339 replies to this topic

[Vortigern]

Theria froze, utterly astounded by the sight of a Minotaur so far from home, and more astounded still that she had not picked up on his presence. The colossal creature drove its axe down towards the slender Drow. The lithe, dark-skinned night elf leapt back, out of the way, drawing the scimitars from its back.

"Stop!" shouted Theria. Neither the Minotaur nor the Drow seemed to pay her any heed whatsoever. She tried appealing to the Minotaur in his own language. "Aja ei havala menysta!" she ordered - do not hurt him. The Minotaur ignored her still. She knew more than enough about his kind to know attempting to stop him physically would achieve nothing, but words seemed to have no effect. Illyriel grabbed her by the shoulder, pulling her back out of harm's way.

((OK, fight!))

[mike_]

The Drow ducked at the last second, and Rom's axe slammed into a forty-foot pine behind him. At first it seemed the weapon was stuck; but instead of making a futile effort to pull it out, Rom simply brought one of his immense, cloven hoofs up to the axe handle and pushed briefly. The tree snapped, then buckled and fell. Retrieving his axe, Rom turned on his heel and looked for the Drow in the midst of a group of people nearby. The tree crashed into the ground behind him, interrupting the nighttime serenade. Peering into the gloom, Rom could not see the Drow both for his blending-in with the Night, and Rom's inherent near-sightedness.

Remembering the Elf-woman's plead for peace, Rom turned an eye towards her and rumbled, "Agaeth nor lomin. Splurhaeitghi! Sheign durg hath confer. Drum too uncouth..." No, m'lady. I have a blood oath! I am searching for a treacherous Drow. He has hurt me much...


(your turn, Nowe)


(OOC EDIT: Edited 'cause I made it better.)

Edited by mike_, 28 November 2008 - 03:46 PM.

[Copaman]

Tom, the ever-quiet one, had watched the two fighting parties from the get-go.

As the two duked it out, he debated whether or not to step in. He knew he could handle the minotaur, but drow tend to be a bit more slippery... and both at once would be a challenge; one that he just wasn't in the mood to take on.

When called for them to stop their fighting, Tom saw that it was going to achieve nothing. He also, without being aware of the movement at the time, moved to take Theria out of the way of the fight. When he recognized that Illyriel beat him to it, he transitioned his motion from the previous to the hilts of his swords and assumed his guarded position. If one of them decided to bring the fight too close to Tom, he wasn't going to be caught off guard.

As he watched the fight unfold, he realized that Theria had spoken to the minotaur in its language - a suprise to Tom. Without taking his eyes from the fight, he asked Theria the question that was undoubtedly on the minds of most of the group. "What, exactly, is going on here, Theria? Please fill me in, seeing as how you seem fluent enough in Minotaur..."

[Vortigern]

"He has sworn a blood oath, looking for a single Drow. I doubt very much that it is this one, but he needs to find out." She turned her attention back to the hulking beast. "Nyt ei drum agaetu on ainoa." This is not the one you seek. "Varmaanki." Probably. "That's the best I can do, I'm afraid. Nobody try and get in his way, one way or another. Minotaurs are stronger and faster than you think, Tom," she added, noticing the Deathknelf's fighting stance.

[Copaman]

"Wasn't planning on it. I merely prefer to be ready to fight should it begin to involve me."

He relaxed just a bit.

"Besides, it's a good enough watch that I wouldn't step in anyways. I only do that when the fights annoy me."

[Byakuya Kuchiki]

"Baka," Nowe cursed.

He rolled under the Minotaur's swings, and drew his staff, not the scimitars hidden within his robes. "Stop," he commanded, "Or I will use magic."

Nowe had slammed the staff down in front of him, the crystal on the top immediately came to a blaze of light, dazling anyone who had been looking into it. The ground around the staff had started to grow strands of light that had wrapped up and around the staff itself, holding it in place.

[Vortigern]

That was enough for Theria. The strands of magic twisting around the Drow's staff presented a challenge, but one she knew could be overcome with words, not violence. She strode into the midst of the path, separating the two combatants with her body.

"Your magic is likely not strong enough to severely injure our friend here, Drow. I suggest you recall your enchantments." She turned to face the Minotaur, whose shadow cast her into darkness in the dying glare of the setting sun. "Etta an karei. Te aja ei havala kaivatu." That is enough. You need not fight him. The Minotaur looked at her dubiously.

"Te hetta an kuolemi?" asked the Minotaur. How is it you speak my language?

"Turvata ke," she replied. Trust me. "Drow, he will not hurt you. Now, I think we have some explaining to do."

* * * * * * *

With introductions and formalities passed, Rom, the Minotaur, had offered to stand guard for the night. Bazric stood with him, perhaps unwilling to trust a beast with his life. Theria, alone in the darkness, hidden away from the others within the trunk of a hollow oak, found herself unable to sleep. She stretched, and emerged from the shadowy, cavernous trunk. She made her way through the dingy semi-light of the forest night to where Rom and Bazric sat, wide awake but not speaking.

"Kuinka aja te?" she asked quietly. How goes the watch? Rom growled, and Bazric turned his head to look.

"Theria, m'lady, ye must no' sneak up on us while we stand watch."

"What sort of watchmen are you that a woman can surprise you?"

"The elf-woman has many surprises," grunted the Minotaur. Theria could not help but smile.

"In the morning, Rom, we will be heading towards the Maughold. We have important business there. I do not know if you would be willing to join us along our way." She phrased it almost as a question, her voice raising ever so slightly at the end of the sentence. The Minotaur may have missed the subtleties of the speech of a kienempi, but he gathered the meaning. The Minotaur drew his axe. Bazric rose to his feet at the movement, but Theria, guessing what was coming, laid a hand on his head; she could not reach his shoulder from where she stood. The Minotaur swung his axe down, planting it firmly in the ground at Theria's feet.

"Kirjai antaa vantisi itsu jett ei te." I pledge my axe to you. "Toku kirjai suorana vantisi latku ja kuinta te." I will live and die for you until I am freed. Theria was well aware that the words did not necessarily mean that the Minotaur would follow her until she declared him free, but with such a gesture she could feel secure in the knowledge that he would support her until the end of this journey, at least, and that he would be willing to sacrifice his life that she might survive. The honour of a Minotaur was unchallengeable, unshakeable and unbending. She laid a friendly hand on Rom's chest, as high as she could reach.

"Hauto iskea. Vaska juoru enka." Sit down. Let us talk.

((OK, next day whenever you're ready. Nowe and Dauth, I assume you're both intending to come with us? If so, wagons roll!))

[Byakuya Kuchiki]

Nowe picked his staff up off of the ground. Immediately, all of the strands of magic where absorbed back into the crystal at the top. The magic contained within the crystal was immense, if anyone cared to look. The crystal, if broken, would burst into hundreds of shards, releasing great magical powers that could devastate an area. "I will explain what questions I can, but know this: this is my forest, I protect it. Any activity within this forest falls under the domain of the trees, I am merely the protector."

[mike_]

Rom would have liked the fight to continue. This durg knew nothing of Minotaurs, if he thought he could break him with that staff and his tricks of light. Rom would have enjoyed breaking him with his bare hands, stomping his sheep-sized hooves into the durg's still-squirming torso.

But things had turned otherwise, which was good. He was currently crouched down into a comfortable defensive stance, a clear sign to another Minotaur (or curious Elf-woman) that he meant no harm. To the Dwarf, however, it simply showed him as a formidable fighter ready to brawl at a moments' notice. Which was also true.

Rolling his shoulders, Rom felt a satisfying series of pops ripple through and down his solar plexus, collarbone, and spine. Turning his attention to the Elf-woman, he spoke gutturally, "Mikä on se haluatte puhua, m'lady? Mitä haluat että Rom?" What is it you wish to speak of, m'lady? What do you want of Rom?

[Rafv Nin IV]

Shava had watched the fight from the sidelines inquiringly. Had its participants been humans, gnomes, or any other race she had experience with, Shava would have easily incapacitated them both and put an end to the commotion. However, the Drow was a magician and may have resisted, and Shava had never seen a minotaur before, let alone impressed emotions upon one. It was better to keep the two from knowledge of her power than to try to intervene and fail. Interference had luckily been unnecessary.

Sitting unnoticed behind a nearby fern, Shava eavesdropped on a conversation that promised to be quite interesting.

[Copaman]

((Time for some playing out/describing of the whisperblade class. Brace yourself, lots of italics.))

Tom found himself unable to sleep. He had no reason why he shouldn't be asleep, and not the slightest idea why he wasn't. He stood up from his sleeping ground and cursed himself for it.

Silently, he changed from his traditional garb to his training ware and gathered up his swords. He then moved through the brush to an area which was just large enough for him to practice his blade-dance. Focusing his mind, he began his attacks at his imaginary opponents.

Begin with the basics. Move up to intermediate steps. Execute proficiently. Good. Step it up. Go for the master-level moves. Back and forth he flipped, ducked, stabbed, slashed, and rolled from move to move. As he continued, he felt a warmth across his body and noticed a slight glow from his blades. Without warning, he began to whisper in an ancient tongue to nobody in particular. Tom then realized who he was whispering to - his swords. It was the true mark of a whisperblade.

Every whisperblade develops a song at some point, he recalled from his years of training with the grandmaster in Shadowfang Keep. It comes without warning and leaves just as quickly. It is from the song that a whisperblade draws their true strength; it is the song that allows for an apprentice to become a master, and for a master to take an apprentice. From the song comes all of your attacks, and from all attacks, your song. We teach that a fight is constantly in motion, that there is no rigidity, and that you should take after water and move as a liquid in your fights - it is the song that aids you.

He continued his deadly dance, slashing out at the waves upon waves of opponents which were coming at him, in his head.

We do not know what causes the song. We do not know all of the language of the song. We can tell you that your song develops the entire time you learn to fight as we do. We can also tell you that your song presents itself to you after something monumental. A great battle. A terrible loss. A conquering. A liberation. We have seen it all. We have seen love songs. We have seen redemption songs.

As he kept increasing his pace, he failed to notice that his voice had risen past the level of a whisper and it was now as if he was talking to someone, face to face. The voice of the grandmaster continued.

I know your song already. All my apprentices - I know their songs. I could sing their songs if I wished. But it would take away from my own. The song is a beautiful thing, a gift to every one of us. Let me tell you about your song...

He now saw his opponents. He could see their faces, every one of them. And he recognized them.

Your song is one of the most pure I have known. It comes when you have transformed yourself into something you were not before. It carries on it a great passion for someone you know or will know, and a dedication to that person. It is a combination of two of the most potent types of songs known to the grandmasters, it is a combination of what we call the pheonix song and a love song. It will become incredibly powerful as you hone it. Your song will never falter, never change, as some do. Forever will you sing to that person.

As the grandmaster finished his sentance in Tom's head, Tom eviscerated one of the last of his imaginary opponents. As he looked down upon the corpse he had thought up, he knew exactly what part of his song he was singing; the pheonix song. The opponents: the dark magi from his haunted past. He continued his dance.

This song will become part of you - it will bind itself to your very soul. The words of the laguage will play out on your chest. It is very likely that your skin bands will rearrange themselves to form the words. Do not be ashamed of your song, when you recieve it. It is, essentially, your individuality, what makes you who you are. And now, it's over.

He snapped out of his trance, panting for breath and dripping sweat. He could not only hear but feel the reverberation of the last note of the song coming off of the trees around him, and he became aware that towards the end of his routine he was truly singing. He felt strangely content, and wound his way back through the trees to where he had been sleeping. He changed back into his customary garb and layed the practice set out on the ground, hoping that they would dry before morning. Before laying down to go to sleep (for by now he was utterly exhausted), Tom looked about himself, hoping that none had heard his bladesong. Desipte what the grandmaster had told him, he was embarrased by his ability to sing bladesong.

Not bladesong, he thought to himself. It's called Ebrion. Tom got himself comfortable on the ground. Isn't that the first word that came out of my mouth when I started whispering?

He promptly fell asleep.

Edited by Copaman, 29 November 2008 - 05:01 PM.

[some_weirdGuy]

Zhar continued his almost leisurely pace, and made it to where the group had last been seen
Yes!! came the exclamation in his mind,
"well... they aren't here" said the solemn personality currently in control,
and you know what that means! a deal is a deal, we move of on our own now.
He looked around at the bodies still littering the ground, and a few piles of ashes,
i suppose so...
"Yes... let us move on" he said with a sigh. A fresh personality burst into control
"Ha! i win. We should have never gone along with those bastards in the first place... and that whore of an elf..."
Zhar, be nice
yes, that was rude and disrespectful
"Shut your holes!"
ssstupidss zhar, you can'ts sshuts hole in mind, hissing laughter followed this in his head.

He was about to walk on when a howl could be heard.... and another, and another. It was the rest of the wolf pack.
Five wolves burst out from the bushes, snarling and growling. But this Zhar was not as patient as the other Zhar.
He looked from side to side, at each wolf individually, then he bent at the knees and chanted, a dark ball of energy forming in his hands.

The wolves circled, then attacked. Right as they went to leap at him he slammed the magical ball into the ground, and where it hit the ground rose upwards, zhar with it.
The earth dug itself up till zhar was two meters above the wolves, then it filled out. becoming a golem of clay and stone. the wolves shied back, but the massive blob of animated dirt sent a fist forward, crushing one of the wolves with a single blow. The others began to flee, but the golem made chase, still with zhar standing on its stooped shoulders, flattening another two as it crashed down from a humanoid form to make a slug-like cascade of rock. But Zhar reined the malevolent creature in, dispelling((yeah, now i can use that word )) the magic that kept the creature alive...

A dark flow seeped from the now inanimate rock back into a ball in zhars hand, when then flowed back into zhar himself, and the kriss knife at his side, dark runes glowing for a moment.
"Well, that was fun" he said, looking once more as the yelping wolves disappeared into the distance
"... come on, lets get a move on, we still have a mission..."

[Dauth]

Thaos after an hour had finally stopped trembling at the thought of a fight and had turned his thoughts to the day ahead, where he shone. An hour before dawn Thaos had turned his attention to appearance, the DeathKnelf's shorts while serviceable were not the apparel of a Noble. He moved stealthily into one of the local villages just as dawn was breaking, he walked through the populace unnoticed but learning everything. Palming a number of coins he eventually had enough for some clothing. Electing long and adaptable clothing Thaos set up the rest of his persona.

Some makeup to change his skintone, and a refined scar on his left cheek allowed him to step from the role of Thaos and into the name of Stefan, Marquess of Alaborn. Son of the Duke he commanded respect, and it was of good fortune the true Marquess was occupied valiantly fighting several hundred leagues away. With a practices voice Thaos added an accent to his forgettable manner and added the lengthy blink for which the Marquess is known.

Thaos after completing his disguise sneaked once more out of the town collecting in the bustle some far finer clothing, it was mid morning and he had several people to con before the day was out.

[Fire Ze Missiles!]

((OOC: Yay, dream sequence!))

Illyriel, it appeared, had been the only member of the group actually asleep through the night and woke refreshed as dawn broke on the clearing. Though Bazric now lay snoring on a makeshift bed of roots, the hulking minotaur appeared not to have slept at all and was still hunched in the shadows at the edge of the clearing. Moving over, Illyriel exchanged a few pleasantries with the creature so that it would not try to kill him when he returned from his morning perambulation.
Striding away from the camp, the elf noted footprints which appeared to match that of the human they had found yesterday. He had probably run for it, with half their supplies more than likely. But Illyriel didn't want to separate himself from the main group so decided not to follow him, sticking to his original intention of scouting the area.
As he walked, the elf reflected on the previous night. He had had a most...interesting dream, not altogether unpleasant at first. It had involved a certain female elf of Illyriel's acquaintance (not Theria, he noted for the benefit of a mental observer) and a private room in the back of a rather nice inn. Suddenly, in the midst of his passion, the room had burst into blue flames. Finding himself departed from the woman, he looked about the room for a means of escape but saw only a gaping maw of utter blackness where the door had previously stood. And out of that darkness swam the image of Tom Joad, resplendent in black and white hooded robes. Of his face, only the mouth was visible and it was formed into a wicked grin.
'She is mine, elf. Mine,' hissed a sibilant voice from Joad's lips. Looking back, Illyriel saw the woman disappeared - in her place stood Theria, her face a mask of horror. And as he watched, the blue flames leapt up her body, engulfing her completely. Crying out, Illyriel had leapt forward to help her only to find that she now wore an expression of blissful rapture. Staggering backwards in surprise, Illyriel looked from Theria to Joad as she walked towards him.
'Mine, Illyriel. All mine...' And a terrible laughter echoed through the darkness...

[Copaman]

((OOC: One of most universal things known to man - their desire for things they can't have! Not to mention jealousy Great post FZM.))

Tom would not have woken up were it not for rays of light playing across his face. As he sat up, he looked about himself and ran his fingers through his hair. He stretched out his torso quickly, and then, yawning, stood up. He remembered the late-night training session in a bit of a haze, and when he looked down he noted that ancient words had indeed begun to take shape across his chest.

Tom strapped his swords to his body once again, and took a sip of the delightful concoction known to the deathknelve as the nectar of the goddesses. He came upon Illyriel at the edge of the camp. He took the skin from beneath his tunic and offered it to him.

"Here. Try this. It is truly a great way to start the morning off."

He watched as Illyriel took the skin. "On second thought, hold onto it for me until I come back. I have some thinking to do."

Tom walked into the forest, making his way to the clearing he was in the night before. He unsheathed his swords and planted them firmly in the ground. He sat just in front of them, and closed his eyes.

I have not meditated in years. This must be related to the Ebrion... he thought to himself. And as he finished the thought, he began his song.

He came out of the trance when he had finished the song, and found that he had etched the words of the song into the ground with his swords. Suprisingly, he had no recollection of the deed. Gathering his thoughts, he returned to the camp.

Upon his return, Tom found that all of the party were now awake. He found Illyriel and retrieved the skin. "Erath'an, Illyriel," he said. He looked at Illyriel's face and noticed the puzzled look. "Erm, thank you, rather," he quickly corrected. Apparently he had begun to understand how to speak the language of the Ebrion.

He made his way through the group and gathered up the rest of his belongings, shoving the training linens back into their pouch. He then found his way to Theria and addressed her. "I am ready to move. It appears that the hume we picked up has run off; as I assume Illyriel has already told you. I walked the same path as he this morning and I noticed the footprints, undoubtedly he did the same. Do you feel we should follow him? On any hand, it has been a while since I have had a good-" realizing the word which was about to slip, he quickly stopped himself and chose the appropriate word "-bed. Moving into the next town wouldn't exactly be a bad idea."

Tom found her intoxicating. He just wanted to babble to her now, just wanted to speak of the most random things. He wanted to tell her of the bladesong, the Ebrion, the meditation and the night before. He wanted to... he stopped himself once again, realizing the sinful (yet simultaneously blissful) thoughts entering his head.

"Well, if we're to move, I suggest we get moving quickly. Some of us may be more restless than others," he said, nodding towards the dwarf. "and I'm growing anxious myself. Which is odd. But still..."

He realized that he had been weaving the threads of the second part of his song since he began talking to Theria. And he thought the words out in his head, or so he presumed. By accident (or perhaps fate) they slipped off of his tongue. "Mei ainala seai thaleia ye'maro" he whispered. I will follow you whever you may go, he translated in his head.

Theria had caught the whispered phrase and smiled. Tom was sure she didn't know exactly what he had said - the language of the Ebrion was only known to whisperblades, and even then only bits and peices. Never the less, he immediately blushed and turned away. "My apologies. I'm ready whenever you are." He hoped that Theria hadn't guessed the meaning of the words he spoke, but at the same time, something deep within him suggested that not only had she gotten the jist of the phrase, but thought something similar at about the same time. The Ebrion is curious like that, he concluded.

Edited by Copaman, 29 November 2008 - 06:18 PM.

[mike_]

Rom blinked lazily. He hadn't slept a wink that night, having stood guard for his newfound companions. A few mockingbirds were making birdsong high above him, and a few terrestrial mammals were combing the underbrush for breakfast. He exhaled, slowly, yet powerfully. A thick mist issued from his mouth and nostrils. Cracking his neck, Rom stood to his full height and fumbled with his haversack. After a few moments he withdrew a small case carved out of a monster boar's tusk. Placing the small box in his his hands, he carefully undid the locking mechanism (Gnome-fashioned) and sat down on a large boulder nearby.

Placing it on a level spot of the rock, he laid his left hand, fingers splayed wide, into his lap. Then he unscrewed his knuckles. Placing them into their anointed slots in the case, he withdrew several small (in comparison to his size) bits of steel. They were diamond-shaped, having many facets and angular edges. Delicately screwing them into place on his left hand one by one, he finished by slowly flexing and stretching the appendage to make sure he hadn't damaged anything.

Closing the box, he stood up again and turned about, hulking over the rock. It went up to about his waist. Pulling his left arm back, he then swung it forward and into the unerring stone. There was a sound reasonable to what a fourteen-foot tall Minotaur slamming his iron-encased fist into a wall of rock would sound like. A few skittish birds took flight from the tree canopy above, and a lone rabbit bounded away as fast as it's legs would carry it. A juvenile red fox looked up from a bush in curiosity, ears perked comically. Chuckling gutturally, Rom drew his hand away and surveyed the damage.

Four identical holes were punched into the face of stone - several cracks split away from them, circumnavigating the ancient highway-stone. Proud of his work, Rom sat back down and undid the process, unscrewing his gaelstrom and placing them back into the small box (it was roughly the size of Shava's head). He then removed his 'normal' knucklepieces and put them in place.

His morning ritual completed, Rom leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, and stared into the dirt, contemplating the world's problems. He habitually drew a knife from his calf-sheath and unconsciously tossed it from one hand to the other.

[Rafv Nin IV]

Shava bolted upright, startled by an earthshaking sound. She glanced around nervously, and soon identified the source as the minotaur amusing himself. Shaking her head, Shava wondered why larger races were so obnoxious. Perhaps they sleep more soundly, she thought, and such a noise would not frighten a minotaur out of bed. Or he may just be a crude brute. Yes, that's far more likely.

The Deathknelf and Theria stood conversing quietly, and Illyriel could not be seen, but Shava noted his conciousness in the surrounding woods. Neither of the humans was present, and Shava, to be truthful, was pleased with the situation. Zhar always seemed to be more trouble than he was worth--just putting up with his constant mumblings took much restraint, and no attachment had yet been formed between Shava and the newcome human.

Still sleeping lay the Drow and Bazric. Shava bumbled over to her dwarven friend. She focused, and for a fraction of a second impressed exaltation and joy upon the dwarf, but retracted it just as quickly. Bazric grumbled wearily, unpleased with the rude awakening.

[Vortigern]

"Good morning, Tom," said Theria, the words accompanied by a gentle smile. The Deathknelf, though a terrifying whirr of confidence and skill with a sword, seemed almost awkward and unsure when using his tongue. Theria had found this was so often the way with warriors; that was one of the things she had found so enticing about Illyriel so many years before. Then Tom said something in a language she did not recognise, smooth, calm, almost ephemeral in the beauty of the words: the air hung about where she envisaged the words lying in wait for her unwary senses. She wondered what it meant. Her face broke almost unconsciously into a broad smile. For a moment she simply stood there, basking in the aura left by whatever mystical language Tom had spoken in, then gave herself a mental shake and returned to her preparations for the day ahead.

"Illyriel?" she called. The wood elf appeared beside her in his usual manner, surprising as cold rain in summer. "Has that human really just wandered off?"

"Seems that way, my dear," he replied. "But I have a feeling he'll be back. We offer protection for him, and he strikes me as someone who would cling to protection like a barnacle to a boat."

"What say we wander after him?" Illyriel grinned. "I daresay a woodsman of your calibre won't have any trouble following his tracks?" Illyriel's grin spread wider.

"To town we shall go!"

[mike_]

Rom looked up from his thoughts among the weeds to this announcement. He lifted his head and rolled his shoulders in the same motion, the Minotaur equivalent of a smile. His bundled muscles torqued and stretched underneath his rippling grey fur.

Standing, Rom hefted his axe in his right hand and grunted as the blood rushed back into his knees. He relaxed into a standing crouch, bending his knees to ease the sensation of needles probing into his bones. Sheathing the knife, he habitually swapped the axe to his left and turned to speak to his temporary liege. Rotating his head slightly, Rom turned his good eye towards the Elf-woman and growled, "M'lady, I'll partio pois oikealle puolelle metsään. Haluat katsella on mahdollista väijytys. Aion ottaa vasemmalla kuve, I viittaavat vahvasti siihen, toinen lähetetään vartioimaan oikeassa." "M'lady, I'll patrol off to the side of the path. To watch for a possible ambush. I shall take the left flank; I strongly suggest another is sent to guard the right."

Theria explained this to her companions, and Bazric turned a wary eye (two, actually) towards Rom. "Sure yer up to such quiet work, m' friend? No 'fence, but yeh don't 'zactly look suited to such a line o' duty."

Rom's eyes narrowed and he said, to the surprise of all nearby, "You be surprise, Dwarf. Rom is much quiet when Rom want." His eyes squinted further and he growled, "And right now he not want to be quiet." His hooves tilled the earth uneasily.

Snorting restlessly, Rom turned around and stalked into the woods on the other side of the trail - his closing note on when the party should begin their trek into town.

Edited by mike_, 30 November 2008 - 08:56 PM.

[Vithar-133]

((If you don't know, I'm the new guy 'round these parts.))

Nearby a warrior, hidden within the forest, watched the events unfold. He'd been following this group of warriors recently. Something drew him to them. He didn't know what. He saw the minotaur punch the stone. He'd seen most of the events they'd been through, although he was careful not to engage with the party. The group seemed to be hunting something...but what? For the moment, Vithar chose to remain at a distance. He was curious, but he did not want to startle the group and end up getting himself killed. Then he saw the minotaur get up and sheath a rather large knife.

Hmm...although, that knife is more like a gladius than a knife..., thought Vithar.

He saw the group talking, but the wind stole the words before they reached his ears. Vithar considered casting a spell, but chose not to. Even though he didn't have to worry about losing a bit of his life like most Furya, due to his being half-Elven half-Furyan, some spells could put a rather large strain on him. So he contented himself with watching, as he'd been doing for quite some time. He saw the Minotaur stalk towards the woods where he watched.

Time to move. I can not be seen by them. Yet, thought Vithar.

He moved silently through the forest. He did not know how far a Minotaur could see, so he didn't want to take the chance.