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*SNAP!*
The mischievious tiefling snapped his fingers, sparking his cigarette with a simple prestidigitation. He had carefully rolled the butt with his favorite pipeweed blend just minutes ago. It was probably the only careful thing he did in his entire life. And it was a long life.
"So mon," spoke the tiefling, "you fresh off deh boat? Me too! Makin me way to dis joint dey call Jimmy's Den. Ya 'eard of dis ting?"
"No, I just came to Sundren," replied the young man. He was nervous in the presence of a tiefling, but his nerves calmed when he saw the horned man use a minor spell. A mage is a mage, thought the young man.
"Well den, what say you cast in yer lot with me, eh? We go down an' find dis place dey call Jimmy's an' burn one fer dem gods--give em tanks proper, fer we ain't been sunk out in da ocean!" The tiefling spoke whimsically but had the aire of a superstitious sailor.
"I could use a place to stay, I suppose," responded the young man. "And I do need to make it to the city. Is this 'Jimmy' a friend of yours?"
"No mon," said the tiefling. "But ah be meetin' a friend der at sundown. Come a long way fer dis ting 'ere mon." The two shared a polite conversation as they traveled into the city.
************************************************
"This isn't really my sort of place," said the young man nervously. He had come to the city to join see the mage towers--maybe even become a soldier. The bar that stood before him--Jimmy's Dice Den--was no place for a prospective mage or soldier. Inside, he could hear fights and screams of passion and pain. There was boisterous talking and shouts here and again. A drunk was bumbling about the entrance, slumping over to spit his dinner up. He was uncomfortable having made the trip and wanted nothing to do with this place.
"A'right den mon, you be off," said the tiefling. The horned man had a look of mischief and glee in his eye as he stepped foot into the bar, leaving his escort behind.
The room was full and busy. The usual gambling and boxing was happening in Jimmy's. There was lots of booze and floozies of every gender and race. The tiefling had never been here, but he'd been to hundreds of places like it. He loved it.
His eyes scanned the room and fell on a fair-skinned woman with neatly-parted hair.
"Sarry!," called the tiefling, "Been a long, long time! What business ya have wit yer ol' mate Trose, hm?"
The woman was standing next to a hin whose nose was buried in a card game. She seemed absorbed in the game, watching to absorb every rule. The card game was new to her, but she never missed a chance to learn a new game. She was as competitive as they come, and she wouldn't want to lose if she jumped in for the next hand.
She looked up in response to Trose's call. Truthfully, her name was Sariel, but the man refused to use full names. She hated it, but then again, she hated him. Sometimes.
Sariel smirked. "Trose. You came. I'm shocked," she said. Clearly she wasn't surprised at all. She oozed sarcasm like a squeezed fruit. She knew he'd make the trip to Sundren when she called for him. He always came.
"Ho, right den, when I e'er disappoint you, hm?," said Trose. "Ah even know what ya gonna ask me, an' ya know de answer be 'no.' So we aught get some drinks, burn one fer dem gods, an' catch up." The tiefling had a small tone of annoyment in these words, but he offered a half-smile and moved toward the bar.
Sariel stopped him with a gentle hand as he neared. With her other hand, she held out a small figure. It was a little toy lion--wooden, painted gold. "I've found her," she said quietly. She looked through her bangs at Trose, baiting him.
Trose paused, taking a moment to think what she meant. There was a range of possibilities, and he was a smart man. He mulled them over and decided there was some merit to this. She wouldn't have called him if it was just a trick. He was too smart for that--and she'd tried it before. "I ain't sure what you be tryin ta tell me here, but ya best be showin' me," said Trose.
"Very well. I suppose drinks can wait," said Sariel. She tucked the little lion away and led Sariel out of Jimmy's. Her hin friend followed along.
************************************************
The three padded down the road. They entered the Viridale and made their way to the druid grove. They stood to the side of the main path. Parting a few trees, they gazed over its inhabitants. After a moment, Sariel shot her finger out and gently whispered, "There."
Trose followed her finger. A young elf sat by the pool combing her hair. His knees began to tremble.
"Her name is Arawen," said Sariel. Then she turned to the hin. "My friend, I know our company is so endearing, but we have some private matters to discuss. Excuse us."
Sariel and Trose retreated into the forest, leaving the hin confused and alone.
The mischievious tiefling snapped his fingers, sparking his cigarette with a simple prestidigitation. He had carefully rolled the butt with his favorite pipeweed blend just minutes ago. It was probably the only careful thing he did in his entire life. And it was a long life.
"So mon," spoke the tiefling, "you fresh off deh boat? Me too! Makin me way to dis joint dey call Jimmy's Den. Ya 'eard of dis ting?"
"No, I just came to Sundren," replied the young man. He was nervous in the presence of a tiefling, but his nerves calmed when he saw the horned man use a minor spell. A mage is a mage, thought the young man.
"Well den, what say you cast in yer lot with me, eh? We go down an' find dis place dey call Jimmy's an' burn one fer dem gods--give em tanks proper, fer we ain't been sunk out in da ocean!" The tiefling spoke whimsically but had the aire of a superstitious sailor.
"I could use a place to stay, I suppose," responded the young man. "And I do need to make it to the city. Is this 'Jimmy' a friend of yours?"
"No mon," said the tiefling. "But ah be meetin' a friend der at sundown. Come a long way fer dis ting 'ere mon." The two shared a polite conversation as they traveled into the city.
************************************************
"This isn't really my sort of place," said the young man nervously. He had come to the city to join see the mage towers--maybe even become a soldier. The bar that stood before him--Jimmy's Dice Den--was no place for a prospective mage or soldier. Inside, he could hear fights and screams of passion and pain. There was boisterous talking and shouts here and again. A drunk was bumbling about the entrance, slumping over to spit his dinner up. He was uncomfortable having made the trip and wanted nothing to do with this place.
"A'right den mon, you be off," said the tiefling. The horned man had a look of mischief and glee in his eye as he stepped foot into the bar, leaving his escort behind.
The room was full and busy. The usual gambling and boxing was happening in Jimmy's. There was lots of booze and floozies of every gender and race. The tiefling had never been here, but he'd been to hundreds of places like it. He loved it.
His eyes scanned the room and fell on a fair-skinned woman with neatly-parted hair.
"Sarry!," called the tiefling, "Been a long, long time! What business ya have wit yer ol' mate Trose, hm?"
The woman was standing next to a hin whose nose was buried in a card game. She seemed absorbed in the game, watching to absorb every rule. The card game was new to her, but she never missed a chance to learn a new game. She was as competitive as they come, and she wouldn't want to lose if she jumped in for the next hand.
She looked up in response to Trose's call. Truthfully, her name was Sariel, but the man refused to use full names. She hated it, but then again, she hated him. Sometimes.
Sariel smirked. "Trose. You came. I'm shocked," she said. Clearly she wasn't surprised at all. She oozed sarcasm like a squeezed fruit. She knew he'd make the trip to Sundren when she called for him. He always came.
"Ho, right den, when I e'er disappoint you, hm?," said Trose. "Ah even know what ya gonna ask me, an' ya know de answer be 'no.' So we aught get some drinks, burn one fer dem gods, an' catch up." The tiefling had a small tone of annoyment in these words, but he offered a half-smile and moved toward the bar.
Sariel stopped him with a gentle hand as he neared. With her other hand, she held out a small figure. It was a little toy lion--wooden, painted gold. "I've found her," she said quietly. She looked through her bangs at Trose, baiting him.
Trose paused, taking a moment to think what she meant. There was a range of possibilities, and he was a smart man. He mulled them over and decided there was some merit to this. She wouldn't have called him if it was just a trick. He was too smart for that--and she'd tried it before. "I ain't sure what you be tryin ta tell me here, but ya best be showin' me," said Trose.
"Very well. I suppose drinks can wait," said Sariel. She tucked the little lion away and led Sariel out of Jimmy's. Her hin friend followed along.
************************************************
The three padded down the road. They entered the Viridale and made their way to the druid grove. They stood to the side of the main path. Parting a few trees, they gazed over its inhabitants. After a moment, Sariel shot her finger out and gently whispered, "There."
Trose followed her finger. A young elf sat by the pool combing her hair. His knees began to tremble.
"Her name is Arawen," said Sariel. Then she turned to the hin. "My friend, I know our company is so endearing, but we have some private matters to discuss. Excuse us."
Sariel and Trose retreated into the forest, leaving the hin confused and alone.
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