Hearing the pop of the wing Arabella cringed so hard she almost fell over. “Yeah, I think I get it now. Let’s hope that never happens again.” She leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes, imagining that she was in her happy place, the library, surrounded by books.
(That's fine, and the map sounds pretty cool!)
Iris shrugged the gratitude off, never really one to accept it. Awkwardly - and it was very rare that Iris Glarore was awkward - she replied, "You're welcome." Suddenly feeling very out of place, she bit back, "Try to watch out for one of the most vital components of your functioning body next time."
The voices become loud enough for everyone to hear. Those who know Eltin catch the last few shreds of conversation.
"-but an order is an order. Besides, when this is all over we will be too many to count."
With that, the metallic clunk of a lock mechanism reverberates throughout the room. A heavy door, the only surface that isn't blank stone, grinds open. Warm, soft light floods in. Two elven figures stand silhouetted at the entrance. One brings the torch closer and scans over the prisoners. They hesitate when they recognise one of their own in the cell. Another Yrnan elf. Sharing a look, they throw a small loaf of bread onto the floor. It clatters forward like it was a rock instead of something edible. The elves back out and slam the door shut. Darkness returns to the room as the lock clicks once more.
Azriel nearly yells when the door opens, but holds her tongue. She backs into the corner as far as physically possible, hiding herself in her wings. You are an idiot. You should have just stayed home. Then this never would have happened.
Cursing violent streams over the elves and their dead bodies in Eltin, Iris sent the loaf a look of pure disgust. "What're we suppose to do? Use that bread as a weapon? It'd probably work just as well as a bullet," she exaggerated.
Her mind turned over the phrases she caught. Translating them for the group, she watched how it was interpreted.
"W-what is that supposed to mean?" Azriel says, her Brachish muffled by her wings, which she hasn't moved since she hid herself in them. "Maybe they're trying to recruit an army?"
"They expect to receive an army that will willingly follow their commands after they take said army out of prison cells." Pausing for a breath, Iris continued, "Sounds legit."
Continuing to murmur to herself, Iris considered the words. They were clearly following an order, and had seemed surprised to find one of their own in the cell. But they had made no moves to rescue her, she thought bitterly. Immediately, she memorized their features onto a long list of revenges.
"'When this is all over we will be too many to count.'" She repeated to herself. What in the world could that mean?
Azriel hurriedly fixed the feathers on her wing. It looked all crumpled, and it gave her some form of control as she pondered the statement.
"And there's also the matter of how the hell we escape this place," Iris deduced logically, speaking in Medein. "We should probably spend some of our ever present, high levels of energy on that." Promptly she translated her opinion to Brachish.
For the first time since she'd been in the cell, Azriel smiled. High levels of energy were usually her thing. But the whole "being-trapped-in-a-prison-cell-with-several-other-people-" thing was really putting a damper on that.
Iris states at the loaf of bread. Eyes lingering on every individual, she gestures toward it. "That's up for grabs. Anyone, really." She can feel herself numbing slightly on the inside, anyway. And she'd had enough at the inn.
(fff I realised I forgot something really important. All angels have a phoenix companion. My bad. For the sake of the story, I have a suggestion. Phoenixes can reform after a period of time when they're killed. When Azriel was taken, her phoenix was killed. This can be a very traumatic experience for an angel. There's also a chance that they will never come back. So Azriel doesn't know the state of her companion. (also for naming purpose, Fletan is a very breathy, lyrical language and phoenixes are usually named with Fletan but it's up to you))
(Oh heck that would've been good to know lmao. It's all good, though.)
(Loll)
(What are some good Phoenix names? Cause idk.)
(Yeah..sorry 'bout that. There's some info on the phoenixes on the info page if you want to check that)
(Lemme think a minute)
Azriel opened her wings to look at the bread. She was starting to feel dizzy, but she wasn't going to take the food that someone else probably needed more. She kept her wings folded at her sides, curling up in her corner. She felt completely alone. With no phoenix, no friends, no family, and no sky, she began to panic. She didn't know what she would do if her phoenix was gone. Nothing made sense anymore.
(Here are some canon phoenix names- Ignavess, Nafluin…and some other Fletan names- Illiahas, Ahyin, Vuulsa…that's all I got for inspiration. Honestly, I'm braindead right now I can't think)
Studying Azriel, Iris was immediately met with the very obvious fact that the angel was probably in mourning of her companion. She also just went through excruciating pain. Iris reached for the loaf to break a piece off for her. "This thing is actually made of rock," Iris stared in disbelief.
Azriel sniffed, nearly smiling but finding herself too exhausted to do so. "I hear prison food often is," she said quietly. What if they had killed Ahyin? She felt like she was being stabbed at the thought. NO. Surely, they couldn't have. Ahyin would have killed them first. Surely, she had escaped… right?
She handed the loaf, if it could even be called such, to Azriel. "I'm sure your phoenix made it out. You seem like a tough one, I bet your phoenix was, too." Iris ended lamely; ugh, why was she so awkward all of a sudden? Dismissing the very thought, Iris pointed to the bread. "Have fun gnawing at that thing."
"Oh, I - thank you, but I only rarely eat," she said quietly. "And, er, thank you for the thought," she said, trying to act optimistic and failing utterly. She hugged her wings tighter to herself.
Iris merely arched a brow and sent the angel one of her infamous ice cold glares. One of these could get men running faster than cheetahs. "I'd rather not have to smell the flesh of a rotting corpse while trapped in a cell. Eat the food," she orders, wincing at the word 'food'.
Azriel slammed the bread into the ground, breaking it into miniscule pieces. "Oh no. Look what I've done," she said with no emotion whatsoever. She scooped the pieces into a small pile and promptly ignored it.