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[5E] The Kalarian Precipice - Chapter One
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<blockquote data-quote="97mg" data-source="post: 7344289" data-attributes="member: 6799460"><p><strong>Otiroth</strong></p><p></p><p><strong>Otiroth:</strong> With natural cunning and ears purposely peeled, you aren't surprised that much of the morning’s drifting conversations seem to be about today's annual celebration. There is a great deal of pride in many voices, and a sense of excitement too. A small band of young halflings jog past you, obviously conducting some kind of private race. A dark elf clothed in velvet scowls as they push past. An old dwarf, clearly still drunk from the night before staggers along, singing a ghastly tune in a guttural language you can't comprehend.</p><p></p><p>Then a human voice, sweet of tone and young in years catches your ear. A little girl just ahead of you is holding hands with a very solid framed man. Both wear the homespun yarn of farming folk and their boots look well traveled to say the least. </p><p></p><p>“Father, it was horrible, and Gingy picked it up with a stick. He laughed at me when I screamed, so I gave his shin a fair kicking.”</p><p></p><p>At this, the man stops in his stride and turns to the girl. You clearly see his long waxy locks of hair twist onto a shoulder, and the profile of a wide-jawed and fleshy nosed parent as he stoops down low to speak with her eye to eye. You can almost see the pride mixed with shock in his features.</p><p></p><p>“Dira, you must promise me never to go near such things again. And stay away from that lout, you hear?”</p><p></p><p>His daughter looks down at the roadside, as if surveying the site of a bubble’s burst, before she looks back to him.</p><p></p><p>“What are they? Patrick said Emera said Patty's mother lost three horses to one. Three!”</p><p></p><p>“I don't know Dira...” he replies, before turning his head in your direction.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="97mg, post: 7344289, member: 6799460"] [b]Otiroth[/b] [B]Otiroth:[/B] With natural cunning and ears purposely peeled, you aren't surprised that much of the morning’s drifting conversations seem to be about today's annual celebration. There is a great deal of pride in many voices, and a sense of excitement too. A small band of young halflings jog past you, obviously conducting some kind of private race. A dark elf clothed in velvet scowls as they push past. An old dwarf, clearly still drunk from the night before staggers along, singing a ghastly tune in a guttural language you can't comprehend. Then a human voice, sweet of tone and young in years catches your ear. A little girl just ahead of you is holding hands with a very solid framed man. Both wear the homespun yarn of farming folk and their boots look well traveled to say the least. “Father, it was horrible, and Gingy picked it up with a stick. He laughed at me when I screamed, so I gave his shin a fair kicking.” At this, the man stops in his stride and turns to the girl. You clearly see his long waxy locks of hair twist onto a shoulder, and the profile of a wide-jawed and fleshy nosed parent as he stoops down low to speak with her eye to eye. You can almost see the pride mixed with shock in his features. “Dira, you must promise me never to go near such things again. And stay away from that lout, you hear?” His daughter looks down at the roadside, as if surveying the site of a bubble’s burst, before she looks back to him. “What are they? Patrick said Emera said Patty's mother lost three horses to one. Three!” “I don't know Dira...” he replies, before turning his head in your direction. [/QUOTE]
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