[Beta | Desert]
The giant kinda blinked at the sudden flow of words from the angelborn, and then just nodded in response to the much more sensible question Rurail had asked.
"Help be nice."His giant eyes looked over at Thales quickly, then back to the fishkin, smoke rising from a lifted eyebrow.
"That one speakings funny tone. The sayings of words."He'd puzzle over it for a while before finally grunting
"accent" in Giant and then shrugging.
The song was a low one at first, sending just the slightest of ripples across the water's surface, soft and barely able to be heard, but the wind itself seemed to bend to hear. It rose up, built on itself, formed a chorus out of the sounds of nature and the beating of the sun, rhythm given by the bard, melodies intertwining as though the man, on his knees next to a bowl of water, was instead a choir of sixty great sages and monks in a grand auditorium. As the sounds carried across the surface of the water, Daethwin let his voice fade away, the melody falling, but not stopping, though the Bard did. The bowl continued to ripple, the vibrations and waves forming patterns and swirls in it's surface, echoes of the song seemingly kept trapped by the bowl, continuing to give out sound, as if the water sang. The sunlight's reflections glinted different colors as they refracted from minerals in the bowl's inner surface, focused by the pattern of rippling water into an image; the drow...
...were clearly in the middle of a heated conversation.
"L'phish zikowt zhah aluin ulu inbau udossa jal elggen xuil nindol thalack..."[The Red Tribe is going to get us all killed with this war]
"Ol zhah natha mzild hyrr'ol plynn pholor l'martheo. Mal'ai."[It's a more honest take on the situation. Idiot.]
"Jhal ol zhah nind emp'poss ulu malar lu'udosst ulu rahss l'thiin. L'phraktos er'griff zhaun dos della l'statha bauth l'draa Phish sargtlinen lu'l'sarah hamil tialej Leurl dal l'harlil..."[But it's their job to fight and ours to handle animals. The gods only know you told the story about the two Red warriors and the camel drinking mud from the bottom...]
There was a sound rather like someone getting hit upside the head with a staff in a playful-yet serious manner to match that exact action just now fully coming into focus as the ripples slowed. It was more than just the two pastoral and feuding elves - practically a whole wandering camp. Or, at least, most of it - there weren't enough animals to make a worthwhile herd, even in the desert. Clearly, the bulk of the tribe was elsewhere with the rest. Among the practical-desert-garbed elves stood towering golems, with strange little sand tornadoes revolving around their legs. One such golem - the biggest of them - had what looked like two sand snakes curled around his huge, blocky lower body.
The image blurred, and a muffled voice spoke. Daethwin would immediately understand a caster had blocked him, but the idea to maybe move his head back from the bowl occurred about a second too late. Instead of trying to dodge, he instead mashed his face into the sand, preventing the sudden sloshing surge of scalding water from boiling his eyes at the cost of part of his ear and the back of his head - all in all, a worthy trade.
[6 HP damage. Second-degree burns, whoo!] It was lucky for the bard that he had scryed through water - a fireball of that magnitude through a glass would have been considerably more fatal.
***
[Alpha | Wherever Mor Is]
"If they can't protect their souls from being stolen, then they deserve it, don't they?"The slightly swollen body the necropriest was inhabiting nodded and croaked in agreement with the blood elf.
"Only if it's mine being stolen. Or kids, except when it's needed for an emergency."***
[Alpha | The Shop Where Myr Is]
Unfortunately for the Winterfae, "foolish" did not always translate into "stupid."
"Unless those acorns grow into trees that bear gems as fruits, no thank you."
He scratched at an ear, quietly thanking himself for wearing the iron studs today. A shame he didn't have salt to pour...
"Counter-proposition: in exchange for all of my goods and services, you grant me three favors. The first, which is to be paid upon agreement, is a pint of your blood. I have a silver tool by which you can donate so as to avoid any lasting harm, and a bloodroot potion for your use as well. Additional acceptable alternatives include an equivalent amount of blood from a fey of equal or greater power than yourself, the magical potency equivalent in lesser fae blood, or several hairs from the head of your Queen. Secondly, upon the event of my imminent death - which you will not assist unless I, in sound mind or pure desperation, request - I ask that you transform me into a changeling. Lastly, to make the second favor fully legal, I ask that you accept myself and family giving fealty and service as vassals. In exchange, you gain possession of all current magical goods in my store not currently owned by anyone else, taxes, my family following you around, access to my powers, loyalty, service, so on in good faith and confidence."
Or, in shorter words: "If you let me join your party and make me immortal before I die, I and my family will gladly be your bitch."
***
[Alpha | Mudering Spree]
Frozen murderous sexy times ensue. Assorted people die with a huge grin frozen on their face and other things frozen elsewhere on their body.
Author
Topic: Adventuring Party, Act 1: A Tale Of Two Hamlets (Read 37578 times)