14 replies to this topic

[Laufey]

I stretched my hand, curious enough to risk touching the bell as a sudden desire to swipe away the annoying layer of oxide and mildew, and see the remainder of the inscription took root in my mind… and dropped it. Something stopped me from moving my fingers any further and crossing the last few inches between them and the green, flaking surface of the bell. It was not because I sensed a trap or a magical barrier, rather, a warning was whispered in my mind loudly enough to stop me from finishing the deed. Perhaps, I was only too aware of the consequences of my past rash decisions, and the survival instinct was finally kicking in.

Finally, I should say. He's as bad as Edwin about this sort of thing.

“Never touch something that does not belong to you, unless you are absolutely sure it is not going to bite your fingers off,” the halfling matron continued smugly. She was still wearing the same virulently bright shawl over her shoulders. Today, she was also leaning on a gnarled, crooked staff, of the size not appropriate for her height, and it gave her somewhat sinister and witchy look. I wondered, how I did not hear her approach. That stick of hers must have made quite a loud noise striking the stone pavement.

Bet Jon-Jon loves being lectured by her.

“We should hang the bell under the arch and sound it at the time of imminent danger, so that the Guardian would hear it and be ready for what is coming,” she said coolly. “Not that this had helped him at the end. The hin were keen enough to watch for his archenemy and rival, who had never come. The humans came in his stead. There was a traitor among the hin, who had led the Qysar and his men to the cave by the goat trails around the village. And so, when the bell was rung they were already upon the Guardian in numbers greater than stars in the sky, or fish in the water, and anything that these mountains had seen in a thousand years. It was a terrible battle and many of them were slain, but so was the Guardian, and afterwards the Qysar claimed the treasure. So the legend says. That was the end of Rhimnasarl the Shining, the Great Silver Wyrm, and his allied hin tribe. They were all either killed or taken prisoner, and sold into slavery on the Calimport slave markets. My grand-grand mother was one of these who were enslaved. What else do you want to know, mageling?”

“Archenemy of his?” I raised an eyebrow quizzically.

“Rhimnasarl had had a rival among the dragon-kin - the Blue Wyrm Iryklagathra, the Sharpfangs. That was who the hin were supposed to look for, in return for the Shining One’s protection. But when Sharpfangs had finally arrived to challenge Rhimnasarl to a duel, it was already too late – the silver dragon was dead, his headless body rotting at the bottom of the gorge, and his skull mounted on the wall in the Qysar’s, great throne room. For centuries afterwards, Sharpfangs has been haunting these mountains in impotent rage, as his long-anticipated prey was virtually snatched out of his jaws, or so he thought. But about two hundred years ago he finally withdrew back to the endless spans of sand that cover the Great Calim Desert.” The halfling’s tanned, wrinkled face creased in a wary smile as she continued. “The blue dragons are not really made for the life in the mountains, and the old lizard was getting old, and was complaining that his very bones ache in these unfair climes.” Olphara shifted from feet to feet, shaking her head, and her multitude of tiny braids, stringed with lapis lazuli twinkled on the cold wind. I wondered if she disagreed with the dragon. She herself seemed inseparable from these mountains.

Ah, an epic and tragic story! Liked it a lot. And I have a suspicioun that Sharpfangs isn't dead just yet, and that our arrogant mage will run into him...

I realized - she was much older than she looked. It probably took a lot of strength to maintain the self-assured, energetic facade at her age. I gave her a quick glance, and she returned it with a smile most gentle and forgiving, again reminding me of the old priest from Amkethran, and his most annoyingly intrusive ways.

Yes, I see. It bothers him when people try to be nice to him, and when they seem to get too close to him. It's very sad.

“I guess I would be going now,” I muttered somewhat uncertainly, “I bet Omwo is looking for me already.”

'should be going'

“Now, I know you are probably as old as I am, mageling. You, elven folk, are renowned for your longitude. But it is also known that years do not necessarily mean maturity, and you look like you can use a bit of motherly advice. So, humor the old woman, and pretend that you are listening to me, even if you are not. It is not going to hurt you to listen, once in a while. The girl that travels in your company, how do you feel about her?”

The walk back to her house took much longer than I had anticipated.

LOL! Oh, I want to hear that talk!

[Weyoun]

I stretched my hand, curious enough to risk touching the bell as a sudden desire to swipe away the annoying layer of oxide and mildew, and see the remainder of the inscription took root in my mind… and dropped it. Something stopped me from moving my fingers any further and crossing the last few inches between them and the green, flaking surface of the bell. It was not because I sensed a trap or a magical barrier, rather, a warning was whispered in my mind loudly enough to stop me from finishing the deed. Perhaps, I was only too aware of the consequences of my past rash decisions, and the survival instinct was finally kicking in.

Oh, come on! I want to know what it says!

“We should hang the bell under the arch and sound it at the time of imminent danger, so that the Guardian would hear it and be ready for what is coming,” she said coolly. “Not that this had helped him at the end. The hin were keen enough to watch for his archenemy and rival, who had never come. The humans came in his stead. There was a traitor among the hin, who had led the Qysar and his men to the cave by the goat trails around the village. And so, when the bell was rung they were already upon the Guardian in numbers greater than stars in the sky, or fish in the water, and anything that these mountains had seen in a thousand years. It was a terrible battle and many of them were slain, but so was the Guardian, and afterwards the Qysar claimed the treasure. So the legend says. That was the end of Rhimnasarl the Shining, the Great Silver Wyrm, and his allied hin tribe. They were all either killed or taken prisoner, and sold into slavery on the Calimport slave markets. My grand-grand mother was one of these who were enslaved. What else do you want to know, mageling?”

Ah, nice backstory...

“Fascinating,” I replied with polite interest. “So, all these quaint local names: the Dragon Perch, the Qysar’s Hunt, even the Silver Ghost - they actually have historical roots? But if you say all the halflings were either killed or enslaved...”

“This village was an empty ruin for over eight hundred years,” she answered incisively, as if explaining it to a small child. “Ever since Rhimnasarl the Shining was slain by the hand of the Qysar Shoon the Fourth, about a thousand years ago. The Shoon Empire had fallen, and the sands had been blown into a high dune over the grave of the last Qysar, but nobody dared to come and live here while the Sharpfangs was still looking for his revenge.”

“But your people are here now,” I noted neutrally. “And the bell has a new rope. Are you telling me it is actually a thousand years old?”

Something tells me Jonny isn't buying the story much.

I did so reluctantly, and she followed, striking loudly with the end of her stick at the stone pavement.

“Now, I know you are probably as old as I am, mageling. You, elven folk, are renowned for your longitude. But it is also known that years do not necessarily mean maturity, and you look like you can use a bit of motherly advice. So, humor the old woman, and pretend that you are listening to me, even if you are not. It is not going to hurt you to listen, once in a while. The girl that travels in your company, how do you feel about her?”

The walk back to her house took much longer than I had anticipated.

Great story. Loved it,
---Weyoun

[Arcalian]

DoroteaDoroteaDorotea figaro! Maginifico-o-o-o!

>“Never touch something that does not belong to you, unless you are absolutely sure it is not going to bite your fingers off,” the halfling matron continued smugly. She was still wearing the same virulently bright shawl over her shoulders. Today, she was also leaning on a gnarled, crooked staff, of the size not appropriate for her height, and it gave her somewhat sinister and witchy look. I wondered, how I did not hear her approach. That stick of hers must have made quite a loud noise striking the stone pavement.<

You were absorbed in the mystic phrase, Jon.

No comma neccesary after "I wondered"

>“We should hang the bell under the arch and sound it at the time of imminent danger, so that the Guardian would hear it and be ready for what is coming,” she said coolly. “Not that this had helped him at the end. The hin were keen enough to watch for his archenemy and rival, who had never come. The humans came in his stead. There was a traitor among the hin, who had led the Qysar and his men to the cave by the goat trails around the village. And so, when the bell was rung they were already upon the Guardian in numbers greater than stars in the sky, or fish in the water, and anything that these mountains had seen in a thousand years. It was a terrible battle and many of them were slain, but so was the Guardian, and afterwards the Qysar claimed the treasure. So the legend says. That was the end of Rhimnasarl the Shining, the Great Silver Wyrm, and his allied hin tribe. They were all either killed or taken prisoner, and sold into slavery on the Calimport slave markets. My grand-grand mother was one of these who were enslaved. What else do you want to know, mageling?”<

The traitor hin angle of the story reminds me of that little jerk in the Halfling Town in BG1 who let the Ogre magi and his Kobolds in.

>I realized - she was much older than she looked. It probably took a lot of strength to maintain the self-assured, energetic facade at her age. I gave her a quick glance, and she returned it with a smile most gentle and forgiving, again reminding me of the old priest from Amkethran, and his most annoyingly intrusive ways.<

Ah.

>“Now, I know you are probably as old as I am, mageling. You, elven folk, are renowned for your longitude. But it is also known that years do not necessarily mean maturity, and you look like you can use a bit of motherly advice. So, humor the old woman, and pretend that you are listening to me, even if you are not. It is not going to hurt you to listen, once in a while. The girl that travels in your company, how do you feel about her?”

The walk back to her house took much longer than I had anticipated.<

I bet!

I hope that your muse "comes over you" more often!

Story of a girl without a Name!!