The first of the three counterparts lay draped across a lounging chair, indolently coughing for a moment before continuing her story.
Neitar Inthuul was sleek, sharp, cold. Beautiful as a fine onyx statue, monocrome aside from her thin, vicious scarlet eyes. Through her demeanour was sluggish, distant, slurred, everything else about the telepath was classy and almost otherworldly in form. "...So... this shrill liddle Gobline man... he's livin' inside tha wine barrulz tha entire time... Eatin' scraps inside place, 'e was... Poor lite sweatheart..." Short backcombed white hair, small preened eyebrows, full black-coated lips, and the black knife-point angular tattoos below her eyes made for an image far too predatory to be making any remark so sympathetically. "So, 'course, Zuokx... He picks up, and he drops... entire stone pillar on dere' booze shack he does! Propurly fuckin' crushes tha lite shit he does, I don' even tell 'im!... Ha!..."
She was severely stoned and hammered, explaining the speech tone, but the other two had learnt by now not to expect anything else from her during their lifetimes. She had picked up nicknames like 'Soft bitch', 'monster lover' and 'grim slow-ass milf' for a reason. As classy and expensive as the void-coloured, heavily feather-dowed dress she was wearing, the fact that she revealed practically none of her form said alot about her quite un-Drowy level of ambitions... At least, unless she was the best liar in the underdark.
"... Ah... Fuh... Wha' we talkin' bout 'gain?... My head... spinning..."