The Journal of Hokur McMerceson

Campaign: MonkeyStomping

The Beginning: Retribution
“Aye, we’re ‘ome safe ‘n sure now. You go ‘ave a sit, I’ll be ‘avin’ a chat with Master Roodle so’s this nae be ‘appenin’ again.” Hokur had shoved Sottovelo’s kitchen entrance door open with his foot as he had one arm around Ismay’s shoulders and her basket of market purchases under the other. The maid was shaking now, her face pale under her freckles, as the shock of what she had just escaped set in. Hokur slid the basket onto the counter with his hip and sat the girl down on a stool before turning to Maeve where she was seated at the table. “I’d be supposin’ that since yer down ‘ere, the master is up and about?”

“In the office with Dido,” Maeve stated simply around a nibble of scone. She recognized the ill-omened look clouding the mercenary’s face and thought it best not to get in his way. Yet.

“What’s happened then?” Morna demanded, turning from the stove with the ever-present spoon still in her hand even as she placed both fists on her hips to glare at the man.

“Some foolishment that’d best nae be trouble again.” Hokur said as he left to find the master of the house.

**

Hokur knocked once on the office door, waiting for a reply before entering. It was never a good idea to barge in on a wizard, particularly one who could vaporize demonic glass beasts. He found Namen sitting across from Dido over the central desk she used for most of the business of Sottovello. “You’re up early, Hokur. I thought you were heading to the Street of Doves after last night? Didn’t expect to see you until mid-day at the earliest.”

“Aye, been there most of the night. I was stumblin’ t’ me own bed when I came across some mischief ye best be knowin’ ‘bout. You be needin’ a proper footman about th’ place.” Hokur moved to the sideboard and poured a cup of tea, taking an experimental sip, “Och, this is that Rider Red?” he made a face indicating he was not at all impressed with the brew, regardless of its exclusivity.

“There’s a bottle of Flumenti uncorked if you prefer, or the dwarven brandy.” Namen gestured with a negligent wave of his hand before settling back to regard his Captain. “Why do I need a footman?”

Hokur poured a finger of brandy into a glass and shot it back before continuing. “Ah, this’s something right fine ‘ere!” the Aral said as he raised the empty glass. “As I was sayin’, I was stumblin’ t’ me own bed when I ‘appens to come through the farmer’s market. So’s I was standin’ there, figurin’ out if I wanted t’ try some o’ th’ apple fritters or just grab a biscuit from th’ kitchen at Libromazzarco, whens I sees a red’ead goin’ about ‘er business what looked familiar. Right enough, it was our Ismay. I also sees a bunch o’ jack-napes sniffin’ ‘round ‘er skirts. O’ course, she was ‘avin’ none o’ that, shooin’ ‘em away and such.”

The big Aral whipped a chair around one-handed and sat astraddle to face Namen and Dido before continuing his tale. “Ah’n that’s when th’ mischief begin. Seems right apparent-like they were nae takin’ th’ ‘int that she was nae interested, an’ th’ lot of ‘em were set t’ force th’ issue. Now as I’m standin’ there – havin’ decidin’ on th’ fritter – those young pups set t’ ‘arryin’ yer maid there until she got maneuvered out of th’ ‘erd, so’s t’ say. Well, I was ‘avin’ none o’ that, not fer one o’ our own. Just as I’s startin’ t’ cross the square, they pounced an’ got her tucked in t’ an alley.”

The big Aral scratched his chin, “Now I’m nae sorry t’ say I mighta knocked a few people t’ground gettin’ there, so’s ye may be havin’ to make nice wit’ ‘em but I had t’ get a double move-on,” he explained. “An’ quick as I can, I’m ducking in t’ th’ alley, fritter in one hand an’ th’ other restin’ on th’ Dodger t’ see these five cocksures have lil’ Ismay pinned up aginn’ th’ wall a ways down th’ alley. Silent as th’ grave she was... but screamin’ won’t help when there’s five sets o’ hands t’ quiet yer mouth.”

Namen’s lips had tightened into a grim line and his brows drew down as Hokur related the tale. “And?” he said stiffly.

Hokur shrugged, “Och, th’ lass is fine now, down in th’ kitchen wit’ ‘er ma an’ Maeve. Alls I ‘ad t’ do was step up an’ inform th’ scuttleworms that their … assistance… was nae required. Theys took that hint fair quick once a few elbows got me sidled up next t’ Ismay. But I did ‘ear something about one red’eaded Aral bein’ as good as another as I was comin’ up on ‘em.” He pulled down is long moustaches. “Come t’ think on’t, there were a few red-dyed whores down yonder as well. So’s as I see it, you need a proper footman t’ make sure some such mischief nae be ‘appenin’ again.”

“I see.” Namen rose and moved to pour himself a glass of the Flumenti. “Ismay is unhurt and …intact, you said?”

“Aye. Mebbe a wee shook up but th’ jack-a-napes had lil’ chance t’ do ‘er any ‘arm afore I stepped in.”

“Good. And you could pick these fellows out if you saw them again?” Namen asked before raising the glass to his lips.

“Aye, I suppose I could at that.” Hokur raised one bushy eyebrow at the wizard. “Yer plannin’ on somethin’ I can tell. Ya got th’ same look Arcelli gets when ‘e comes ‘cross ‘ob tracks.” Hokur tilted his head, “Come on now, it were mischief, right ‘n true, but th–”

Namen cut him off before he could finish, “I’m planning a lesson, an abject lesson, in manners.” The shorthairs on the mercenary’s neck stirred as his employer spoke. “One should always teach the ill-mannered the error of their actions, and the sooner the better or it won’t stick, just like beating a dog the day after it pisses on the floor doesn’t work. They’ve forgotten that this wizard is to be feared,” he glowered. Namen paused and drew a long, calming breath. “But you are correct, Sottovelo does need a footman. I’ve been meaning to add one to the household but hadn’t yet gotten around to it. This just illustrates the need to make it more of a priority. Besides,” he glanced at Dido, “if Maeve is to be a proper Salpian wife, she’ll need to be escorted by a footman now.”

“Oh, getting that girl… young woman, to have some man trailing along with her whenever she goes out, that will be a fruitful conversation.” Dido murmured.

“Ha! Yes, but she’ll see the reason for it I’m sure.” Namen cocked his head to one side. “Perhaps if we got one of her brothers… Regardless, that conversation will happen soon enough.” He turned to the still-seated Aral. “My thanks to you for saving Ismay from those fools. Now, off to Libromazzarco with you, get some rest, and I’ll see you tonight. We’ll go hunting,” he finished with a predatory gleam in his eye.

Hokur nodded, “Aye then.” He stood and put the chair back in its rightful place. “The Dodger likes the dark.”
Viewable by: Public
0 comments
Tags: Dark , fools , Plans , The Dodger
Epic!
Says me
Now, ye may ‘ave noticed a right hint o’ similarities ‘twixt th’ Stunties’ accent an’ me own Aral flavored tongue wanderin’s. Which, iffen a feller were t’ think twice ‘bout they’d come t’ realize tha’ Aral an’ th’ Mountain nae be close an’ neighborly inna geographical way. ‘Cor, th’ don’ mean nuthin’ ‘tall. S’more important is wot lies in th’ twain – Salpia. Sees, it’s th’ Salp way o’ speakin’s an’ word wranglin’ tha’ lends is’elf t’ how th’ dwarf an’ Aral mangle it bu’ good.

‘Ere nows, shuts yer pie-trap fer a moment afore ye go all indignant-like. Hows many Salps yew know tha’ speak th’ Araldite language? Eh? Och, nae near as many as th’ Aral’s tha’ go an’ butcher th’ Salpian, I tells ya truth. An’ those Salps tha’ do, well none o’ ‘em speak like a native son or daughter. Ye’ve got jus’ as much ‘n accent in me ears as I do in yers. Now shuts it an’ lemme finish.

So’s th’ sameness o’ mangles is due t’ lack o’ proper poetics in th’ translated tongue. I nae be sayin’ ye cannae be poetic, or don’ wax on an’ on ‘bout flowers inna field, or th’ way th’ moon shines inna window. Nae, I be meaning tha’ Salps don’ sing their words. They put words t’ song, sure right ‘nough. But ‘is all stumbles an’ bolly-cocks, where th’ meanin’s th’ thing, so’s it be nae a wonder tha’ those o’ us wit’ a more naturally lyrical essence o’ tonal qualities in our speech do be a mite bit hard t’ un’erstand ‘round those tha’ don’.
Viewable by: Public
0 comments
Tags: Aral , Dwarves , words
Bolly-cocked
The big man put down his tankard to use his hands while he spoke. “Fetchin’ th’strange an’ peculiar is wot we’re paid t’ do, so’s no surprise we be findin’ ourselves ridin’ on untrod paths through th’backside o’civilization high up in those mountains. Aspen bark two hands square was jus’ wot we was lookin’ t’acquire, an’ ye nae be findin’ that in some lowland merchants stall. Them trees jus’ nae be right, bein’ all white instea’ o’ a proper brown bark, so’s goes to reason a wizard a have a use fer ‘em. Nae that we cared, the gold is good an’ it keeps fer interesting tales aside from a fair amount of uninterstin’ travel across th’land.”

“Cor’ iffen I were left t’me own t’find most o’ wot we been sent t’gather, we’d nae be half as successful, bein’ that fightin’ an’ fuckin’s me studies, but that’s wot ye ‘ave a Bard an’ Ranger fer. That, an’ a Priest o’ Knowledge. So’s ‘tween thems that do th’ thinkins an’ me’s that does th’ killins – nae that Arcelli nae brings death a-rainin’ down when he so chooses – we’s been right good at our aforementioned task o’ acquirin’ th’odd an’ peculiars of th’ List.”

“So’s as I were sayins, we be pickin’ our way through some mighty unknown high country t’gather some bark o’ those white trees. Bein’ that th’ pale woods only grow near th’peaks, we had t’go fair far up. An’ anything tha’ goes up must come down, an’ so did we, which wa’ much more likeable a journey.”

Hokur paused while he took a pull of his ale. “Now, Arcelli here is out an’ about, doin’ ‘is lookin’ arounds t’make sure none o’ the local beasties decide we’d make a lovely addition t’their bellies, when wot does he come upon bu’ a trio o’ brutes plottin’ our demise. They was perched above th’trail th’rest o’ us were meanderin’ along, us wit’ nary a care in th’world an’ enjoying th’ lovely countryside.” He grinned broadly. “Aye, we was bored silly an’ nae payin’ any attention t’wot were about t’come at us.”

“Well ole Arcelli decides to ambush th’ambushers, makin’ thems th’ ambushees instead o’ us an’ him now th’ ambusher of th’brutes tha’ were formerly th’ambushers. So he sets up an’ soon as we ride, all niggly-a-do and bolly-cocked unawares inta view, he starts wit’ tha’ bow of his t’give those ogres a few new fashion accessories. Aye, I said ogres. I said they was brutes, wot’d think I meant, some biggish Salp bandit wit’ a bad hairlip? O’cor’ it were a threesome of ogres, wot else would be up int’ hinterlands like that? Ev’n a Salp’ll take t’easier lowlands.”

“Now, ye’d think tha’ once they’d started wit’ sproutin’ feathers, they’da break and things’d get real interestin’ but they was so intent on their plan o’ mayhem, they’d nae gotten t’ message they was now th’ambushee instead o’ ambusher. Th’ one bint whispers t’ th’ other jake what had hopped up an’ hollered when Arcelli feathered his arse t’stay quiet – I’m ‘ere t’ tell ye, an ogre’s whisper is like that o’ a bellerin’ pig caught under a fence rail, and by whisper I mean leanin’ out from behind a tree wit’ her shushin’ and sprayin’ spittle a good ten feet. So’s th’ one ducks back down behind th’rock he were hidin’ behind, which o’cor now his arse is stuck out th’other side an’ wavin’ like a peacock’s tail was Arcelli’s arrows. Now, we’d all seen her shush ‘em, so’s we’ve stopped on th’trail and start addin’ feathers o’our own t’those that Arcelli sendin’ in.”

“Ogres is nae renowned fer intellectual prowess, an’ it appeared we’d stumbled on a right brilliant example o’ tha’, as they nae came a chargin’ out but tried to sneak inta a better position to get th’ drop on us, nae a realizin’ our flingin’ arrows and bolts themways meant their ambush was now busted. Th’ third one, he grabs th’bush he was hidin’ mostly behind and hoists it up, roots an’ all, and makes wit’ th’ eeky-sneaky. Fer truth, seein’ a wobblin’ Ogre try t’ tip-toe holdin’ nothin’ but a buckbrush in front fer cover’s enough t’make any man miss ‘is shot by laughin’, regardless o’ th’fact a good backhand from one o’ them’d send ye flyin’ minus a few teeth at least, or yer head at worst. Th’fella ‘hind th’ rock got enough of Arcelli’s pokin’s an’ decided t’ take a dirt nap. And th’She-ogre … would that be Ogress, Raylen? Or does She-Ogre suffice fer it?” Hokur asked the priest with a quirked brow, as he paused for a drink.

“Ogress would be the proper form, although She-ogre does carry …” Raylen began.

“Ogress it is then! The ogress, she’s all ‘Shhhhh! and spittle spray ev’n as Dirt-boy lets loose a resounding fart as he settles inta dead. Well, that musta settled it fer ‘em, an’ th’ two left decided t’spring th’ambush that were already sprung. Unfortunately fer th’Ogre-inna -bush, leaves nae stop arrows an’ bolts so he be th’next to go deaded.”

“Now as I said afore, fightin’s my area of expertise as such, so’s when the Ogress comes boundin’ down t’ lay inta us, I naturally move t’ th’ fore. And Raylen here reminds me, I’m not at all up to snuff, what with havin’ some lingerin’ effects o’er dealin’ wit’ somethin’ best left untold.” Hokur took another draught before continuing. “Tha’s one o’ th’ problems wit’ traipsin’ ‘round in gods-only-know-wheres, is sometimes ye run inta things that ne’er should see th’ light o’day, ev’n in tale. An’ that’s all I’ve got t’ say on that.”

“So’s the priest here unlimbers that stick o’ his and shakes out a few while Her Ogressship is come boundin’ down th’ slope, wavin’ a small tree o’er ‘er head an’ lookin’ t’ make ‘im a permanent part o’ ‘is saddle. Just as th’ beastie swings, Raylen scoots Clod there t’ th’ side an’ th’ breeze from tha’ blow would’ve been right nice on a warmer day, ‘cept fer th’ dust she raised in findin’ not a crunchy priest’s skull but th’ ground instead. Well Raylen was havin’ none o’ that now, so afore she’d recovered he whirled tha’ mace o’ his around an’ sent a blow straight up inta ‘er nethers that’d make any man flinch an’ lifted ‘er straight up on ’er toes. She musta stood like that a good three heartbeats afore her eyes rolled back in ‘er ‘ead an’ she toppled o’er dead as dead.”

“Aye, with that kind of crunch, it were nae any wonder.” Maeve said with a shudder.
Session: Candygram for Mongo! - Saturday, Feb 16 2013 from 12:15 PM to 9:15 PM
Viewable by: Public
0 comments
Epic × 2!
Another round
Hokur dropped his empty flagon back on the table in front of him and motioned for another.

“Now iffen ye recall” the big man began, “afore I were fightin’ lizards in nothin’ but me boots while bollocks deep in one o’ them soiled elfish doves, we’d done a bit o’ travelin’ in the yonders o’ home sweet Aral.” He gave a nod and continued. “Oh aye, Aral – an’ that’s a fair stretch o’ land from south o’ Struthencloch t’ the silky pillows o’ Lala Falucie or whatever th’ balls th’ Elves named it.”

"Leulëleocë." Maeve corrected his butchering with a raised eyebrow and quirk of her mouth.

“Aye, s’wot I said weren’t it.“ He grinned at the bard. “So’s there we were, bookin’ passage on the Guldflamme of Enar Ulafson out o’ Struthencloch bound fer Ulante. That’s abit o’ sea travel! …but when th’ wizard what pays yer way says “Get waters from the Serpent Sea not seen by land nor sky”, that’s where ye end up at. Now, ‘bout time th’ boat … “

“Ship.” Maeve interjected.

Hokur paused and shot her a look while Raylen grinned. “…th’ ship is ready t’ sail, I’d done had enough o’ wharf doxies. Ev’n th’ higher quality was leather-skinned, stringy, an’ bit too predatory fer me personal tastes.” He leaned back and stroked down his long moustaches. “I surppose that’s part o’ why I nae ‘ave anythin’ good t’ say regardin’ Turnbulls – ev’n their harlots can ruin a good fuck. Mebbe nae as bad as Salps, but Salps’ll least fake it fer more coin better’n those port whores. Ha, reckon I’ve had a samplin’ of professional gals jus’bout all across th’ land now, but that’s really a different story or three.”

“More like three score, ye lecherous cad,” Maeve quipped over her glass.

“Ever been to Sperso?” Arcelli asked. “Those gods-forsaken rot cunts… rather fuck a rabid owlbear covered in stirges. Or maybe that’s what they were, just in clothes. Fucking gash hags.” The ranger shuddered at the memory.

“Nae, ne’er had one of yer famed feral hookers of Sperso, Arcelli, an’ nae likely t’ either. No sir thank you very much no!” Hokur finished with a violent shake of his head.

He took a pull on his refilled mug. “Ah, now sailin’ on th’ mighty blue… nae that I know all shite from shinola ‘bout a boat, ...er ship, aye lass, I know.” He shot the bard a glance which was met with that raised brow again. “Of cour’, Maeve is up on deck most days gobblin’ up songs ‘n stories as fast as them Nord sailor boys’ll teach her. Girl can speak almost any tongue out there, made ‘erself right at home with th’ mate Ivark. Meanwhiles, Arcelli ‘n meself stays out o’ th’ way. Best way t’ piss a man right off is gettin’ in ‘is way when he’s workin’. So’s I went about losing a few coins on dice when them big blokes was nae busy hauling rope or scrubbing wood. An’ Raylen, well…” the merc made an expansive gesture and brought his hands together at his chest. “Our poor priest must nae ‘ave known ‘bout sea sickness, as Neguma blessed ‘im wit’ a dousing o’ th’ green oyster growls fer the first few days. Kept ‘im downwind ‘n leeward right enough, ‘n damn near had t’ haul him out o’ th’ swells a few times. Nae that I be any old hat a’ it, but I was hav’n none o’ that, bein’ th’ years in th’ saddle must o’ given me a right appreciation fer walkin wit’ a rollin deck under me legs. An’ just ‘bout the time Raylen’s nae looking green about the gills, t’were time t’ go in the salty brine.”

“Now, fer this venture, Raylen was front an’ center, being th’ only one t’be able t’ use his spells t’ go deep enough t’ get out o’ the sight o’ sky ‘cause we were already beyond sight o’ land fer days. That’s a brave one,” he said as he raised his drink in salute to the slight priest. “Droppin’ down inta th’ cold deep enough t’ have all th’ light fade out t’ blackness, down inta th’ serpent’s hold as th’ Nord say. So’s e’s layerin the blessings o’ Neguma on his priestly self fer this venture t’fetch water from under the water – wizards, man, wizards,” Hokur gave a slight shake of his head and grinned before continuing. “We’d looped a bit o’ rope around him, so’s we can haul ‘em back up once he’s done his task an’ Arcelli asks him if he’s ready. I sees it comin’ as I was holdin’ th’ rope but afore I can say anything th’ fool nods an’ Arcelli shoves him o’er th’ rail an’ there I was, fishing wit’ a priest as bait in the Serpent Sea.”
Session: Sail away, sail away, sail away... - Saturday, Jan 19 2013 from 12:00 PM to 8:00 PM
Viewable by: Public
0 comments
Epic × 2!
Coitus Interuptus
Let’s start with me sayin’ that elfish whores is not quite like yer regular Salpian whores. Oh, they’ll take yer coin ready enough, donnae get me wrong, but whereas a Salpian cunt will just lie there and have you pound away until ya bust yer nut once you’ve paid up, the elves have a little different take on the operation. Fer them, it’s more about the experience than the transaction, if you will. Maybe it’s their longer-lived outlook or some such. In any case, it’s rather more enjoyable than yer standard Salp fuck-hole, but not nearly as much fun as tickling a good and willin’ Aral lass into a frolic behind the barn.

And elven brothel is more like a relaxin’ interlude than merely a place to spend some pent up frustrations, and I’m man enough t’say that travelin with the likes of Maeve will give any healthy male gods aplenty of frustration. If the sway of hip and bounce of breast donnae do it fer ya, or the wild mass of curls beggin’ fer yer hands t’tangle in, orthe turn of her lips, let alone the spark in her eyes when she’s up t’mischief, then once she commences singing … aye, I’m nigh certain half her tips come from the whores on the uptake on custom. The fact that she did be our captain at the time, well, bangin’ the boss is a bad idea if’n yer wishin’ t’stay employed, and anyways, she was none for havin’ any of that kind of fun.

Anyways, I was talking about elfish whores. See, the elves make a spectacle of getting yer rocks off. Oh, not a flashy show, but serious like nonetheless – a production. Once you make the deal, and that’s a weirdness in itself, all contracted agreement and such, once you broker that deal, then it’s like being treated like a king or some such. No slam-bam-thank-ya-ma’am with the elves. Fer example, on me first trip, there was quite a bit of massage going on, this little elf woman worked the knots out of me shoulders and arms something amazing, then worked on me feet, up me legs, and ,’bout the time I was wonderin’ iffen I’d missed something on the contract, finally worked me cock with hands, mouth and cunny... And all the while this music is playing from somewhere downstairs and scented candles is providin’ the only light and wine in yer glass so’s ye never see the bottom… you laugh, but och! If ye never had it, ye cannae understand. And once that first round was up they just keep going. Fer as small as they are, they must be part hollow as they can accommodate a feller right fine. And they enjoy it too. The wild gleam in their eyes… almost Aral in that… once they start ye just have to hold on and ride that mount until it’s done. Again and again. See, elves don’t deal with just ye spurtin out yer load once or twice, they’re havin’ none o’ that, it’s all night with the unsleeping little minxes! Drain a man right into sleepin’ half a day away by way of recoverin’ they will.

So, Raylen and meself, having decided that playing with elf lasses in the brothels was more rewardin’ – and less frustratin’ – than listening to Maeve’s performances – as a bloke can only stand so much of that before he has to have a release of some sort – hied us on down t’the establishment where we was becomin’ fair regular fixtures. We’d gotten the deal brokered and were settled in fer a night of amorous congress, as they says. Raylen’s across the hall, pleasuring and being pleasured by three of the lassies – “a priest of Neguma goes for the full experience” he says – whilst I’m doing a fine job of leaving Miss Sparkle-eyes breathless and fulfilled and she me. Of a sudden there’s a crash next to me head and some scaly arm and snout busts through the window next to the bed.

Well, what’s a feller gonna do when he’s balls deep in a doxy, with nae a stitch on, and some scaled monster interrupts the mood? Grab the Bleary-Eyed Dodger and stab the fucker is what! I wrapped one arm around the whore, leaned back to grab the Dodger, and sliced the beastie across the throat but good. Blood spray tells me it’s as good as dead, as there’s a thick red heat showerin’across naked bodies already slick with sweat, so I heave the trollop in close to get some maneuverin’ room.

Now, although elves is notorious fer takin’ anything in stride, apparently getting drenched with gore whilst being impaled on me Aral staff was more than the dear little slip of a thing could handle, as she starts up a wail in me ears louder than four cats with their tails tied together. An it’s nae like I could take the time to console her, ‘cause fuck me if there were nae another lizard tryin’ to claw its way inside! This one decided to maybe clear the way first, havin’ seen what happened t’it’s mate, so it heaves a stick in first, which missed me by a mile even inside and nekkid. Poking its muzzle in to see what its stick had done, me and the Dodger let it know ye never interrupt a McMerceson while he’s fuckin’.

With two down and more likely, I decides its maybe time to unsheathe meself from Miss Screams-a-lot and get serious about endin’ this foolishment. So I slides her off gentle-like and sets her down away from the busted window, and stomps int’ me boots. What more’s an Aral need, aye? And, bam, out the window I go, Dodger and me manhood a wavin’ in the night, lookin’ fer trouble and sure t’find it.

Apparently these lizardmen did nae be expectin an Aral clad in naught but their comrade’s blood to come play with ‘em. The one was still a staggerin’ about, so’s a quick slash with the Dodger and its down fer good t’join the other one what was poolin’ out its life blood. Now hearin’ more ruckus coming from around the way, I steps out in the street and spies Arcelli at the corner of the brothel, most likely come from playin’ in the woods with his elven brothers after this bit of nuisance, and gives him a nod. Maybe I spooked him as well, but he gives me the sign there’s more down that away, pointin’ t’me left, so’s off I bop, all a wavin’ free as ye please. Sure’s enough, another lizard had gone and gotten into the locals next door, and the wee elf trying desperately to hold off the lizard that was slaverin’ fer his throat. Well, I was havin’ none of that. I slipped right in and gave the critter what for, the Dodger making thrusts in that hide and endin’ whatever lizardy dreams it started the night with.

As it goes, I was nae the only one that had his bit of fun interrupted. Apparently Raylen, hearin’ me little bit o’ fluff screamin’ and wailin’, had disentangled hisself from his joy toys and come investigatin’. Only in the Salp’s need for propriety he spent the time to slip into his trousers and boots afore coming out of his side of the hall, right into seein’ one of the beasties coming through a window. Well, apparently not havin’ a weapon in hand is no deterrent fer the man as he brings down the wrath of Neguma on the critter, seared it crisp in one stroke. I suppose Neguma don’t take lightly to havin’ his priest’s quest fer knowledge interrupted, about the same as an Aral does, if ye take my meaning.

So Raylen comes out the front door of the brothel about the time I’m steppin back out from dealing with the beastie in the neighborin’ elf house. Arcelli is spittin’ mad as both meself and Raylen had seen him in the shadows where he thought he was hid. Man must know nothing heightens the senses like fuckin’ or fightin’, and when both are involved, well, perception is apt to be a wee bit different. Arcelli, he says there’s another one down yonder, and we all take after it. What a sight that must’ve been… Arcelli swathed from head t’foot in his darkest cloak, followed by Raylen with his pasty white chest glimmering like his holy symbol, and finally me in naught but what Fate and Nature handed me. Heh! The last nasty was just about to finish off the elf inside when we arrived, and whether it was Arcelli’s arrow, Raylen’s holy bolt, or the Dodger what did it in, only the gods know, but needless to say, the elf was mighty thankful we did. Even more so once I put on me pants.

Session: You aren't from around here... - Saturday, Jul 06 2013 from 11:00 AM to 9:00 PM
Viewable by: Public
0 comments
Epic × 2!