Author: Maglos
Title: An Unprecedented Meeting
Date: 2011-01-04 09:48:32
Type: Logs
Synopsis: Thrend Lyksae arranges a trip to visit the Elan Pah, an alliance of elves. While his hatred of the elven tribes in general affects him, he presses forth to use his talents in understanding tribal cultures and languages to attempt to work against a threat. Unfortunately for Thrend, his "understanding" of tribal cultures didn't include some key bits of knowledge about the nature of certain individuals. He is forced to control himself and not say what he is thinking (or do what he secretly desires) on several occasions.

The Desert Rose [ES Quit]

Entering this busy bar is like stepping into a dimly-lit cave, the thick stone walls keeping it comfortably cool inside and adding to the cave-like feel of the place. A constant buzz of conversation fills the room, which is populated by elves from a variety of tribes. Narrow arrow slits on the western wall are draped with sandcloth to block the heat of the afternoon sun, but still let in a scant measure of filtered light. The sandcloth covers are rolled up and tied at dusk to let in the cool night breezes. The bar is on the north wall, and tables and chairs, most of them occupied, are grouped about the room in the shadows. On the south wall, a clear area provides a spot for dancing or entertainment to be performed. An elaborate archway in the eastern wall allows entry to a vibrantly-hued room,smoke writhing out past its entry curtain.

The desert elf outpost message board is propped up against the wall here.

A thick rug of shiny quirri hide lies on the floor beneath the arrow slits.

A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.

The corded, bronze-hued male elf is standing here.

The slender, crooked-nosed woman is standing here.

The sinewy, weather-worn man is standing here.

The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf is standing here.

The leanly muscled, topknotted elf is standing here, looking a bit winded.

A sinewy, ebon-skinned elf leans against the western wall, surveying the bar.

The dark-haired elf is standing here.

A slender, cold-eyed elven woman stands behind the bar, pouring drinks.

The burly, red-haired woman has arrived from the south.

The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf has arrived from the south.

The braided, ebony-skinned elf has arrived from the south.

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf has arrived from the south.


Dragging fingers through lank braids, the braided, ebony-skinned elf stops using her sweat-stained loose-fitting, gwoshi-hide headwrap.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf starts cleaning.


The braided, ebony-skinned elf puts her sweat-stained loose-fitting, gwoshi-hide headwrap into her stained hooded, greenish-grey greatcloak.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf brushes the dust off of light-red and brown streaked warpaint.

The corded, bronze-hued male elf starts cleaning.


The corded, bronze-hued male elf dusts himself off.



You start cleaning.

You dust yourself off.

The corded, bronze-hued male elf gestures a clawed arm for a large stone table as he moves across to take his seat.



The slim arrow slits allow a partially-obscured view outside, to the

broad tunnel that provides one of the entrances to the outpost.

[Near]

A war beetle is reclining here.

A war beetle is reclining here.

A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix is reclining here.

A reddish-shelled inix is reclining here.

A rugged elf with copper skin stands here, on vigilant watch.

A tall, darkly-tanned elven woman stands here.

A coppery elf woman of apparent youth stands here alertly.

Remarking as he lifts a hand to his his ribcage breastplate, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says to the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:

"Heru, I have come to speak for my tribe, as you asked. I didn't mean to wear Mother's flesh, but it was given to me during the earlier problems."

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf sits on a thick rug of quirri hide.


Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix opens its jaws, letting its tongue dart out to lick its nostrils.

You look up at the leanly muscled, topknotted elf.

Leanly muscular, this elf bears the athletic frame of a warrior. Primal strength is stretched taut along his lanky form, providing bulk where otherwise there might be none. This might make him a somewhat imposing presence to other races, given that this bulk is supplemented by a stature easily crossing five cords. Forearms and hands alike are marked with a wide array of scars. Some look to have been mere nicks, while others are gruesome, puffy swaths of poorly mended tissue. The elf's face is bound within flesh of a dirty golden hue, the contours of which emphasize a heavy, surly-looking brow. At most times, his chapped lips are locked in a natural frown cradled by a square jaw. He keeps his head closely shaved with the
exception of a black topknot.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf is in excellent condition.

His skin has a stonelike quality.
The leanly muscled, topknotted elf is using:














He is carrying:

nothing obvious

The sinewy, weather-worn man starts cleaning.

The corded, bronze-hued male elf sits at a large stone table.


Settling on the corded, bronze-hued male elf's right, the braided, ebony-skinned elf sits at a large stone table.


The sinewy, weather-worn man dusts himself off.


The leanly muscled, topknotted elf starts cleaning.


The leanly muscled, topknotted elf dusts himself off.


The slender, crooked-nosed woman sheathes a bloodied quirri-hilted, serrated bone scimitar.
The freckled, light-skinned man stares at the leanly muscled, topknotted elf for a few moments, his gaze fixed firmly on him.


The slender, crooked-nosed woman sheathes a curved, mantis-carved obsidian scimitar.


You think:

"Mother's flesh? He is an abomination."


His attention flitting aside for but an instant, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf looks down at you.

Gaze lit for him, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says to the leanly muscled, topknotted elf, in allundean:

"..Go an' watch the beetle an' inix for the Ivory, then."

Reaching out to slide the nearest off, the braided, ebony-skinned elf gets her ceramic mug from a large stone table.


The slender, crooked-nosed woman nods to the sinewy, weather-worn man.

At 1) a small wooden bar are:

a few empty seats.

At 2) a thick rug of quirri hide are:

the raw-boned, top-knotted elf, and a couple of empty seats.

At 3) a large stone table are:

the corded, bronze-hued male elf, the braided, ebony-skinned elf,

and some empty seats.


His lips drawing into a frown, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf asks the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:

"You do not wish me to speak?"


Briefly, the sinewy, weather-worn man looks at the leanly muscled, topknotted elf.


With a pause, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says, in allundean:

"..Nah mind.."


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf stands up from a thick rug of quirri hide.


The corded, bronze-hued male elf shouts, in allundean:

"Sahael! Close'a gates ah?"


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf walks east.



The freckled, light-skinned man eases onto a seat at a large stone table.


You sit on a thick rug of quirri hide.


The slender, cold-eyed elven woman turns and looses a loud, three-note whistle through the murder holes.

Just past the arrow slits, the tall, darkly-tanned elven woman closes the gate.


At 1) a small wooden bar are:

a few empty seats.

At 2) a thick rug of quirri hide are:

the freckled, light-skinned man, and a couple of empty seats.

At 3) a large stone table are:

the corded, bronze-hued male elf, the braided, ebony-skinned elf,

and some empty seats.


Just past the arrow slits, The tall, darkly-tanned elven woman shouts upwards, and the gates begin to grind closed.


You hear a man's voice shout from the east in allundean:

"Kija! You bring anything to smoke?"


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf has arrived from the east.


Ok.



You get your knot of dark-red, golden-flecked spice from your loose, crimson silk knapsack.

It is very light.

Just past the arrow slits, the tall, darkly-tanned elven woman shouts something.


Grunting as he lifts his thick arms to his chest, folding them there, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says to the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:

"If they want to speak with our tribe, they'll have to get used to it. I'm the only Akeita in the Pah who's not Gifted."

At a large stone table, the braided, ebony-skinned elf speaks, easing back against the chair.

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf beams you a jovial grin.



You begin speaking sirihish.

With a tilt of her head, the slender, crooked-nosed woman asks the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:

"Thanks. Ah din't know about this meetin - just kinda ran inta it. Should we wall up our minds?"


The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf smirks, casting a glance at the braided, ebony-skinned elf.

The braided, ebony-skinned elf gets her bleached-bone spice tube case from her fine pouched belt.

You suffer from use of the Way.

You build a psychic barrier around your mind.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf sits on a thick rug of quirri hide.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf puts his pile of allanaki coins into his dusty mesh carrying sling.

The braided, ebony-skinned elf opens a bleached-bone spice tube case.



You begin speaking allundean.

With a light sniff, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says to the leanly muscled, topknotted elf, in allundean:

"Come an' sit."


The sinewy, weather-worn man slings a long bone spear, inlaid with stones across his back.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf looks down at you.


The slender, crooked-nosed woman heads over to a large stone table and pulls out a few chairs.

The braided, ebony-skinned elf gets her pinch of black, viscous spice from her bleached-bone spice tube case.


Grunting as he lopes forward to claim a chair, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf sits at a large stone table.

With a gaze turned for you, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says to you, in allundean:

"We have'a chair for you here, Chosen."



As he holds up your knot of dark-red, golden-flecked spice, you say, in allundean:

"Unfortunately, this is only warspice...most of what I have is warspice."


At 1) a small wooden bar are:

a few empty seats.

At 2) a thick rug of quirri hide are:

the raw-boned, top-knotted elf, the freckled, light-skinned man,

and one empty seat.

At 3) a large stone table are:

the corded, bronze-hued male elf, the braided, ebony-skinned elf,

the leanly muscled, topknotted elf, and a few empty seats.

Keeping a hand on one empty chair, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to you, in allundean:

"Over here Chosen Sir, ah picked out one what don't wobble too much."



[Standing first]

You stand up from a thick rug of quirri hide.

You sit at a large stone table.

Balancing a pinch of black, vicious spice on her thumb, the braided, ebony-skinned elf offers it towards the corded, bronze-hued male elf.


The slender, crooked-nosed woman sits at a large stone table.


Just past the arrow slits, A reddish-shelled inix stretches its hind legs, arching its back.




You get your knot of black, viscous spice from your loose, crimson silk knapsack.

It is very light.

The corded, bronze-hued male elf shakes his head loosely, reaching out to swipe a mug from a large stone table.


The corded, bronze-hued male elf gets his ceramic mug from a large stone table.


With a passing gaze, the red maned, anakore-tattooed elf looks down at you.


Head dipping once, the braided, ebony-skinned elf puts her pinch of black, viscous spice into her bleached-bone spice tube case.


You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, you say in allundean, casually, as he holds up your knot of black, viscous spice:

"And the rest of this knot. Not much left."

The braided, ebony-skinned elf closes a bleached-bone spice tube case.



You give your knot of black, viscous spice to the corded, bronze-hued male elf.

The braided, ebony-skinned elf puts her bleached-bone spice tube case into her fine pouched belt.


!

You give your knot of dark-red, golden-flecked spice to the corded, bronze-hued male elf.


Lifting his arm as he observes the departure of its stoney texture, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says, in allundean:

"There, that'll be better. Heh."


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf stands up from a thick rug of quirri hide.


The braided, ebony-skinned elf sips from her ceramic mug.


At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, to the sinewy, weather-worn man, with a warm smile:

"So far just gittin everyone settled down, spice and alla that."

At one end, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf sits at a large stone table.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf puts his booklet of rolling papers onto a large stone table.

Motioning towards some full mugs on the table, the braided, ebony-skinned elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:

"Drinks for those that want it."


Just past the arrow slits, A reddish-shelled inix stretches its hind legs, arching its back.

Taking a chair next to her, the sinewy, weather-worn man sits at a large stone table.


The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf sits at a large stone table.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf gets his ceramic mug from a large stone table.




You get your blue and purple ceramic bottle from your loose, crimson silk knapsack.

It is very light, and about half full.



The raw-boned, top-knotted elf holds his ceramic mug.



It's about half full of a reddish liquid.



Ok.


At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, reaching for a mug with another smile to the braided, ebony-skinned elf:

"Aw, thanks Treya!"


Clumsy, the corded, bronze-hued male elf moves to sort spice before him on a large stone table.

The braided, ebony-skinned elf beams a smile at the slender, crooked-nosed woman.


The slender, crooked-nosed woman gets her ceramic mug from a large stone table.


At your table, the sinewy, weather-worn man says in sirihish, nodding sideward to the slender, crooked-nosed woman:

"Ah figured as much."



The slender, crooked-nosed woman holds her ceramic mug.



At your table, you say in allundean, holding up your blue and purple ceramic bottle:

"And some flame, I believe, for any that want it. Ah...here."


You give your blue and purple ceramic bottle to the sinewy, weather-worn man.


The braided, ebony-skinned elf closes a sizeable leather backpack.


The sinewy, weather-worn man holds his blue and purple ceramic bottle.


You are carrying:

a loose, crimson silk knapsack


On a large stone table (here) :

a booklet of rolling papers

some ceramic mugs

a couple of short lengths of bone

At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a few nods across a large stone table, first to the braided, ebony-skinned elf:

"This is Treya of'a Sun Runners. She is my second in'a Elan Pah.. an took care of our meets with'a Ivory in'a past."


The sinewy, weather-worn man looks down at his blue and purple ceramic bottle for a moment and then turns his head to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.


At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, lifting her ceramic mug up:

"Ta easier days and smooth sands."



You get your ceramic mug from a large stone table.

It is very light, and full.

The braided, ebony-skinned elf's head tilts in a nod.

It's full of a yellowish green liquid.


Slugging it back in a loud gulp, the slender, crooked-nosed woman drinks green honey mead from her ceramic mug.



You don't smell anything special.

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf drinks green honey mead from his ceramic mug.



You drink the green honey mead.

You do not feel thirsty.

You are full.


The sinewy, weather-worn man shrugs briefly and then tilts his blue and purple ceramic bottle back.

The braided, ebony-skinned elf sips from her ceramic mug.


The sinewy, weather-worn man drinks firestorm's flame from his blue and purple ceramic bottle.

Sorting a few lines before him on a sheet of spice-paper, the corded, bronze-hued male elf slides his knot of dark-red, golden-flecked spice to the table center.

The corded, bronze-hued male elf puts his knot of dark-red, golden-flecked spice onto a large stone table.

The corded, bronze-hued male elf puts his knot of black, viscous spice onto a large stone table.


You think:

"...there is a fucking mutant right here in front of me, got to be."

The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf leans back in his seat, crossing his arms casually.

At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a nod across to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf:

"Tohego of my tribe. Soh. He fought beside me this week against'a cursed Ashlayer an' many clawfoot."


The sinewy, weather-worn man's as he chugs down the contents of his blue and purple ceramic bottle, a small line of red liquid begins to run down his cheek.

Inching closer and winking at the braided, ebony-skinned elf, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.


After some nods around the table, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf gets his knot of black, viscous spice from a large stone table.


The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf folds his arms, leaning against the wall.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf gets his booklet of rolling papers from a large stone table.

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf draws a dusty durrit-claw skinning knife.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf starts cleaning.


The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf brushes the dust off of a bloodied durrit-claw skinning knife.

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf starts cleaning.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf quickly wipes the blood off of a bloodied durrit-claw skinning knife.

You suffer from use of the Way.

The slender, crooked-nosed woman stops using her ceramic mug.


The sinewy, weather-worn man lowers his blue and purple ceramic bottle onto the table with a satisfied sigh and then nods sideward to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.


At your table, you say in allundean, nodding simply as he gestures to the burly, red-haired woman, who nods slightly from her position near a large stone table:

"And this is Lorre, my bodyguard and one of the Lyksaean Warriors. She, myself, and the Faithful Lord slew another similar one..."

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf wipes his durrit-claw skinning knife on his dusty brown hide loincloth and sets to shave a corner from his knot of black, viscous spice.


At your table, you say in allundean:

"...north of the Muark lands."


The slender, crooked-nosed woman puts her ceramic mug onto a large stone table.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf stops holding his ceramic mug.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf holds his knot of black, viscous spice.


The slender, crooked-nosed woman gets her ceramic mug from a large stone table.


The sinewy, weather-worn man stops holding his blue and purple ceramic bottle.



You are carrying:

a ceramic mug

a loose, crimson silk knapsack


The braided, ebony-skinned elf sips from her ceramic mug.



It's less than half full of a yellowish green liquid.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf stops holding his knot of black, viscous spice.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf carefully rolls a pinch of spice with a booklet of rolling papers.

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf sheathes a durrit-claw skinning knife.


The corded, bronze-hued male elf drifts a nod across to you.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf puts his ceramic mug onto a large stone table.


The sinewy, weather-worn man gets his ceramic mug from a large stone table.


The leanly muscled, topknotted elf shoots a slight grin over toward the corded, bronze-hued male elf, for whatever reason. As he does, he lifts a hand to strip the helmet from his head.


Licking her lips, the slender, crooked-nosed woman chugs another mugful down.


The slender, crooked-nosed woman drinks green honey mead from her ceramic mug.


The leanly muscled, topknotted elf stops using his stained sandy-yellow chitinous helm.


You stop using your pair of spiked, chitin-backed gauntlets, revealing a crimson and grey seven-pronged star.



The raw-boned, top-knotted elf puts his booklet of rolling papers onto a large stone table.


The corded, bronze-hued male elf looks up at the burly, red-haired woman.



The sinewy, weather-worn man holds his ceramic mug.


Setting the empty mug to one side, the braided, ebony-skinned elf discards her ceramic mug.

You suffer from use of the Way.

A staff member sends:

"Sorry to interrupt, Shal here, can you log this beast of a meeting and send it to me as well as your clanfolkz?"


The slender, crooked-nosed woman drinks green honey mead from her ceramic mug.


At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a light sniff as his attention centers on you:

"Wha' would we speak on, Chosen?"


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf lights his solidly packed tube of spice from a nearby candle and draws a hearty puff, releasing the smoke through nose and mouth.

The sinewy, weather-worn man's eyes move between the corded, bronze-hued male elf and you as he lifts his ceramic mug to his lips.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf holds his solidly packed tube of spice.


A thin trail of rich, heady smoke trickles from the raw-boned, top-knotted elf's mouth as he smokes a solidly packed tube of spice.

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf's eyes become glassy-red and half-closed.



You send this message to the staff:

"I always log, so yep, got it under control."


The sinewy, weather-worn man frowns down at his ceramic mug as he lowers it.


The sinewy, weather-worn man stops holding his ceramic mug.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf stops holding his solidly packed tube of spice.



The sinewy, weather-worn man puts his ceramic mug onto a large stone table.


The slender, crooked-nosed woman wipes some dribbled liquid from her chin with the hem of one of her pair of scrub-camouflaged, sandcloth sleeves.


The slender, crooked-nosed woman puts her ceramic mug onto a large stone table.


The corded, bronze-hued male elf looks down at you.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf gives his solidly packed tube of spice to the corded, bronze-hued male elf.

Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.


At your table, you say in allundean, letting out a sigh as he sets your ceramic mug on a large stone table:

"The chief thought on my mind is likely one of the foremost thoughts in yours."

The leanly muscled, topknotted elf turns his attention toward you, remaining silent for the moment.

The sinewy, weather-worn man gets his ceramic mug from a large stone table.


Posture slouched against the back of the chair, the braided, ebony-skinned elf looks down at you.

The sinewy, weather-worn man holds his ceramic mug.


The sinewy, weather-worn man drinks green honey mead from his ceramic mug.



The raw-boned, top-knotted elf sits back with a lingering smile and crosses his arms loosely.

The sinewy, weather-worn man sips from his ceramic mug.


At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a short nod:

"One Fang..was las' believed to be in'a Xytrix Za, but we begin'a believe he is not one of'a Servants."



At your table, you say in allundean, as his hands encircle your ceramic mug:

"One Fang is his name, then?"


You suffer from use of the Way.


At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with his settle back in seat, lifting his ceramic mug, glancing across a large stone table:

"Tha' was it, Kah?"


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf gets his ceramic mug from a large stone table.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf holds his ceramic mug.


Nodding to the corded, bronze-hued male elf, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.


The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf narrows his eyes slightly, his weathered features becoming slightly drawn as he listens.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf shrugs at the corded, bronze-hued male elf and tilts his mug back.

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf drinks green honey mead from his ceramic mug.


Lips twisting in a thoughtful grimace, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.


You suffer from use of the Way.

Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.


At your table, you say in allundean, pursing his lips thoughtfully:

"Private Zak here has made his way to speak with you only recently about some things. I wished to come to answer any...questions...that you may have, if you have any."


The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.

At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a delayed nod for you:

"One Fang. He's been quiet late."

think Not that I want to really talk to that mutant fellow but he's in charge of a group of them. No getting around all of that.



You think:

"Not that I want to really talk to that mutant fellow but he's in charge of a group of them. No getting around all of that."

The braided, ebony-skinned elf's attention drifts from you towards the corded, bronze-hued male elf.

The leanly muscled, topknotted elf remains a silent presence at a large stone table. His eyes flit from one speaker to the next.



You think:

"...fuck. It could be worse, I suppose. I could have shown up and instead of seeing some mutant talking about abominable stuff, it could have been a whole fucking group of flying elves."


You feel slightly relieved.

At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with his mouth pursed:

"..Our aim is simple, an' carried by many now. We don' need to play games with words here. Wha' Thralls does'a Ivory know, an' do ya know where any are?"


With a faint nod, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf looks at the leanly muscled, topknotted elf.


The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf runs a tongue over his teeth, peering towards the arrow slits for a moment.

At your table, you say in allundean, nodding simply:

"Rondus Fale is one that has been confirmed. Lapitia Fale also seems suspect."

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, blinking:

"They're dragons?"



At your table, you say in allundean, his tone cool and calm as he glances to the slender, crooked-nosed woman:

"Surprise."

You suffer from use of the Way.

At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a distracted look for the braided, ebony-skinned elf:

"..The Black Pit ta.. like Sharak."


The sinewy, weather-worn man's eyes widen as he stares at the slender, crooked-nosed woman.

The braided, ebony-skinned elf's head bobs a few times.


You suffer from use of the Way.

You suffer from use of the Way.

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, with a shrug:

"Ain't ne'er heard of a Fale what looked like a dragon before. Learn somethin new every day ah guess."



At your table, you say in allundean, continuing slowly:

"I have heard disturbing news about a Merchant House as well. This has been disputed by some sources and confirmed by others."

Just past the arrow slits, someone opens the gate from the other side.


Just past the arrow slits, someone closes the gate.

The slim arrow slits allow a partially-obscured view outside, to the

broad tunnel that provides one of the entrances to the outpost.

[Near]

A tall, darkly-tanned elven woman stands here.

A war beetle is reclining here.

A war beetle is reclining here.

A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix is reclining here.

A reddish-shelled inix is reclining here.

A rugged elf with copper skin stands here, on vigilant watch.

A coppery elf woman of apparent youth stands here alertly.



A doorway leads out into a small shop.

[Far]

Nothing.

[Near]

An auburn-haired, dark-eyed elf lounges near the bottom of the stairs.

A thin, tanned elf stands behind the counter, selling goods.


You suffer from use of the Way.


The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf narrows his gaze.



The corded, bronze-hued male elf's attention settles on you.



The slender, crooked-nosed woman's glances shifts toward the western wall as the sound of creaking gates enters the room.


Leaning in, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.

At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, murmuring:

"Critters is all still there."


The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf intently scans the area.


The slender, crooked-nosed woman nods to the sinewy, weather-worn man.


The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf's eyes flick to the murder holes, looking carefully through.


At your table, you say in allundean, his gaze now resting on the corded, bronze-hued male elf as he speaks:

"I could not confirm it, but you ask what we know. There is suspicion about Kadius."


At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a cut nod for you:

"Ah'm told, Rondus is dead."


Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.


You think:

"I do not trust them much, but they have killed ashcallers. They know the threat they pose..."


At your table, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says in allundean, speaking up for the first time as he turns to regard you:

"Why's there suspicion about them?"


The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.

You suffer from use of the Way.

Brow furrowed, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.


The freckled, light-skinned man's gaze shifts and settles on the leanly muscled, topknotted elf, his lips pursed tightly.


The slender, crooked-nosed woman nods to the sinewy, weather-worn man.


Attention drifting from one speaker to the next, the braided, ebony-skinned elf scratches at a dark, dried bit of crust on her gloves.


The braided, ebony-skinned elf starts cleaning.


The braided, ebony-skinned elf works at cleaning a bloodied pair of dark leather, golden stitched gloves.

The sinewy, weather-worn man gives a sour grunt.


Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster opens the gate from the other side.


Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster has arrived from the north.


Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster closes the gate.


Leaning sideways, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf looks west.


The leanly muscled, topknotted elf merely stares at you, his expression one of expectance.

Just past the arrow slits, The very tall figure in a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster looks over some mounts.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf stands up from a large stone table.


The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf's features seem to illuminate with realization, his gaze becoming distant as his eyes widen.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf walks south.


Just past the arrow slits, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf has arrived from the south.


Just past the arrow slits, The very tall figure in a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster nods to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf.



At your table, you say in allundean, finally shrugging his shoulders belatedly, speaking almost grudgingly:

"The information collected...is not solid. Do you have anything to dispute that claim of suspicion?"


Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster opens a pouched, brown hide belt.


Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster closes a pouched, brown hide belt.


Just past the arrow slits, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf lowers the hood of a dusty desert-camouflaged sandcloth duster.


Just past the arrow slits, walking through among the mounts, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf asks the tall, darkly-tanned elven woman something.


You suffer from use of the Way.

The braided, ebony-skinned elf starts cleaning.


Just past the arrow slits, dusting off her hood, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf says something to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf.


At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with his settle back:

"..We have enough names for now."



The braided, ebony-skinned elf flicks some matter to the floor then rests both hands on her lap.

Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix opens its jaws, letting its tongue dart out to lick its nostrils.


The lithe, sandy-haired elf has arrived from the east.


Just past the arrow slits, eyeing her up and down, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf asks the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf something.


The lithe, sandy-haired elf gently drops to the ground.


The slender, crooked-nosed woman looks up at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.


Just past the arrow slits, The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf nods and floats to the ground softly.

Silently, the lithe, sandy-haired elf lowers down next to the corded, bronze-hued male elf in a seat nearby.

Just past the arrow slits, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf stops floating around and lies down to sleep.

Just past the arrow slits, A reddish-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.


The lithe, sandy-haired elf sits at a large stone table.


Shifting his gaze, the red maned, anakore-tattooed elf looks down at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.

Just past the arrow slits, The raw-boned, top-knotted elf raises his eyebrows.


At your table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says in sirihish, nodding to the lithe, sandy-haired elf:

"This here's Shattered, fer them what ain't never met'er. Scuse me, ah gotta see ta th'conversation outside."


The slender, crooked-nosed woman stands up from a large stone table.



At your table, you say in allundean, nodding once to the corded, bronze-hued male elf, his expression relaxing a bit:

"I think so, as well..."



You look up at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.

Standing average height for one of her race, this elves lanky body is

defined by few outstanding features. She possesses a small, pointed nose,

two brown eyes, and thin pale lips. Her hair flows down her shoulders in an

unkempt set of tangles and split ends, covered with a variety of dirt and

sands of varying colors from around Zalanthas. A few sun spots and

scratches adorn her ruddy and brownish skin, scattered about on worn arms

and legs that display packed muscle groups common to desert travelers.

The lithe, sandy-haired elf is in excellent condition.

Her skin has a stonelike quality.
The lithe, sandy-haired elf is using:




















At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a simple nod towards the lithe, sandy-haired elf:

"This is Shattered. She knows more of'a Thralls than I do."

Just past the arrow slits, shrugging, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf says something to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf.


The slender, crooked-nosed woman lets out a sigh and heads out to the yard.



The lithe, sandy-haired elf looks down at you.



The slender, crooked-nosed woman walks south.


Just past the arrow slits, the slender, crooked-nosed woman has arrived from the south.


You suffer from use of the Way.

Just past the arrow slits, warmly, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.


Just past the arrow slits, wrinkling his brow, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.


At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a look across to the lithe, sandy-haired elf:

"..How did Rondus fall?"



You think:

"...dear Sun King, had I known I would be surrounded by a cadre of fucking abomination-looking-things, I would have never come."


The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf looks at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.


A thoughtful expression crosses the braided, ebony-skinned elf's features as she huffs out a soft breath.



You begin speaking sirihish.

Just past the arrow slits, raising a hand as a broad smile crosses her lips, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf asks the slender, crooked-nosed woman something.

Just past the arrow slits, raising a hand as a broad smile crosses her lips, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf asks the slender, crooked-nosed woman something.

Just past the arrow slits, watching the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf and the raw-boned, top-knotted elf for a few minutes, the slender, crooked-nosed woman asks something.

At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, her voice soft as she draws in a faint breath, strange, eldritch words overtoning each word in ghostly whispers:

"Rondus Fale was known by a southern Templar."


Just past the arrow slits, shaking her head, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf says something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.



You begin speaking allundean.

Just past the arrow slits, letting out a chuckle, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.


Just past the arrow slits, with a vague nod, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, gesturing with a hand across the table at those gathered:

"It is no secret to the Black City and Fale is intertwined in dealings with the Dragon, it has been proven too many times."


Just past the arrow slits, gesturing to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.


The freckled, light-skinned man fixates his gaze on the lithe, sandy-haired elf, his eyes widening slightly.

Just past the arrow slits, thumbing her chest, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf says something to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf.


Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix opens its jaws, letting its tongue dart out to lick its nostrils.


Just past the arrow slits, her hand waving over to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf.

The corded, bronze-hued male elf looks at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.


The sinewy, weather-worn man looks at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.



You think:

"...I need some spice."


Just past the arrow slits, with a snicker, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.


Just past the arrow slits, The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf chuckles softly.


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, gesturing then to you, her voice intoning as the whispers flicker into temporary ghostly lights about her form:

"It may be a surprise to you, Thrend Lysake..."


Just past the arrow slits, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.


At your table, you say in allundean, his tone furtive as he shifts his glance to the corded, bronze-hued male elf:

"I could use some of the Tho, Kija."


You suffer from use of the Way.

With a nod across to you, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says, in allundean:

"Table center."


Just past the arrow slits, nodding, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf asks the raw-boned, top-knotted elf something.



On a large stone table (here) :

a booklet of rolling papers

a knot of dark-red, golden-flecked spice

a few empty ceramic mugs

a few ceramic mugs

a couple of short lengths of bone

At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, drawing in a breath as she sets her hands on the table, speaking to you:

"What is your interest in the Dragonsthralls?"


Just past the arrow slits, tipping his head toward the arrow-slits of the building, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.

You suffer from use of the Way.

Just past the arrow slits, glancing over to the east and letting out a soft sigh, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something.


You suffer from use of the Way.

At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, with a nod across to the lithe, sandy-haired elf:

"..They hunt them, as we do, as Tor does."


You suffer from use of the Way.


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, offering a faint shake of her head at that:

"Tor."

Just past the arrow slits, glancing to the east, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf asks the slender, crooked-nosed woman something.



At your table, you say in allundean, glancing back to the lithe, sandy-haired elf as he replies, bluntly:

"My interest is to see as many of their corpses rotting on spears, swords, axes, or bashed in by the clubs and maces of House Lyksae...before the coming conflict."


Just past the arrow slits, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf says something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.

You suffer from use of the Way.

Just past the arrow slits, with a nod, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.


Just past the arrow slits, The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf nods.


Just past the arrow slits, starting south, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf asks something.

Just past the arrow slits, chuckling, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.


Just past the arrow slits, The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf chuckles and nods.


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, offering a nod as she closes her eyes and takes a deep breath:

"That is good, but the spirits do not divine if your purpose is truth, yet."

The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf frowns thoughtfully for a moment, gazing down at the table top.

At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, iolite gaze settled on the lithe, sandy-haired elf:

"..We know any other thralls?"


Just past the arrow slits, heading south, her eyes widened, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.


Just past the arrow slits, the slender, crooked-nosed woman walks south.

Just past the arrow slits, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf walks south.


The slender, crooked-nosed woman has arrived from the south.

The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf has arrived from the south.


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, opening her eyes and gazing back at the corded, bronze-hued male elf, after a moment of thought:

"No."

Just past the arrow slits, The raw-boned, top-knotted elf wanders around, checking on the mounts.

Shifting his gaze towards the entrance, the red maned, anakore-tattooed elf looks up at the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.


With a soft nod of his head, the sinewy, weather-worn man looks up at the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.

Indicating an empty chair at a large stone table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf, in allundean:

"Ya kin rest yer ass, ah'll stand fer now, we kin switch when ya need ta stretch."


You suffer from use of the Way.
At your table, you say in allundean, glancing to the lithe, sandy-haired elf, brusquely:

"Then let me elaborate. I personally withstood attacks from Sharak and Horoz. They killed my last bodyguard."

The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf nods with a smile to the sinewy, weather-worn man.

The corded, bronze-hued male elf's attention settles long on the lithe, sandy-haired elf.

The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf nods to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.





Just past the arrow slits, The raw-boned, top-knotted elf leashes the beetles and inix to a wooden beam and strolls back to the tavern.


Just past the arrow slits, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf walks south.


The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf sits at a large stone table.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf has arrived from the south.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf looks down at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, shifting her gaze to you, drawing in a faint breath:

"So you were the Chosen he pulled out of the White Walls?"

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf wanders in from the market, appearing mildly surprised as he spots the lithe, sandy-haired elf.


The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf sits on a thick rug of quirri hide.


The sinewy, weather-worn man frowns and shakes his head at the slender, crooked-nosed woman.


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, nodding slowly to the stern-eyed, weathered half-elf:

"Fair enough. I honor your words."


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf rests on a thick rug of quirri hide.



At your table, you say in allundean, shaking his head:

"I was the Chosen he -tried- to pull out of the Ivory."

The braided, ebony-skinned elf clucks her tongue once.



You think:

"This is fucking insane."



You think:

"Why did I ever agree to come out here?"


The sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.


The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf smiles faintly, watching the lithe, sandy-haired elf.

Leaning back briefly, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.

At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, offering a faint inclination of her head as she draws in another breath:

"It would not grieve you, then, to know it was I who saw to his end."

You suffer from use of the Way.

Pushing up from his chair, the sinewy, weather-worn man says to the slender, crooked-nosed woman, in sirihish:

"Here, you sit. Yer the only one what can make use of it, anyhow."


At your table, you say in allundean, smiling thinly to the lithe, sandy-haired elf:

"I am...pleased to hear that."


The sinewy, weather-worn man stands up from a large stone table.


The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf looks over those assembled at the table and raises a hand to the braided, ebony-skinned elf.


Just past the arrow slits, A reddish-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.

At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, shifting her gaze to you:

"..But I wonder, why would a Servant of the Dragon impose upon you?"

Nodding toward the arrow-slits, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf says to the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:

"Benu of the Sand Jakhals."


Crinkling her nose, causing it to bend comically to the left, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.


The sinewy, weather-worn man gives an amused grunt.


Smiling softly, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf whispers something to the braided, ebony-skinned elf.


At your table, you say in allundean, with a sudden chuckle, his voice grating:

"Because I tried to trap him in the City. Our plan almost succeeded, but he escaped at the last moment."


The braided, ebony-skinned elf's lips curve at the edges towards the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.

Leaning to her other side, crouching between her and the sinewy, weather-worn man, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf.

Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak opens the gate from the other side.


Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak has arrived from the north.


Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak closes the gate.


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, nodding towards you, her voice intertwining with the ghostly whispers around her:

"What force did you bring to stop him?"



Just past the arrow slits, the very tall figure in a dusty hooded, darkly-stained sandcloth greatcloak runs south.


The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf nods gently to the slender, crooked-nosed woman and leans back in towards the table.


Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.

You suffer from use of the Way.

The sinewy, weather-worn man stops holding his ceramic mug.


Setting it down, the sinewy, weather-worn man puts his ceramic mug onto a large stone table.

Speaking up and watching those gathered, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:

"You should -all- be shielding your minds right now, as if it wasn't a given."

You suffer from use of the Way.


At your table, you say in allundean, his gaze set firmly on the lithe, sandy-haired elf:

"Me? Only my wits and the Lyksaean Warriors. The Templarate used their own methods."


Voice taking on a warm, gentle tint, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:

"To be truly alone is deep magick."


The sinewy, weather-worn man steps back from a large stone table and crosses his arms before him.

The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf nods lightly to the lithe, sandy-haired elf.


The braided, ebony-skinned elf shifts slightly on the chair, readjusting her rounded, darkly-stained leather quiver before relaxing, one thumb hooking on her belt.

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf lounges on a thick rug of quirri hide, paying little attention to a large stone table.


Tilting her head and pushing a knotted twist of brown hair from her cheek, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to the lithe, sandy-haired elf, in sirihish:

"That's how come ah'm helpin Nahkt over here this way, wit whatever allundean he ain't unnerstandin. Elsewise ah'd be in'is head instead."

At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, softly, to you:

"There are ranks within the Servants, fairly similar to the Sun Legion's militia, you see?"


You suffer from use of the Way.


You think:

"deep magick my fucking shithole. This is kankshit."


emote grunts an affirmative to ~shattered

The freckled, light-skinned man grunts an affirmative to the lithe, sandy-haired elf.


The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.

At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, softly:

"Sharak was a lesser servant, serving an androgynous ghost. Horoz was even a little less than that."


The sinewy, weather-worn man nods to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf has lost link.



l

The Desert Rose [ES Quit]

Entering this busy bar is like stepping into a dimly-lit cave, the

thick stone walls keeping it comfortably cool inside and adding to the

cave-like feel of the place. A constant buzz of conversation fills the

room, which is populated by elves from a variety of tribes. Narrow arrow

slits on the western wall are draped with sandcloth to block the heat of the

afternoon sun, but still let in a scant measure of filtered light. The

sandcloth covers are rolled up and tied at dusk to let in the cool night

breezes. The bar is on the north wall, and tables and chairs, most of them

occupied, are grouped about the room in the shadows. On the south wall, a

clear area provides a spot for dancing or entertainment to be performed. An

elaborate archway in the eastern wall allows entry to a vibrantly-hued room,

smoke writhing out past its entry curtain.

The desert elf outpost message board is propped up against the wall here.

A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf is reclining on a thick rug of quirri hide.

The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf is sitting at a large stone table.

The slender, crooked-nosed woman is standing here.

The lithe, sandy-haired elf is sitting at a large stone table.

The corded, bronze-hued male elf is sitting at a large stone table.

The braided, ebony-skinned elf is sitting at a large stone table.

The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf is standing here.

The burly, red-haired woman stands at attention.

The sinewy, weather-worn man is standing here.

The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf is sitting at a large stone table.

The leanly muscled, topknotted elf is sitting at a large stone table.

A sinewy, ebon-skinned elf leans against the western wall, surveying the bar.

The dark-haired elf is standing here.

A slender, cold-eyed elven woman stands behind the bar, pouring drinks.


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, gesturing with a hand across the table:

"What I think a lot of people miss, though you have seemed to pick up on, Thrend...is that the conflict isn't truly Echri."

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf has reconnected.



You think:

"If she says the conflict has something to do with magick, I could not give more of a flying fuck about it."


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, exhaling faintly, a few whisps of Suk-Krath's sparks traversing her form:

"..It is the Servants that need to be removed, because they will.."

At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, pausing, towards the slender, crooked-nosed woman:

"..You are transmitting this psionically?"


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf looks up at the slender, crooked-nosed woman.


Shuddering, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to the lithe, sandy-haired elf, in sirihish:

"Fuck no. Ah said that's why ah'm whisperin here ta Nahkt. Ah'm translatin."


The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf lands his gaze on the slender, crooked-nosed woman.

The braided, ebony-skinned elf's eyes shift towards the slender, crooked-nosed woman.


pemote gaze latches onto %shattered face, a muscle in his cheek twitching.

The freckled, light-skinned man's gaze latches onto the lithe, sandy-haired elf's face, a muscle in his cheek twitching.


Just past the arrow slits, A reddish-shelled inix stretches its hind legs, arching its back.



The slender, crooked-nosed woman says to the lithe, sandy-haired elf, in sirihish:

"Ah put ma wall up soon as ah came through th'gates."


You think:

"Yep, I was right. Fucking abomination."


At your table, the stern-eyed, weathered half-elf says in allundean, clearing his throat, glancing across the table:

"Are there uny servants of Echri trat kavi ychiened beieg Dragony themselves? Durhaps I may by misumdorsoanfing."


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, apologetically, with a nod:

"I heard something. I apologize, sweetheart."


The lithe, sandy-haired elf returns her gaze towards you, collecting her hands together on the table again.


You suffer from use of the Way.

At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you:

"..The Dragon consumes, but the Servants will rip apart the world. They will kill everything you love and know, first, so that Life can be drawn without conflict."


Just past the arrow slits, A reddish-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.


You think:

"...Sun King, give me the clarity to think clearly about what to say and do, or I might say something incredibly stupid."

At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, softly:

"If the Servants never come, Echri will arrive at an entire planet mounting an offense, and he will easily lose."


Brow furrowed, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.

Moccasins drag against the floor as the braided, ebony-skinned elf shifts her legs back against the chair, teal gaze shifting from the lithe, sandy-haired elf to you.

You suffer from use of the Way.

The lithe, sandy-haired elf trails a hand across the table, a line of rich soil materializing and following her fingers as she half-closes her eyes.



You think:

"I feel like I am meeting with an army of gith to help me fight an army of mantis."


You suffer from use of the Way.

At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, after a moment's pause:

"That said.."


Shaking her head and frowning, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.



You think:

"This is insane. I suppose since in this case the mantis are much more dangerous....it is worth it. Until the mantis are destroyed at least."


The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf nods slowly.


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, softly:

"We can organize our priorities. Even lesser servants are very dangerous."

The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.


You think:

"Remember, Thrend, choose your battles...magickers must be killed, but there is a time and a place for them to be destroyed."

At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you:

"I will go out and take a risk here. There is at least one spy here who will inform the Northern Templarate, another the Southern Orders, and yet one more a Thrall itself."


The lithe, sandy-haired elf shifts her gaze around those gathered, a faint smile crossing her normally solemn features.


Sourly, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf lifts his eyebrows at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.


Blinking, the slender, crooked-nosed woman asks the lithe, sandy-haired elf, in sirihish:

"Here, right now?"


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you:

"..Seek the Council."


At your table, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says in allundean, lifting a hand as he listens to the lithe, sandy-haired elf:

"It's not me."


The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf raises her brows as she gazes at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.

The braided, ebony-skinned elf's lips twitch.


The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf smirks, shaking his head.



At your table, you say in allundean, quirking a brow towards the lithe, sandy-haired elf:

"Council? The Triumvirate?"


You suffer from use of the Way.


You suffer from use of the Way.

You think:

"Speak plainly, abomination."


The sinewy, weather-worn man's eyes settle on the lithe, sandy-haired elf, his expression flat.


With a grumble, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.

At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, waving a hand and shaking her head:

"Pah. No, not your Pure. Deeper south, Chosen..the very thing your city repulses is what you seek."



At your table, you say in allundean, blinking a few times:

"You mean..."


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, wrinkling her nose and closing her eyes:

"The highest eschelons are poisoned."



talk (taking great care to say the word without absolutely spitting it out)Magick?

At your table, you say in allundean, taking great care to say the word without absolutely spitting it out:

"Magick?"

At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, opening her eyes again, ghostly white whisps swirling around her:

"..Specifically, what magick-wielders?"


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf sits up properly now, listening unmasked to the conversations at a large stone table.



You think:

"Oh, Sun King...smack this "Shattered" aside her head and make her speak plainly so that your servant may understand what the FUCK she means."


With a grunt, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.

You suffer from use of the Way.

With a grunt, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.

The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.

Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix stretches its hind legs, arching its back.


At your table, you say in allundean, smiling thinly towards the lithe, sandy-haired elf:

"You'll have to...forgive me. The thing which my city despises...is utterly abhorred by my House."


The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf intently scans the area.


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you, her voice slowing a little:

"I am not offended, since I do not use magick in any traditional sense."

Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix puffs through its nostrils and bobs its head.


You think:

"And by me. Of course."


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you:

"Your anger can be your weapon, as long as it doesn't traverse the gulf to hate - that is the path of Echri."


The sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.


The corded, bronze-hued male elf settles into his seat, attention languid on the lithe, sandy-haired elf.


The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.

At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you, softly:

"Gathered together in the quarter of Allanak is a Council of Gemmed Mages. If you seek where poison, Nilaz, and the Dragon lay, look no further, for now."



At your table, you say in allundean, simply:

"Nilaz. I have heard of this...word. It is associated with dead and death things."


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, offering a faint inclination of her head:

"It can be, but it also represents pure neutrality. Nilaz also indicates nothingness. Which means..the absense of Life."

The braided, ebony-skinned elf clucks her tongue softly.


Shuddering again, this time more obviously, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to you, in sirihish:

"It's nasty shit Sir. Most regular magickers don't even wanna deal wit'em."

You suffer from use of the Way.

At your table, the stern-eyed, weathered half-elf says in allundean, nodding firmly:

"I have encountered a Nilazi myself."


The leanly muscled, topknotted elf leans back into his chair, arms crossing against his chest. He maintains a peculiar, focused watch on you.


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, shifting her gaze to the table and intoning to you slowly:

"..Thus, anything associated with Nilaz should probably worry you."

Curiously, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.

The slender, crooked-nosed woman nods to the sinewy, weather-worn man.


At your table, the stern-eyed, weathered half-elf says in allundean:

"Five rigures, ssumblina across the sorth eoad. Neither dead nor alive. They would be killed, ius stand again."



At your table, you say in allundean, his gaze alighting on the lithe, sandy-haired elf again:

"I'll go with dead, then. So this Council needs to be destroyed?"

Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix stretches its hind legs, arching its back.

At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, softly, to you, with a faint shake of her head:

"Not entirely, but the current representatives are mostly beings of darkness."


You think:

"I feel like an elf at a roundear party."


Just past the arrow slits, A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix opens its jaws, letting its tongue dart out to lick its nostrils.


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, closing her eyes:

"I have not moved my hand in this matter yet. Perhaps it will be left to the North to determine their devotion to the cause."


At your table, you say in allundean, bluntly:

"To be entirely honest, that's not good enough. Do you have names?"

At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you, gently:

"And to be entirely honest, if you, Tuluki, are not seeking the deaths of Council members actively for -what- they are, there is already a problem."


At your table, you say in allundean, letting out a harsh laugh in response to the lithe, sandy-haired elf:

"Oh, I am ready to actively seek their deaths for what they are right now."


You think:

"Being abominations is a damned good enough reason for me."
At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you:

"Seek the Fire Caller Valla, and the Wind Shifter Naclyn. This is not my gift to you.."


You suffer from use of the Way.


think ...well, says me, who is talking to some sort of magick-touched woman.

You think:

"...well, says me, who is talking to some sort of magick-touched woman."


You feel confused.

At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, gesturing to each elf gathered:

"..it is the Elan Pah's gift to you, to represent their interest in a mutual effort together with House Lysake."


The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.

At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, correcting herself:

"Lyksae."

The sinewy, weather-worn man nods to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.


The braided, ebony-skinned elf's eyes slide towards the corded, bronze-hued male elf.


At your table, you say in allundean, in response to the lithe, sandy-haired elf:

"I'd say the "mutual effort" is more like two folk fighting against a foe from different angles...rather than together from the same direction."

At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, to you, softly:

"Maybe that's the problem."


You suffer from use of the Way.

The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf lowers his brows.


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, softly:

"I will tell you this - when the true Thralls begin to appear, they will breathe death upon entire armies. Without unity, there is utterly no hope."


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean:

"That you choose to make a journey to this Outpost today indicates to me that unity is not out of the question for you. At the very least, let's work towards it."


Her brown-eyed gaze flitting between you and the lithe, sandy-haired elf, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.

The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf nods firmly to the lithe, sandy-haired elf.



At your table, you say in allundean, blinking a few times, his forehead furrowing:

"...I would have to bring any such measure before my House first. I can tell you that the entire situation makes a...strangely compelling argument."


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, her voice softening, a little warmth within the depths of the arcane whispers around her:

"Truly consider it, together, as Zalanthan's all, we are very powerful."


At your table, you say in allundean:

"...but when I look at it from here, I cannot see how working...alongside...the Pah, rather than from another angle...is not the same thing."

At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, looking then to each person individually at the table:

"Love. Hope. Belief. Forgiveness. These are -all- of your weapons against Echri, no matter who you are, or what sword, magick, or psionics you wield."

At your table, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says in allundean, lowering an eyebrow skeptically toward you, even as he leans back into his chair:

"Fact is, even if you hate our Gifted and don't wish to work with us, you'll have to. Whatever we could do, the enemy will do worse."


You think:

"What kind of bardic shit is this? Love, hope? Sounds like a bad Konviwedu composition."



You think:

"Sun King, I am going to go crazy."


The corded, bronze-hued male elf drinks green honey mead from his ceramic mug.



The freckled, light-skinned man clenches his teeth tightly, his jaw making a very soft grating noise as he stares down at a large stone table.



The freckled, light-skinned man's gaze shifts to your ceramic mug.


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean, softly, to you:

"Thrend..the time has come to put old hatreds aside and attempt to understand each of us equally as life being threatened on this planet."


The freckled, light-skinned man blinks a couple of times, then eagerly downs the rest of your ceramic mug.


You drink the green honey mead.

You do not feel thirsty.


The corded, bronze-hued male elf tips his ceramic mug to his mouth, a brief grin showing.


The corded, bronze-hued male elf drinks green honey mead from his ceramic mug.


At your table, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says in tribal-accented allundean:

"Nobody gathered here expects it to happen immediately. Very few, likely, even believe it can be done."


Eyes on you, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.

Licking her lips as she interjects, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says, in sirihish:

"If ya don't mind me buttin in...maybe ah kin splain ta th'Chosen...or at least say somethin what might make'im not look like he's about ta bust a vein."


The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf turns, gazing at you with a neutral expression.


At your table, the braided, ebony-skinned elf says in tribal-accented allundean, raising a gloved hand to thumb at her nose before speaking:

"There was a time that Soh and Blackwing hunted gifted but they put aside their hatred and work together with all. It takes time but you have to decide what is more important.."


At your table, the braided, ebony-skinned elf says in tribal-accented allundean, lowering her hand:

"Life or old hatreds."



At your table, you say in allundean, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand as he glances to the slender, crooked-nosed woman, his expression only slightly relaxing:

"I'll take a listen to the Kuraci first, then."



You think:

"I cannot decipher what to do."


The lithe, sandy-haired elf falls silent, drawing her attention to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.

You suffer from use of the Way.

Padding over to your side of the full table and crouching again, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says, in sirihish:

"Aright.."


You think:

"They make a compelling argument, but...my House. Me. Fuck, I can't believe I'm even -considering- this."



You think:

"I'm not considering it, no."


You suffer from use of the Way.


You think:

"I'm only bringing THEIR idea to my House. That's all."

Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to you, in sirihish:

"Ya see, Sir. Ain't no one askin ya ta learn ta like magickers or even wit elfs fer that matter."


The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf's face becomes drawn with impatience, his gaze still locked on you.


You begin speaking sirihish.

The corded, bronze-hued male elf puts his ceramic mug onto a large stone table.


Her shoulders lifting, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to you, in sirihish:

"Ah'm a grebber, ah weren't ne'er taught one way or another, so ah do as ah like, and fuck anyone what don't like it. But that's me."

You suffer from use of the Way.

Nodding toward several elves seated at a large stone table, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to you, in sirihish:

"But these folk here, is willin - and even askin - ta work -wit- Tuluk. A city what'd kill'em on sight if they was ever caught near th'gates."

At your table, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says in allundean, scratching at his chin as he observes you:

"So, I don't know much about the Pits. Why do they call you Chosen? Who chose you, and what for?"


At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, as he slides his ceramic mug over a large stone table:

"We'll call our meet'ere. More'a think on than speak."

Her tone softening, the slender, crooked-nosed woman asks you, in sirihish:

"All they're askin, is fer ya ta put yer feelins about'em on hold. Fer awhile. Ta help deal wit th'bigger prollem. Fair enough, Sir?"


You begin speaking allundean.

The corded, bronze-hued male elf touches a fingertip to his lips on a glance for the leanly muscled, topknotted elf.



The freckled, light-skinned man nods slightly towards the slender, crooked-nosed woman, then shifts his attention to the leanly muscled, topknotted elf.


Shifting her gaze to the corded, bronze-hued male elf and leaning over, the lithe, sandy-haired elf whispers something to the corded, bronze-hued male elf.


You suffer from use of the Way.

Rising up from the table slowly, the lithe, sandy-haired elf stands up from a large stone table.

You suffer from use of the Way.

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf looks up at the lithe, sandy-haired elf.


With a look after the lithe, sandy-haired elf, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says, in allundean:

"You spoke well. Shade."


You suffer from use of the Way.

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf inclines his head up to the lithe, sandy-haired elf.


Gazing across the table and speaking softly as she rises, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:

"We can win this battle through love and forgiveness. We need to give each other a chance."



The leanly muscled, topknotted elf lifts his shoulders to the corded, bronze-hued male elf. With a sigh, he falls silent, leaning into his chair.



At your table, you say in allundean, his response coming to the fore easily:

"The Sun King chose my people"


Her gaze warming as she regards you face, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to you, in sirihish:

"Thanks Chosen, Sir. Ah knew ya'd unnerstand."



emote nods simply towards ~leanly.

The freckled, light-skinned man nods simply towards the leanly muscled, topknotted elf.

The slender, crooked-nosed woman rises and returns back to stand between the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf and the sinewy, weather-worn man.



The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf dips his head to the lithe, sandy-haired elf.



You think:

"Love and forgiveness?"


You suffer from use of the Way.

You suffer from use of the Way.

Lowering her voice into a solemn plea, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:

"You are all wise, and you all have a choice to make. I pray to you all that you choose the path of protection for these beautiful lands."

You suffer from use of the Way.

The lithe, sandy-haired elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:

"Never lose hope, never lose faith. It is always there, beside you all."


You think:

"I'll love and forgiveness a mace aside that bitch's head if she keeps flouting such airy shit."

Aside, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.

With a faint smile, the lithe, sandy-haired elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:

"I've spoken more than enough. A fine Barani to you all."

Lifting her hand to wave at her, the slender, crooked-nosed woman says to the lithe, sandy-haired elf, in sirihish:

"Ah - twas good ta see ya agin ole friend. We'll talk, another day. Smooth sands."



The lithe, sandy-haired elf slowly fades from view.



The Desert Rose [ES Quit]

Entering this busy bar is like stepping into a dimly-lit cave, the

thick stone walls keeping it comfortably cool inside and adding to the

cave-like feel of the place. A constant buzz of conversation fills the

room, which is populated by elves from a variety of tribes. Narrow arrow

slits on the western wall are draped with sandcloth to block the heat of the

afternoon sun, but still let in a scant measure of filtered light. The

sandcloth covers are rolled up and tied at dusk to let in the cool night

breezes. The bar is on the north wall, and tables and chairs, most of them

occupied, are grouped about the room in the shadows. On the south wall, a

clear area provides a spot for dancing or entertainment to be performed. An

elaborate archway in the eastern wall allows entry to a vibrantly-hued room,

smoke writhing out past its entry curtain.

The desert elf outpost message board is propped up against the wall here.

A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf is reclining on a thick rug of quirri hide.

The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf is sitting at a large stone table.

The slender, crooked-nosed woman is standing here.

The corded, bronze-hued male elf is sitting at a large stone table.

The braided, ebony-skinned elf is sitting at a large stone table.

The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf is standing here.

The burly, red-haired woman stands at attention.

The sinewy, weather-worn man is standing here.

The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf is sitting at a large stone table.

The leanly muscled, topknotted elf is sitting at a large stone table.

A sinewy, ebon-skinned elf leans against the western wall, surveying the bar.

The dark-haired elf is standing here.

A slender, cold-eyed elven woman stands behind the bar, pouring drinks.



The freckled, light-skinned man blinks a few times, then glances to the corded, bronze-hued male elf.

You suffer from use of the Way.

After observing the sandy-haired elf fade away, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf turns his head, grinning.

Just past the arrow slits, someone opens the gate.



You think:

"Fuck me. Damn it."

l

The Desert Rose [ES Quit]

Entering this busy bar is like stepping into a dimly-lit cave, the

thick stone walls keeping it comfortably cool inside and adding to the

cave-like feel of the place. A constant buzz of conversation fills the

room, which is populated by elves from a variety of tribes. Narrow arrow

slits on the western wall are draped with sandcloth to block the heat of the

afternoon sun, but still let in a scant measure of filtered light. The

sandcloth covers are rolled up and tied at dusk to let in the cool night

breezes. The bar is on the north wall, and tables and chairs, most of them

occupied, are grouped about the room in the shadows. On the south wall, a

clear area provides a spot for dancing or entertainment to be performed. An

elaborate archway in the eastern wall allows entry to a vibrantly-hued room,

smoke writhing out past its entry curtain.

The desert elf outpost message board is propped up against the wall here.

A multi-ringed dartboard hangs on a wall here.

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf is reclining on a thick rug of quirri hide.

The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf is sitting at a large stone table.

The slender, crooked-nosed woman is standing here.

The corded, bronze-hued male elf is sitting at a large stone table.

The braided, ebony-skinned elf is sitting at a large stone table.

The red maned, anakore-tattooed elf is standing here.

The burly, red-haired woman stands at attention.

The sinewy, weather-worn man is standing here.

The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf is sitting at a large stone table.

The leanly muscled, topknotted elf is sitting at a large stone table.

A sinewy, ebon-skinned elf leans against the western wall, surveying the bar.

The dark-haired elf is standing here.

A slender, cold-eyed elven woman stands behind the bar, pouring drinks.


Just past the arrow slits, someone closes the gate from the other side.



Gaing toward the now-empty space on the floor, the slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.


You suffer from use of the Way.


Setting it on a large stone table, you discard your ceramic mug.



At your table, you say in allundean, letting out a grunt as he speaks, his lips pulled back tightly against his teeth:

"I think we've covered enough for this discussion."

At your table, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says in allundean, iolite gaze settled for you:

"Ah don' have anything to say. They've said ta much. You're ready to ride?"

It is late morning on Barani, the 131st day of the Ascending Sun,

In the Year of Ruk's Peace, year 37 of the 21st Age.



At your table, you say in allundean, nodding to the corded, bronze-hued male elf:

"Yes. Quite."


The raw-boned, top-knotted elf stands up from a thick rug of quirri hide.


The braided, ebony-skinned elf's lips twitch at the edges.


Looking toward the slits in the wall, the sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.



At your table, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf says in allundean, lifting his chin as speaks to you, adopting a cordial tone:

"Nice meeting you."



Rising to his feet, you stand up from a large stone table.


The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf stands up from a large stone table.


Pushing away from his chair, the leanly muscled, topknotted elf stands up from a large stone table.


With a grunt, you say to the leanly muscled, topknotted elf, in allundean:

"Spice's yours. Enjoy it."


The slender, crooked-nosed woman whispers something to the sinewy, weather-worn man.

The raw-boned, top-knotted elf says to the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:

"I'll run with them to the White Road."


You suffer from use of the Way.

The braided, ebony-skinned elf gets her ceramic mug from a large stone table.



You pull your pair of spiked, chitin-backed gauntlets onto your hands.


With a nod aside to the raw-boned, top-knotted elf, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says, in allundean:

"Good."

The stern-eyed, weathered half-elf walks south.


Just past the arrow slits, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf has arrived from the south.


Just past the arrow slits, the stern-eyed, weathered half-elf has arrived from the south.


With a tipped nod for you, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says, in allundean:

"Tohego will be ya guide to the white road, his eyes ah sharp."

Pushing off her seat, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf stands up from a large stone table.

You suffer from use of the Way.

Thoughtfully, the slender, crooked-nosed woman asks the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:

"Want me ta stick around?"


Just past the arrow slits, The raw-boned, top-knotted elf frees some mounts from a wooden pole and arranges them near the gate.



Nodding to him, you say to the corded, bronze-hued male elf, in allundean:

"Shade, then..."

Just past the arrow slits, the raw-boned, top-knotted elf opens the gate.



You begin speaking sirihish.

The sinewy, weather-worn man whispers something to the slender, crooked-nosed woman.


The corded, bronze-hued male elf stands up from a large stone table.


Pushing it aside, the braided, ebony-skinned elf discards her ceramic mug.


With a rise from his seat, the corded, bronze-hued male elf says to you, in allundean:

"Shade."

Turning southward, the amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf says, in tribal-accented allundean:

"I'll make my way to the Gem. Be safe."


The amber-hued, obsidian-eyed elf walks south.



Nodding to the sinewy, weather-worn man and the slender, crooked-nosed woman, you say, in sirihish:

"Thanks for the ride."