Roleplay

Fumbling fingers, strained breaths, narrowed eyes and dilated pupils. Nervous. Nervnyy. He was fearful. No. He was calculating. His fingers stopped moving and instead were linked together, he then brought them up to his scared chin at the base of his swollen lip; as if he were praying to some unknown deity. Waiting. A golden pendent hung from his neck, shaped much like the sun yet dimmed by the ages of wear. Yad. Poison. The dull shimmering pendent had been dipped in Cyanide. The room was dimly lit, he had assured that it was due to his sensitivity of bright lights, and there was an unmistakable musk that lingered in the stiff air. His breathing was slowing, much more relaxed than it had been before. His mind had accepted what was to come. His mouth opened, then closed again as his unkempt, bushy, brows furrowed together in thought. His tongue swept across his lower lip and he inhaled through his nose before lifting his gaze, opening his mouth he muttered his words slowly and precisely.
Prosti.
Thick. The air had become thick. There was no noise, not even from the outside willows. He pressed his fingers to his lips and, yet again, muttered his apology. He closed his eyes and leaned forward in his chair, the said thing creaking precariously from the shift of his weight. He took his time, opening his eyes deliberately. The soil that encompassed his irises were filled with dolor, no longer did they hold the façade of bravery. Drawing back, he brought his left hand over his eyelids and exhaled through his mouth before lifting his right hand; bringing it down with his palm extended towards the door just behind them. Chagrin. They could hear the door sweep open, groaning in agony as it did so, and heavy footfalls followed swiftly after. There was a slight ruffling of cloth, and the man sitting ahead held his head in regret before whispering under his breath while his thumb and forefinger caught the pendent hanging from his neck. Their gaze had never flitted from the man as he brought the pendent to his lips, not even as the words came from his mouth just before a sickening wisp of air had been cut through and a blow was brought to the back of their head.

Smert' vam.
Death to you.

These lands were foreign, frigid. Crisp was the air and like sickles the frosted wind felt as if it had cut through the wide girth of the endless walls and hallways they were led through. Silent. Not a single one of the guards leading them through the seemingly endless labyrinth of frozen halls said anything, other than the occasional grunt or the nod of their heads signaling they were to turn the next corner. They had been here but a few days and were immediately sent into solitary confinement; though, granted, that is where they had asked to be placed. Of course, it was an odd request which granted them a favorable position. When one is unclear, they are easy to dismantle in terms of authority and are far more likely to be swayed. However, their terms were terminated by a new set of faces which held authority, which led them up to this incredibly precarious event. They were being moved to the common cell blocks, as they were not fit to be contained any longer in the more grave of areas; especially not since new arrivals would be here soon, carrying new criminals and guardsmen alike.
Upon stopping in front of a padded and locked door, Elwen waited patiently and idly as the guard on their right lifted a hand to open the door and allow the guard on their left to enter first before giving the all clear. Upon seeing the new and far more spacious environment, Elwen quickly noted the drop in temperature and the faint breeze that shifted throughout the seemingly desolate area. There were not many who wandered here, they noted, and those who remained were either guards keeping watchful eye or prisoners huddled together in a vain attempt to conjure up some sort of warmth. As the guardsmen began to descend along towards the lower level, Elwen followed suit just before they were told their new room number and offered a set of directions from this area. Without further communication, the guards turned on their heels and left to return to the upper level; no doubt in order to observe the area with their fellow watchmen.

Pulling at the scarf around their neck, Elwen adjusted it so that it covered the lower portion of their face, along with their shoulders and their torso. Giving a slow turn of their heads they took note of the groups which had already formed prior to their arrival, and of the lonesome stragglers that kept to themselves picking at undoubtedly stale chunks of bread. There were a few who sat at tables, but a good majority were seated at the corners of the spacious and open room. Taking a step forward, they began to make their way towards one of the empty tables. It would be best to merely observe for today, as they were one of the fresh, though not considerably so, faces. Lowering themselves onto a seat, they ducked their head in order to pull their hood over the crown of their head; crossing their arms over their chest, they stared down blankly at the tabletop. Silence. Not even a whisper from the wind. It was mildly concerning how not even the spirits were here, as to just how Hellish this place truly was. What the man had said, Elwen had been stuck upon his words for quite some time. But, now. Now they understood.

This place harbored Death itself.

Molites' za dushi dezertirovali.
Pray for the souls deserted.