forefront of her mind.

Her eyes narrowed, and the blade was pointed directly at him. "Hmph. One would THINK that someone aiming to compliment me would AT LEAST have the common sense to NOT carry a weapon in plain sight. After all, I might think you had.... DISHONORABLE intentions," she said with a sneer.

Twirling the dagger around her hand, she resheathed it between her breasts, and then curtsied ever so slightly. "Since you have been so rude, I suppose it is up to ME to start the introductions. I am Lac'nala d'Streea. Do not let my name fool you, however," she said, her mouth turning up slightly at the corner. "I am VERY much attached to life. There are just those that I wish were... NOT so attached." She smiled sadistically. "I must say, I never thought a Barbazu's companion... vessel... WHATEVER it is that you call yourself, would tangle with a female Drow, even one so seemingly unarmed," she said innocently, but the smirk on her face belied the innocence.

Erolam cocked an eyebrow at the woman, amused by her actions. “Ah, but dear drow, these are dangerous times, are they not? And with all due respects, I myself am a weapon. And why would I harm one as you without knowing your business here? It’s quite plain you aren’t here hunting for me.” Erolam chuckled.

“But if it makes you feel any better, I will leave you to your illusions of safety.” Erolam set the glaive down and smiled, hands raised in mock surrender. “See? Nearly weaponless.” Erolam laughed heartily and looked her over. Her choice of weapon placement seemed quite peculiar, but not unenjoyable.

Erolam tipped his head to the side a little at her comment on abe. “Infused is the term you’re looking for. And as for your derogatory comments on me and my choice of action, I find it strange one who is as unarmed and near harmless as yourself would pick a fight with me, of all people.” Erolam swept a hand to the side on his last word, as if gesturing to a crowd of imaginary people.

“I am happy to meet you, Lac’nala. My name is Erolam.” He swept two outstretched fingers to his belly and bowed lightly, keeping his head up. “I must say, you are an interesting one. So cocky for a drow woman who is not even a priestess of lolth.” He said it as if an insult, which it could very well be taken to be.

She smirked when he said she was unarmed and harmless. "That is you mistake. You think me unarmed, then you are a poor fool who has no knowledge of the TRUE danger of a Drow." She shook her head. "PARTICULARLY a female."

But her tirade was cut short when he mentioned Lolth. Her eyes narrowed, and a blaze of rage burned into sight behind the redness of her eyes. "That cool person, as well as all like her, are unjustly made better than the very mortal strand that they came from." She bit her words off with a vehemence that would have caught the attention of ANYONE listening. "They, like us, were once mortal. Only through extreme power -- mostly STOLEN power -- have they attained immortality. It is MY goal to give them something to fear."

She smirked darkly, and her eyes seemed to gain a bit of a bloodlust to them. "They will learn to fear the Death-Seeker," she said, referring to the meaning of her own name.

Erolam bent over laughing, hands on his knees. He nearly dropped the glaive. This little woman thought she could make a big enough difference to make the drow fear her? He knew much better fighters, one of them a drow with as many dangerous toys as fingers on his hand.

Erolam shook his head as he stood, bulky form sending a large crack in the tree as he leaned into it. “The drow do not fear death, little one. They fear their goddess. They fear spiders. The drow fear power. If you want to make them cower, show them might. Not the sharp end of a blade. It's not death they're afraid of. It's the hint of death.”

He stood up to his full height, rather intimidating as it was. A large, black, muscular demon with ebony horns, glowing silver eyes, and thin white cracks in the black shade of his skin. He held his glaive, a demonic weapon forged in the pits of the abyss.

Erolam chuckled. “But they shoot you down if you come to them all high and mighty. You need to appear meek and harmless to them.” Erolam swept his cloak on and turned into his drow-like form, scholarly as it seemed. He placed his spectacles on his nose and smiled weakly.

She snarled at him. "I don't know where you were born, but apparently they didn't teach you to listen very well. I said nothing about making the Drow fear me," she said with a snort as he shape-changed into a scholarly Drow. "And in our society... just to give you a heads up? They would KILL you. We are WARRIORS, not scholars," she said.

"The GODS will learn to fear my name, not the Drow. But when they learn of my exploits, they WILL fear me." She smiled darkly. "I will give them something to worry about. I will see to it that they do not continue to keep their ill-gotten immortality without worry," she hissed.

Erolam grinned at her. “They will respect me. I am a demon, one of the few beings they hold any respect for. And not without good reason.” He smiled at her. Her spoken thoughts made him smile. “You're very opinionated. And stubborn. Not sure if I like it yet.” He frowned and turned back into his large satyr-like form.

Silver eyes studied her seriously. Her words could be taken as a threat, and it was never a good idea to threaten a demon. “Watch your words carefully, drow. They will get you in trouble when spoken to the wrong people.” He licked his lips as he fantasized about biting into her flesh.

“I am one of those people.”

She snorted. "Don't bother trying to intimidate me. I've stared down the demon of the Initiation Ceremony for future High Priestesses." She shook her head. "I've had him on top of me, and never feared for a moment. What makes you think a mere POSSESSED would frighten me?"

She shook her head. "I'm not impressed by threats," she said, and turned, beginning to dance once more, ignoring him for the most part. Though if he decided to attack her, she would be forced to retaliate.

Abaelshazarr's unholy aura rolled off erolam in waves, making his blood run, his muscles empowered. His body was enveloped in a kind of negative radiance, seeming to absorb the light. He chuckled and the stench of brimstone, a fragrance to the demon's nostrils, became almost tangeable. The demon's eyes flared.

“Watch your words, woman. Even for a drow you are thick. We will likely met again, mark my words.” He wrapped his cloak around a forearm and bounded off into the darkness, jumping from tree trunk to tree trunk. His claws left huge gouge marks in the wood, nearly enough to place half your hand in.

Erolam stopped in a clearing a ways away and shook with hunger, seizing a furry creature with one hand and tearing into it with a sickly ripping sound.