The vial spells no good, but you don't have the time to figure out how to handle it. The goal now is to hide it properly.
Some sort of a personal container is in order, you could slip the item into, and a spell suitable does occur. First, you dig in the snow, to retrieve some of the frozen slumbering grass underneath.
Olo does not find this very noteworthy, staying focused on the watch. His body holds fast as if dead, only his eyes skim all around the place.
The blades collected you stretch with your hands, and under an incantation, they slowly lose their firmness, turning into flossy thread. This does capture the warrior's attention, and squinting he now watches you.
Other spell follows, one to weave and fasten the cords into admittedly feeble fabric, but one to serve your purposes.
A leather strings you have spare on you, to strap your shaman insignia. One will now serve to bind your creation, which takes its shape at last, a little sack, about one vole in size.
Olo chuckles when he sees the result, and resumes his duty, which suits you well. When his gaze leaves to the side, you quickly store the vial inside.
Now that's taken care of, you can at least somewhat inconspicuously examine it. First, you sniff it, prompting to make Olo laugh again.
It has Flax's scent on it, but that you cannot draw from, he held it in his hands. That is about the smell of it, disregarding the blood portion, so it is the magic traces you seek next.
Curiously, the Flax's enchantment it bears not, yet there is another to be sensed, and identified rather easily to boot. It is Elév's magic!
Olo seems rather puzzled, perhaps for his source of amusement just grew still.
"Muh?" he gargles. and rocks his head wild. "Humuh, nh!"
"What?" you ask, processing the strange message. " I can't understand you."
"Hem, meheh!" he responds, and points at the pouch you've made. Still, you cannot decipher a word nor sound, really, it seems almost as if he tried to speak in your own tongue, oblivious.
"Aye, but what do you want?"
"Nhem, meheh!" he declares, and turns his finger around, to his mouth open wide.
"What? You'd like to eat it?"
"Beh..." the man sighs, and waves you off.
This your brains have to exert some meaning from, and a while it may take. But recollecting your memories of this man, you cannot recall him speaking at all, actually. Always did he grunt, but little did that burden your mind, him being a devoted serf, and no one ever brought it up. A conclusion you draw in the end.
"Oh, you are dumb. Excuse me, I had not realized."
So did your little chat cease, but you can find your fun in a flash. Quickly you think of a new application of grass garments, and get busy.
Whilst gathering the undergrowth, you cannot bear to end the conversation at that. Thus, you inquire about his condition.
"Say, how did it happen? How long have you been such?"
Hard it is to answer questions without words, but it doesn't take long for the man to think of a reply.
He points at the tip of his spear, and drives the finger all the way to the ground.
"From the beginning, I see..."
A hunch you have, this might be a result of some malignant power in play. Hence, you try to sense such from the warrior, but none you find.
"There is no curse I can pick apart on you..."
A plaintive gesture he passes, assuring you it's alright. Instead of lingering there, again he comes to observe your work. And a bright fellow he looks, following along.
You managed to make some longer strings, but one night cannot be enough to produce a full raiment. Something small must do...
Replicating the weaving spell, you stitch them together, and try to measure the cloth against your body. Yet nothing but mockery can you produce, and no wonder - beastmen of north do not practice such crafts, you have a hard time wrapping your head around the task, and the fabric around your flesh.
Olo sees that you try to cover the legs, he stands up, and wants to lend a hand.
"Weh, meheh!"
"Beg your pardon?"
He takes the piece, lays it out on the ground, and shows you a pattern. With his help, it clicks.
"Oh I see, thank you!" you say pleased, and lift it back to your grip.
The previous spell has to be broken, and new portions measured, as you have been advised. After stitching these, as if by some grander and more elusive magic, a piece of clothing became of it.
You got +1 Grasscloth shorts.
Olo approved of the result, and checking on the gloomy skies, deduced it is time for him to switch. He leaves you, and is to send another.
"Good night." you wish him.
The fire is your sole companion nome, until Pik creeps close, all cranky.
"Good mor... Night... Whatev..."
He crashed himself down, a blank stare in his eyes, only his fair eyebrows raised upon seeing your new garment, but not even them he can keep up long. He looks rather drowsy.
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Topic: Dwarf Fortress -Drawings- : Tales of the Deer Wizard (Read 169883 times)