Original Submissions by Valeria of type 'Logs'
-
A Grey Forest Jaunt
Added on Mar 1, 2011A young Legions private accompanies her Jihaen and some others on a patrol of the Grey Forest, with life-altering consequences.
(This story has been edited to remove a lot of the superfluous spammy material and things not directly related to the story, and to fix some spelling errors and punctuation that was missed in the heat of battle.
By way of background, shortly after the flood in the north, our heroine Private Faith of the Sun Legions has been requested by her Jihaen to prepare for a patrol. She and some other Legionnaires do so, then ride out to the gates with the Templar, where another group is waiting for adventure.)
You are Fatima, of many people.
Keywords: dark athletic woman faith
Sdesc: the dark, athletic woman
You are 23 years, 1 months, and 157 days old, which by your race and appearance is adult.
You are 71 inches tall, and weigh 7 ten-stone.
Your strength is very good, your agility is extremely good, your wisdom is above average, and your endurance is exceptional.
Your health is 130(130), you have 120(133) stamina, and 127(127) stun.
The Road of Caravans, East of the Scaien Gates [NESW]
The yellow sandstone that once laid flat to the land to form the bulk of the road here now sports a number of positions where full chunks have been dislodged or sunken into the ground, making it treacherous for the normal wagon traffic it has. To each side of the street, a number of structures can be seen in various states of distress - some only mud-caked while others have been nearly levelled entirely. Various forms of small plant-life have already begun to take hold of the cracks underfoot, and
their scent mixed in with the mud and wood decay combine to cause quite a pungent aroma to assault the senses
The white pavestones of the North Road - what portions remain fully intact - pass west through the huge arch of the Scaien Gates, their ancient wallwork freed from the overhang of moss and ragged numut vines. The gates themselves desperately cling onto the stone walls on each side, only the bone supports high up keeping them attached while water decay and rot eat away at the lower halves.
An inix stands here, carrying the tall figure in a dusty hooded, white-trimmed, red cloak on his back.
A reddish-shelled inix stands here, carrying the tall figure in a dusty long, hooded red and white tabard on his back.
A reddish-shelled inix stands here, carrying the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe on his back.
A glossy, black-scaled inix stands here, carrying the gigantic and obese figure
in a burned hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak on his back.
A war beetle stands here, carrying the grey-eyed, stubble-bearded man on its back.
A war beetle stands here, carrying the thin, short-haired man on its back.
A war beetle stands here, carrying the ruddy-skinned dwarf on its back.
A brown inix stands here, carrying the tall male wearing an obsidian mask of a g
ruesomely twisted gortok on his back.
A grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix stands here, carrying the freckled, sinewy man on his back.
A glossy, black-scaled inix stands here, carrying the ivory, black-maned half-giant on his back.
A crew of slaves led by an overseer is here clearing the road, covered in mud.
A crew of Tenneshi laborers works here on a building project.
The small, splotchy dwarf has arrived from the south, riding a reddish-shelled inix.
~*~
Looking aside to the thin, short-haired man, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe exclaims, in sirihish:
"Rakas, you have the lead!"
The grey-eyed, stubble-bearded man asks the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"Did you check their tracks, I wonder if they been wandering out of the forest into the grass?"
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe exclaims to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"Proceed when you are ready!"
The thin, short-haired man dips his head.
(The party heads out along the road, encountering a few gortok and tembo along the way to the forest. During a short break:)
The thin, short-haired man says to the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe, in sirihish:
"Migh' I recommend, Faithful Lord. Given t'clear weather, everone dehood? So we can more quickly tell who migh' need hel."
Reaching up for his scrub-camouflaged facewrap, the male wearing a scrub-camouflaged facewrap says, in sirihish:
"Sounds good to me."
Rapping the butt of his staff against the ground, the tall Jihaen templar in a d
usty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"Show your faces and report!"
(A lot of hoods are lowered.)
The grey-eyed, stubble-bearded man says, in sirihish:
"Neeko of Kadius here."
Briskly, you say, in sirihish:
"Private Fatima reporting Faithful Lord."
Glancing around, the barbarous, black-maned youth says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Erak, Kadius."
The towering, curly-blonde man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Tulor, still alive and well Faithful Lord!"
The small, splotchy dwarf says, in sirihish:
"Recruit Charl."
The ruddy-skinned dwarf says, in sirihish:
"T'is on good, Faithful Lord."
The rangy, towheaded young man says to the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red ho
oded templar's robe, in sirihish:
"Private Crisiant here."
Calling out, the ivory, black-maned half-giant exclaims, in sirihish:
"Dogouth!"
Glancing from the ivory, black-maned half-giant to the towering, curly-blonde ma
n, the freckled, sinewy man says, in sirihish:
"Raleris Winrothol, just fine."
Turning a level stare toward the rangy, towheaded young man, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe asks, in sirihish:
"Are you well, Crisiant?"
The thin, short-haired man sits up high on his saddle, gaze roaming full circle
over the light forest.
Pulling off his red silk veil from his face, the bearded, bronze-hued man says,
in sirihish:
"Medic Musadir."
An eery silence overcomes the area, even the insects going quiet.
The rangy, towheaded young man says to the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe, in sirihish:
"Took a bite or two, they weren't deep."
The ruddy-skinned dwarf says, in sirihish:
"Rok."
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe slants a narrow-eye
d gaze out over the surrounding forest.
You feel profoundly nervous.
The thin, short-haired man says to the grey-eyed, stubble-bearded man, in sirihish:
"If ya get hurt, make sure ya call out fer help."
His voice rumbling past his wet maw, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty ho
oded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak exclaims, in sirihish:
"Yeek!"
The rangy, towheaded young man twists in the saddle, gazing in every direction.
The grey-eyed, stubble-bearded man says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"Yes, Boss."
The thin, short-haired man says to the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe, in sirihish:
"Ready when you are, Faithful Lord."
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak seems less on edge as the chirping of the insects cease.
(Party mounts up, etc.)
As he steps back toward inix, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"Continue. I want a report on condition after every engagement."
The thin, short-haired man nods, continuing.
His voice stern, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe says, in sirihish:
"We have an experienced medic, and there is no excuse in leaving your wounds untended."
The thin, short-haired man glances southward.
Startled by the arriving party a brightly colored bird dashes up from the underbrush, flapping its wings into your face.
The towering, curly-blonde man smiles at you.
The freckled, sinewy man lifts fingers to his eyes and points south.
(The party moves on after it is confirmed that it was just a lizard that was spotted.)
A large, mangy gortok has arrived from the west, yelping in terror.
The thin, short-haired man keeps slow for those having trouble riding.
Yelping in terror, a large, mangy gortok runs east.
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe swings his legs to
the side and dismounts.
The thin, short-haired man blinks.
You swing your legs to the side and dismount.
The thin, short-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Well, tha' ain't good."
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"Prepare yourselves!"
Glancing over his shoulder, the freckled, sinewy man says, in sirihish:
"Now what would a gortok be running from..."
You think:
"Nothing good."
The towering, curly-blonde man says, in sirihish:
"Never seen a gortok run..."
The towering, curly-blonde man says, in sirihish:
"Except after my ass."
The thin, short-haired man says to the freckled, sinewy man, in sirihish:
"We're nearin' t'biggest concentration a' tembo I found las' week. "
Simply, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"I would suggest we proceed slowly for a time."
The freckled, sinewy man looks over to the thin, short-haired man with an arched eyebrow and nods.
The thin, short-haired man says to the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe, in sirihish:
"Aye, Faithful Lord."
(The party heads further into the forest, some on foot.)
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"Hold."
The thin, short-haired man holds, left hand raising to stop the group.
The pervasive silence continues, the stillness clearly broken by the harsh, loud noises of the parties passage alone.
Glancing out over the group, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"I would suggest we take some time to rest."
(People pull up their mounts.)
Agafari Grove [NESW]
(A bunch of people and bugs are here.)
Looking aside to you, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe asks, in sirihish:
"Did you bring the tent, Private?"
The freckled, sinewy man stands near a grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix, pulling his dusty silver-dyed chitin-plated kite shield and his bone-handled, obsidian hawkblade up higher.
The thin, short-haired man says to the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe, in sirihish:
"I figure we're about a third a' t'way there, Faithful Lord."
Nodding briskly, you ask the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe, in sirihish:
"Yes Faithful Lord. Do you want me to set it up?"
Nodding sharply, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe says to you, in sirihish:
"Immediately."
The thin, short-haired man says, in sirihish:
"What we're in now is gonna seem like t'grasslands once we get about three more leagues in."
You unstrap your large bag from a reddish-shelled inix's back.
You get your rolled-up, dark-brown tent from your large bag.
The barbarous, black-maned youth glances to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak, then a glossy, black-scaled inix, his face wrinkling.
Kicking some brush out of the way, you drop your rolled-up, dark-brown tent.
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe says to the small, splotchy dwarf, in sirihish:
"Take your rest."
You quickly unroll a rolled-up, dark-brown tent and start to put it together.
Reaching over to pat it, murmuring, the barbarous, black-maned youth says to a glossy, black-scaled inix, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Easy there, buddy. I know. I know."
A large, mangy gortok has arrived from the south, limping, three-legged, and trailing blood behind it.
The dark, athletic woman shoves poles into the earth, stretching the canvas over them.
Glancing down at a glossy, black-scaled inix, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak says to a glossy, black-scaled inix, in sirihish:
"Uhh...sorry. Forgotted what nobug looked like, so I took da first one in da row.”
A large, mangy gortok howls piteously.
A huge claw snatches the gortok back into the underbrush.
Looking aside to the thin, short-haired man with a nod, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe says, in sirihish:
"Then we won't stay long..."
You think:
"Uhm."
The thin, short-haired man blinks. Again.
Glancing over, the barbarous, black-maned youth asks, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"What-the!?"
The towering, curly-blonde man asks, in sirihish:
"What the feck was that?"
The freckled, sinewy man looks away from the ivory, black-maned half-giant, towards the gortok that gets dragged away.
The thin, short-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Looked a bit bigger 'n a tembo."
You think:
"I didn't see anything. But the tent canvas."
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe levels his staff toward the undergrowth, his eyes narrowed sharply.
The dark, athletic woman glances up from spreading the canvas over a pitched, dark-brown tent, frowning.
You strap your large bag to a reddish-shelled inix's back.
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak yawns, even as the gortok gets ripped into the underbush.
The towering, curly-blonde man says, in sirihish:
"It was big enough to snatch a full grown gortok up in a paw."
The bearded, bronze-hued man turns his head left and right as he looks around the surrounding brush, keeping his shield up.
A HOWL of anguish pierces the forest. For a quarter of second. Then the crunching begins.
The thin, short-haired man says to the small, splotchy dwarf, in sirihish:
"Tents up."
Your mood is now fucking nervous.
Shakily holding his bone-handled, obsidian hawkblade up, the freckled, sinewy man says to the ivory, black-maned half-giant, in sirihish:
"Just pay attention."
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"Break camp!"
Suddenly noticing the howl, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
"Uhhh...sounds like some bugs somewhere. "
You think:
"I just got the tent up, too."
With a scowl, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak looks east.
You quickly disassemble a pitched, dark-brown tent and start rolling it up.
(Everyone mounts up.)
Sharply, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe exclaims to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"Get us out of this brush!"
The thin, short-haired man asks the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe, in sirihish:
"Back to t'road?"
Shaking his head, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"To the grasslands!"
The grey-eyed, stubble-bearded man says, in sirihish:
"Fuck."
(The party starts heading back the way they came.)
You think:
"I didn't even get a second to rest, either."
The thin, short-haired man asks, in sirihish:
"Jus' ta be sure... grasslands, east a' Tuluk?"
Glancing back, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
"We not gonna go 'quish 'em? "
A large, mangy gortok has arrived from the east.
You leap in front of the bearded, bronze-hued man, protecting him.
A reddish-shelled inix throws you from his back!
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
(The kryl attacks Faith. Fighting ensues. While the battle is ongoing:)
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"Kryl!"
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
The towering, curly-blonde man exclaims, in sirihish:
"KRYL!"
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Gah! The hells!"
Childlike, surprised, the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak exclaims, in sirihish:
"Yeeeeiiieekkk!"
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak shouts, in sirihish:
"BUGGGS!"
The freckled, sinewy man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Quickly! Put it down!"
The dark, athletic woman whoofs as she gets knocked out of the way by the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe.
Chittering fills the air, rising in volume.
You charge into the fight!
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Fuck me!"
(The fighting continues until the kryl are put down.)
The thin, short-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Huh. Unexpected."
Slipping his bone-handled, obsidian hawkblade back into his kenku-buckled, tembo-hide swordbelt, the freckled, sinewy man asks, in sirihish:
"The -fuck- are kryl doing on the opposite end of His Domain?"
Simply, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe asks the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"I thought you said there was a clearing ahead?"
The barbarous, black-maned youth says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Erak. Kadius. Okay."
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
Shaking out her wrist, you say, in sirihish:
"Private Fatima a little wounded Faithful Lord."
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"MORE!"
A pack of kryl has arrived from the east.
(Some people starting getting absolutely beaten up.)
A pack of kryl hits the grey-eyed, stubble-bearded man on his body.
The grey-eyed, stubble-bearded man reels from the blow.
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Fuck, get them off me!"
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"Pull back south!"
A pack of kryl hits the grey-eyed, stubble-bearded man's head, inflicting a grievous wound.
Turning southward, the freckled, sinewy man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Cavaliers! Retreat, retreat!"
Spilling out of the underbrush, the insects swarm!
(People flee out.)
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Tembo to the south!"
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak shouts, in sirihish:
"BUGGGGGSS! EEEEEIEIIIIK!"
You chop a dusty, ebon-shelled kryl's thorax.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl crumples to the ground.
[hemote] The dark, athletic woman grits her teeth.
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe brutally jabs a dusty, ebon-shelled kryl on her thorax.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl's eyes roll back in her head.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl crumples to the ground.
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"Tend to the wounded!"
Agafari Grove [NESW]
The body of the grey-eyed, stubble-bearded man lies crumpled among the scrub trees.
A few bodies of a dusty, ebon-shelled kryl are here.
The body of a large, mangy gortok lies crumpled among the scrub trees.
(Various people and animals are also here.)
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"The noble is in a fight! Souther!"
(Everyone heads south to help. After the tembo there is dispatched:)
All around, the sound of insects rises to an enormous, unbelievable whine.
The towering, curly-blonde man asks the freckled, sinewy man, in sirihish:
"Are you ok Chosen Lord?"
The thin, short-haired man asks the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak, in sirihish:
"Did you get Neeko?"
Turning his head left and right, the bearded, bronze-hued man asks, in sirihish:
"Alright, anybody seriously hurt?"
Climbing up onto a grey-scaled, silver-shelled inix, the freckled, sinewy man says, in sirihish:
"I'm fine."
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Someone left their beetles back north!"
The thin, short-haired man sighs.
The small, splotchy dwarf says, in sirihish:
"Someone died."
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"Rok!"
The thin, short-haired man says to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hood
ed, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak, in sirihish:
"Please go back 'n get Neeko's body."
The barbarous, black-maned youth asks, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Neeko died!?"
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Fuck!"
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe exclaims to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"Go for the body, quickly! We are pulling back!"
The towering, curly-blonde man says, in sirihish:
"Fucking had a whole pack of kryl trying to eat me..."
The chitters grow louder, louder. Nearby brush shudders and rattles.
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak walks north.
The thin, short-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Forget it Yeek, come on!"
The dark, athletic woman edges closer to the bearded, bronze-hued man.
You hear a man's voice shout from the north in sirihish:
"NO! I not let bugs eat him!"
The thin, short-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Yeek!"
Sharply, the freckled, sinewy man says, in sirihish:
"We. Need. To move."
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
The barbarous, black-maned youth shouts, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Yeek, fuck it! Grab my inix and let's go!"
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl attacks the small, splotchy dwarf.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl attacks the ruddy-skinned dwarf.
(More fighting ensues.)
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
A war beetle's eyes roll back in its head.
A war beetle cries out in pain.
A war beetle crumples to the ground.
The towering, curly-blonde man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Someone’s mount is dead!"
Swarming over the mounts, one drops in sizzling wreckage.
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Fuck the mount!"
(The party starts retreating eastward through the forest, then doubles back to retrieve the other half of the party still fighting kryl nearby.)
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"Calm yourselves!"
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Gah! Yeek has my beetle and my stuff.. Fucking.. half-giant!"
The freckled, sinewy man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Rok and Dogouth!"
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the south.
(More fighting ensues.)
You think:
"Oh this is bad."
(The most recent wave of kryl is dispatched.)
The thin, short-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Everyone fall in on Rakas please."
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"My mount is dead!"
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the north.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the north.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the west.
(Even more fighting ensues.)
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Fuck me!"
The towering, curly-blonde man does not look well.
rescue tulor
You fail the rescue.
The towering, curly-blonde man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Tulor needs help!"
You think:
"He looks bad."
(Tulor flees out and comes back.)
The barbarous, black-maned youth asks, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Rakas, how do I get out of here on foot!?"
(The kryl are eventually dispatched, again.)
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe grunts painfully.
You feel her heart pounding hard enough to almost burst.
You think:
"We need to get out of here!"
The freckled, sinewy man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Move! Or we're dead!"
Under heavy breaths, the bearded, bronze-hued man asks the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe, in sirihish:
"You alright, Faithful Lord?"
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Walk! I can't run!"
The towering, curly-blonde man says, in sirihish:
"I’m... I’m hurt bad..."
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"Proceed at a slow walk!"
A war beetle runs east, carrying the thin, short-haired man on its back.
(With the party following.)
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"WALK!"
A war beetle runs south, carrying the thin, short-haired man on its back.
(The party continues to follow along.)
The freckled, sinewy man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Slow the fuck down!"
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"I don't have da bug. "
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"Er...lizzard. "
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"My damn lizard!"
A war beetle walks south, carrying the thin, short-haired man on its back.
(The party follows along at a slower pace now.)
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"GAH!"
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"All my stuff was on that lizard! My bow! My shit!"
The thin, short-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Tulor!"
To the north is Scrub Forest.
[Near]
A brown inix stands here, carrying the towering, curly-blonde man on his back.
The towering, curly-blonde man has arrived from the north, riding a brown inix.
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak says to a glossy, black-scaled inix, in sirihish:
"It's north n'west..."
The barbarous, black-maned youth says to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"I bought it _this week_"
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
The freckled, sinewy man says to the towering, curly-blonde man, in sirihish:
"Stick with us you fucking idiot."
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak
says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"We should...re..."
(Fighting ensues. While the fighting is ongoing:)
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"You better get me my damn inix!"
The small, splotchy dwarf does not look well.
rescue charl
But nobody is fighting him?
The thin, short-haired man says to the barbarous, black-maned youth, in sirihish:
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"
The dark, athletic woman pants as she lashes out at the body of a dusty, ebon-shelled kryl.
(The kryl are again dispatched.)
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"WE GOTTA REST!"
Dropping a foot into a sinkhole, a brown inix collapses, roaring in pain!
A brown inix sits down to rest.The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"Or else all die!"
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Fuck!"
(The party continues on at a walk.)
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the north.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the north.
(They attack a dwarf as the party is heading to the south; the dwarf gets left behind.)
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"I can't walk much further!"
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Hold up!"
The rangy, towheaded young man says, in sirihish:
"Nor I."
(The party turns around to go back for the dwarf.)
The ruddy-skinned dwarf swiftly dodges a dusty, ebon-shelled kryl's pinches.
(People rush in to try and help the dwarf and pull him out. As the fight is ongoing:)
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Hold, PLEASE!"
The barbarous, black-maned youth shouts, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"I CAN'T WALK ANY FURTHER!"
You charge into the fight!
The towering, curly-blonde man says, in sirihish:
"Wheres my mount?"
The barbarous, black-maned youth shouts, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"If you walk, I will die!"
(Fight is still going on:)
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe exclaims to the freckled, sinewy man, in sirihish:
"Chosen Lord! Go! Tell them the eyeless have shown themselves!"
The freckled, sinewy man attempts to flee.
The freckled, sinewy man runs south.
The small, splotchy dwarf looks near death.
rescue charl
But nobody is fighting him?
(The last kryl is finally put down. The party stands around, looking more or less fuckitized.)
The small, splotchy dwarf sits down to rest.
The ruddy-skinned dwarf shouts, in sirihish:
"Git up!"
The barbarous, black-maned youth sits down to rest.
(Various others plop down to rest.)
The small, splotchy dwarf says, in sirihish:
"I can't move any more."
The barbarous, black-maned youth says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"I can't.. go on! I am to tired."
[ Fatima : standing ]
< 108/130hp 121/121sn 39/133sm (early afternoon) armed (walking) >
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe sits down to rest.
Gingerly, you sit down.
The thin, short-haired man says, in sirihish:
"We're close ta t'road."
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe stands up.
You think:
"I'm following Khentim's lead."
You stand up.
The thin, short-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Incoming"
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
Panting hard, the barbarous, black-maned youth says, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"I can't.. walk! You ran.. when I said.. walk.. and my mount is dead.. and fuck."
(Fighting ensues. While it is ongoing:)
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"Someone who can walk, please lend me your mount!"
You say, in sirihish:
"We lost Charl."
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"Leave him!"
The barbarous, black-maned youth exclaims, in tribal-accented sirihish:
"I need a mount, please!"
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
"Norther one, north!"
The thin, short-haired man says, in sirihish:
"East."
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe exclaims to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak, in sirihish:
"Grab Erak and head south!"
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
(Guess what? More fighting ensues. When it is barely over:)
The ruddy-skinned dwarf says, in sirihish:
"On' north."
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"We are Riding!"
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"We gotta squish all da bugs...movin'just gonna kill us when we can't move no more."
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe shouts, in sirihish:
"South!"
A war beetle walks south, carrying the thin, short-haired man on its back.
(People following, until:)
l n
To the north is a Ridge of Dull Red Rock.
[Far]
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak is standing here, bleeding lightly.
- he is carrying the body of the grey-eyed, stubble-bearded man.
A huge, four-legged, reddish-shelled lizard is here, nosing about for forage.
[Near]
The towering, curly-blonde man lies on the ground stunned, unable to move.
A brown inix stands here, nosing the ground for vegetation.
The thin, short-haired man asks, in sirihish:
"Do we go back fer Tulor?"
Rubbing the nape of his neck, the rangy, towheaded young man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Ugh!"
The ruddy-skinned dwarf says, in sirihish:
"Weh lost Neeko tah."
A unit of Tuluki half-giant soldiers tromps up to the ridge, slamming weapons against shields.
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe exclaims to a unit of Tuluki half-giant soldiers, in sirihish:
"Protect the fallen!"
A war beetle walks north, carrying the thin, short-haired man on its back.
(The party follows.)
A unit of Tuluki half-giant soldiers has arrived from the south.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the east.
(After being decimated by the half-giant soliders:)
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl runs east.
The thin, short-haired man exclaims to the towering, curly-blonde man, in sirihish:
"On yer feet!"
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe exclaims to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"To Ayun Iskandir!"
A unit of Tuluki half-giant soldiers shouts, in sirihish:
"Hoo-rah!"
The thin, short-haired man exclaims, in sirihish:
"Fall in on me now!"
The tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe exclaims to the gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak, in sirihish:
"Grab him!"
(The party starts moving along the ridge.)
The thin, short-haired man shouts, in sirihish:
"Yeek!"
The gigantic and obese figure in a dusty hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak has arrived from the north.
Rising up out of the forest to the south, everything looks deceptively quiet and calm.
Sharply, the tall Jihaen templar in a dusty red hooded templar's robe exclaims to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"To Ayun Iskandir, now!"
(A moment later:)
Suddenly you are jerked into the underbrush!
A Ridge of Dull Red Rock [NES]
A slender, black-shelled insectoid scours the terrain for prey.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl runs north.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the north.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl attempts to grab you, but you wrestle away.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
The bearded, bronze-hued man sends you a telepathic message:
"Where are you?"
The bearded, bronze-hued man sends you a telepathic message:
"Are you hurt, dieing? Where?"
The dark, athletic woman edges away from a dusty, ebon-shelled kryl.
s
Stinging sand swirls around you.
A Ridge of Dull Red Rock [NES]
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the north.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl attempts to grab you, but you wrestle away.
The dark, athletic woman yells and thrashes!
The dark, athletic woman manages to free her foot, kicking out at a dusty, ebon-
shelled kryl.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl keeps moving after you.
s
Atop an Archway [NS]
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the north.
You think:
"I can't run much farther."
< 110/130hp 121/121sn 23/133sm (late afternoon) unarmed (walking) >
The dark, athletic woman stumbles along the archway, panting.
s
A Narrow Ridge of Red Rock [NW]
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl has arrived from the north.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl subdues you, despite your attempts to struggle away.
You stop guarding the bearded, bronze-hued man.
You think:
"Oh fuck me."
The dark, athletic woman starts with the thrashing, again, kicking at a dusty, ebon-shelled kryl.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl runs north, dragging you behind her.
Atop an Archway [NS]
You struggle in vain against a dusty, ebon-shelled kryl.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl drags you along with a clawed hand.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl runs north, dragging you behind her.
A Ridge of Dull Red Rock [NES]
(The kryl drags her further north, back into the forest.)
You feel one last burst of adrenaline is about all she can manage.
The dark, athletic woman kicks one more time at a dusty, ebon-shelled kryl.
You struggle against a dusty, ebon-shelled kryl and break free.
You draw a crescent-bladed obsidian axe.
The dark, athletic woman half yells, half-sobs.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl subdues you, despite your attempts to struggle away.
kill kryl
You are held tight, and unable to do anything.
The sound of angry insects is all around you.
The bearded, bronze-hued man sends you a telepathic message:
"Please wake up...or be able to help us...are you alright?"
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl grabs at you and keeps moving along, dragging.
The dark, athletic woman seems to run out of fight, drug along passively.
Agafari Grove [NESW]
A massive, winged insect towers above the ground, leathered wings outstretched.
Chittering noisily, a hulking, bloated kryl looks up at you.
You contact the bearded, bronze-hued man with the Way.
You send a telepathic message to the bearded, bronze-hued man:
"It's got me. Sorry, friend. It don't look good."
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl drags up you behind itself and holds you before a hulking, bloated kryl.
Towering over the vegetation, a hulking, bloated kryl waddles sloppily towards you.
The bearded, bronze-hued man sends you a telepathic message:
"Where? Do you know where you are? What it is?"
You send a telepathic message to the bearded, bronze-hued man:
"I don't. There's a giant... thing. Tell Faithful Lord Khentim, it was a
pleasure serving with him. Okay?"
The bearded, bronze-hued man sends you a telepathic message:
"What does it look like?"
The dark, athletic woman feebly tries to lift your crescent-bladed obsidian axe, but can't seem to get leverage around a dusty, ebon-shelled kryl's grip.
The bearded, bronze-hued man sends you a telepathic message:
"Are you just in the forest? A cave?"
You send a telepathic message to the bearded, bronze-hued man:
"A grove somewhere. One of those things has me. There's a larger one here, ugly as sin."
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl holding you in clawed hands it brings you to a hulking, bloated kryl.
A foreign presence contacts your mind.
A hulking, bloated kryl looms over you, cords and cords high, and with one of the bony spines jutting from its mouth knocks your axe away.
You send a telepathic message to the bearded, bronze-hued man:
"I'm all out of energy, Musa. This one's dragging me at it. I tried to hit it with my axe, but..."
You drop a crescent-bladed obsidian axe.
The bearded, bronze-hued man sends you a telepathic message:
"Dragging you where?"
You send a telepathic message to the bearded, bronze-hued man:
"I don't know. I'm going to pass out in a second. It was fun."
You dissolve the psychic link.
A hulking, bloated kryl says, out of character:
"There is going to be some mostly stylized gore if you consent to it."
You say, out of character:
"consent to gore, go ahead"
A hulking, bloated kryl says, out of character:
"Proceeding with gore."
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl holds you perfectly still before a hulking, bloated kryl, barely making a noise.
contact khentim
You are unable to reach their mind.
In your mind, a sudden, stark image. Thousands and thousands more dark insects s
warming across the grasslands and over the walls of Tuluk.
You think:
"If I could just.. tell Khentim..."
As the surrounding forest darkens, from all about the surrounding underbrush can be heard chittering and scuttling.
contact khentim
You contact the falconine, gold-toned man with the Way.
The falconine, gold-toned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Fatima! Fatima?"
You send a telepathic message to the falconine, gold-toned man:
"Sir, there are thousands out here. I see... them swarming the walls."
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl starts to chitter lightly as it holds you perfectly still before a hulking, bloated kryl.
< 116/130hp 6/117sn 10/133sm (dusk) unarmed (walking) >
You dissolve the psychic link.
The dark, athletic woman lies limply, entirely exhausted.
A hulking, bloated kryl lowers the impossibly large bulk of its head and the spines jutting from her mouth press against your arm, where it sockets against your shoulder.
The bearded, bronze-hued man sends you a telepathic message:
"I ain't leaving you...we will find you..."
The dark, athletic woman closes her eyes and turns her head away, teeth gritted.
contact khentim
You contact the falconine, gold-toned man with the Way.
You feel sudden, sharp, impossible pressure as the unthinkable weight of the creature focuses on the small points against your arm.
A dusty, ebon-shelled kryl starts to chitter louder as a hulking, bloated kryl comes near, holding you perfectly still.
You send a telepathic message to the falconine, gold-toned man:
"*pained* I did my best."
The falconine, gold-toned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Do you know what awaits you?"
The chittering of surrounding insects grows louder, heaving and cresting in unison - a single, unworldly note of rage and hunger.
You dissolve the psychic link.
You feel that she can't hold the link a second longer, it just takes too much concentration.
The falconine, gold-toned man sends you a telepathic message:
"Should you have any toxin, any weapon, use it on yourself. Do not leave yourself to their devices."
You think:
"I can't move! I don't have anything."
Suddenly, quickly, but mercilessly, the spikes pierce your flesh and bone, tearing through sinew and muscle.
The dark, athletic woman screams through her clenched teeth, only briefly.
barrier
Your vision goes black.
The rending of raw flesh is clearly heard.
Slime gushes from the mouth of the creature, burning you horrificly and somehow cutting off the flow of blood as your arm dangles from your body by mere strands.
The dark, athletic woman passes out entirely, from pain, exhaustion, the whole thing.
You feel herself drop like a stone, deeper than dreams, and she'd be thankful for that, if she could.
(Time passes.)
Just inside the fortress, Someone nods brusquely at someone.
Someone peers northward, suspiciously.
Just inside the fortress, Someone frowns at that, turning, and wiping away a tear.
Just inside the fortress, Someone sighs as he looks towards someone with wide eyes, lowering his head.
(More time passes.)
Someone bends and then lifts you up.
Just inside the fortress, Someone looks down at the ground.
Someone steps aside, allowing someone to pass.
The sleeping woman has had her arm nearly severed. It dangles from her shoulder
by strands of sinew and flesh.
The wound is a mass of burnt tissue, apparently cauterized somehow, and there is little bleeding though she is covered in blood.
Someone wipes a hand down his ichor-laden his new chitinous breastplate, now smeared with your blood.
The dark, athletic woman remains dusky pale, and very, very unconscious.
Someone kneels on the opposite side of you.
Someone kneels down next to you, running a hand over her as he inspects closely.
Someone watches them work on you sadly.
Someone pulls out his needle and thread from his cylindrical wooden box, threading it quickly.
Someone begins to carefully examine you.
You dream:
"About drowning, in fits and starts."
Someone presses his needle through the soft flesh of your shoulder as he begins to sew up the wound, dipping it with his salve-covered bandage as he goes.
Your head clears and your eyes flutter open.
The woman's arm is nearly severed at the shoulder, hanging by mere threads of sinew and tissue.
The thin, short-haired man says to the tall male wearing a red silk veil, in sirihish:
"We're gonna have ta take t'arm off."
The dark, athletic woman screams into consciousness, thrashing weakly.
The tall male wearing a red silk veil ties off the thread as he looks over towards you.
You notice that your right arm is hanging by near threads, there is no pain as it all feels numb.
The thin, short-haired man says to you, in sirihish:
"Yer alive, Lass. Amongst friends."
Moving up to your shoulder with a quiet, hurried voice, the tall male wearing a
red silk veil says, in sirihish:
"Hold still Faith, I am here. Musadir. "
The tall male wearing a red silk veil gets his scattering of spotted leaves from his cylindrical wooden box.
The dark, athletic woman stops struggling against the thin, short-haired man, panting harshly.
Your arm just hangs there, like as if on a string... you don't feel it there anymore, you can't make it respond.
The tall male wearing a red silk veil begins rubbing your shoulder with the leaves, pressing his bandage upon the open wound.
You think:
"I can't feel it. Oh thank Utep for small favors."
Opening several compartments within his cylindrical wooden box, the tall male wearing a red silk veil says, in sirihish:
"Where is that glimmergrass...there it is..."
The tall male wearing a red silk veil gets his sprig of aromatic leaves from his cylindrical wooden box.
[hemote] The dark, athletic woman grinds her teeth nearly hard enough to hear.
Looking around dazedly until she seems to find him, voice rough and weak, you ask the falconine, gold-toned Jihaen templar, in sirihish:
"Faithful Lord?"
Your mood is now delirious.
The tall male wearing a red silk veil presses the bandage lightly over the torn exposed flesh of your shoulder.
You think:
"I've got to tell him. I've got to."
Your head clears a little as the tall male wearing a red silk veil bandages your wounds.
The ruddy-skinned dwarf asks the tall male wearing a red silk veil, in sirihish:
"Can T'is on' help Doc?"
Lowering himself to one knee beside you, the falconine, gold-toned Jihaen templar says to you, in sirihish:
"Rest, Private. All is being taken care of."
Tilting his head up, the tall male wearing a red silk veil says to the ruddy-ski
nned dwarf, in sirihish:
"The arm must come off all the way. I have flame in my pack. Get it. The flask."
Clearing her throat, sounding half-delirious, you say to the falconine, gold-toned Jihaen templar, in sirihish:
"There's.. thousands of them.. Faithful Lord. In my head. They want the city. You have to tell Khentim. I mean, Faithful Lord Khentim."
The tall male wearing a red silk veil pulls out a sharp obsidian scaple from his cylindrical wooden box, looking it over carefully.
The tall male wearing a red silk veil cuts the end of the sinewy off carefully,
moving the arm to the side.
After a few moments the dark, athletic woman's right arms finally falls off and
hits the ground with a squishy thud.
The ruddy-skinned dwarf gets his carved wooden flask from his sizeable leather backpack.
The tall male wearing a red silk veil moves to cut around your shoulder, removing the hanging bits of sinew and muscle.
You see it laying there, the bloody, mangled arm twitches lightly.
Looking up, the tall male wearing a red silk veil says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"You see anything? Anything at all? "
With a slow shake of his head, the thin, short-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Nothin' obvious."
The dark, athletic woman oddly enough doesn't seem to notice her arm go, but she does flinch and wince as the tall male wearing a red silk veil cleans up her shoulder, when the knife bites into the good tissue.
Handing it to him, the ruddy-skinned dwarf gives his carved wooden flask to the tall male wearing a red silk veil.
A dismembered, humanoid arm twitches slightly upon the ground near to the dark, athletic woman.
As he cuts down a half the last of the hanging tissue, the tall male wearing a red silk veil says, in sirihish:
"Hold still, the runebane should help the pain...but it'll hurt."
You feel almost incoherent.
You think:
"Such a small thing. An arm. Oh, is that mine? It should matter more, I
think."
You think:
"Hold still. Easy for him to say."
The towering, curly-blonde man says, in sirihish:
"Faithful Lord."
Pressing it into the hand that is left, the tall male wearing a red silk veil gives you his carved wooden flask.
The thin, short-haired man settles down beside you as the worst passes, shifting his attention between the tall male wearing a red silk veil's work and checking his gear over.
The tall male wearing a red silk veil says to you, in sirihish:
"Drink some of that, it'll help the pain."
The towering, curly-blonde man asks, in sirihish:
"The chosen lord wishes to know our plans here, counter strike, or pull back to the city?"
(The pair of men exchange some bandages back and forth.)
The dark, athletic woman doesn't seem to be entirely aware of what's going on, or your carved wooden flask, her eyes shifting randomly around the room.
The gigantic and obese figure in a bloodied hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak cracks his knuckles, looking down.
The gigantic and obese figure in a bloodied hooded, sleeveless grey sandcloth cloak says, in sirihish:
"So we gonna quash da queenie?"
Looking up, the tall male wearing a red silk veil says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"Help her if you would, just a little sip...too much would be bad...but a little would help. The rest we can use."
Looking aside to towering, the falconine, gold-toned Jihaen templar says, in sirihish:
"I would ask that he meet us on the road in the morning to help us return t
he wounded to the Ivory."
Your mood is now delirious.
The tall male wearing a red silk veil moves down your body, tugging on pieces of armor as he looks you over.
The towering, curly-blonde man says to the falconine, gold-toned Jihaen templar, in sirihish:
"He says he will be there."
The arm that is no longer there starts to feel pain... as if the echo of arm starts to register the pain it felt.
The tall male wearing a red silk veil begins setting a bandage around your wounded wrist, carefully pressing the herb side upon the stitches.
Dabbing sweat from his brow, the tall male wearing a red silk veil says, in sirihish:
"Rakas, help me here...there are several more spots...bleeding bad."
Squirming to the side, but not very energetically, you say, in sirihish:
"Owowow..."
Placing a hand on his shoulder, the falconine, gold-toned Jihaen templar asks the tall male wearing a red silk veil, in sirihish:
"Will we be able to move her soon?"
The towering, curly-blonde man ignores his own pain, and bloody bandages as he limps in his pacing around the men operating on you.
The thin, short-haired man nods as he kneels back up. With some splashes from his burned water gourd, he cleans out a wound, and very carefully lays a bandage over it.
The ruddy-skinned dwarf stares down at you shaking his head.
You feel bewildered.
You think:
"My arm hurts."
The pain shoots into your body from where the arm used to be... the empty spot burning a fire.
The thin, short-haired man makes his way along your body, searching for additional in jury.
Lifting his face up, the tall male wearing a red silk veil says to the falconine, gold-toned Jihaen templar, in sirihish:
"Shortly...once we have the bleeding under control. I can continue to check her for...anything...once we are in a secure location."
With gritted teeth, slamming her good hand against the ground, you exclaim, in sirihish:
"Fuck!"
Knocking it aside, you drop your carved wooden flask.
You think:
"My arm /really/ hurts."
The thin, short-haired man says to the tall male wearing a red silk veil, in sirihish:
"I think she's about as stable as we can make 'er. She'll need a fully body
examination fer implantations, though, when we get back."
Nodding his head firmly, the tall male wearing a red silk veil says to the thin, short-haired man, in sirihish:
"Yes, I will lead an inspection upon her. I can make any necessary incisions should I find anything."
You feel herself begging someone, something.
You think:
"I'd rather be unconscious. Please. I don't want to know about this."
The thin, short-haired man says, in sirihish:
"Might wanna burn tha' cut arm, too. Na' really sure how their egg layin' works."
Puffing out his cheeks, the tall male wearing a red silk veil runs a hand over your body slowly as he inspects numerous cuts and scrapes.
The towering, curly-blonde man asks, in sirihish:
"Will... will she be ok?"
The thin, short-haired man says to the towering, curly-blonde man, in sirihish:
"Time'll tell, fellah. Time'll tell."
(This story has been edited
to remove a lot of the superfluous spammy material and things not directly
related to the story, and to fix some spelling errors and punctuation that was
missed in the heat of battle.
By way of background,
shortly after the flood in the north, our...
Continue Reading...
