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CERAMIC D.M. (not the current one, a year old)
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<blockquote data-quote="NoOneofConsequence" data-source="post: 846782" data-attributes="member: 5400"><p><strong>My entry - unnamed</strong></p><p></p><p>Treffin balanced his fighting knife by the point of its blade on the palm of his hand. It was a trick that he had almost completely perfected and he used it frequently to exude an air of professional indifference; the look of a competent mercenary too experienced to be surprised by anything and only interested in his own aptitude with weapons. At least that was how it had looked to Treffin when he’d seen a mercenary sergeant doing it last summer in the taproom of the Crofter’s Rest. Treffin had been so impressed he’d bought himself a similar dagger from a tinker at the next market day and had spent the winter teaching himself the trick. He felt it made him look very calm and competent, and he only cut himself very infrequently nowadays.</p><p></p><p>Not that the sage he was working for would likely have noticed, even if Treffin cut his own hand right off. The small, skinny man with the sparse white beard and grizzled face spent the whole day bent over flowers, while Treffin stood guard against wild animals or monsters. It was Treffin’s first real job as a mercenary and while he was glad to be paid, he had no idea it would be so boring. He was to keep watch at the head of the field while the sage danced about from flower to flower, seeking out what he called the Mickelmas bee, which the sage claimed should frequent the flowers of fields like this one. </p><p></p><p>Treffin had never heard of the Mickelmas bee before the sage had hired him, but he now knew how the species differed from the regular honey bee, how rare the species was and how the jelly from the insect’s hive was an important ingredient for several rare alchemical recipes. The young mercenary had not wanted to learn all these details, but having spent day after day listening to the sage’s expostulations, Treffin was sure that he could easily pick a Mickelmas bee from a hundred paces. In fact the bee that had landed on a nearby flower was almost certainly was a Mickelmas. Treffin called the sage.</p><p></p><p>“Oh well done,” said the sage, leaning close to study the bee as it walked across the heavily pollen-covered flower. “This is exactly what I’m looking for. Now I’ll try and find the hive.”</p><p></p><p>“I should charge you extra, for this,” said Treffin. He was well satisfied with the price he’d originally negotiated, but he’d heard that experienced mercenaries always keep an eye out for extra payment. The sage wasn’t interested. </p><p></p><p>Instead he handed his mercenary guard the empty water skin and said, “Be a good lad and refill this in the grotto while I look for the hive.”</p><p></p><p>Treffin wanted to protest, but realized that his own skin needed refilling, since he’d drunk it dry over the course of the morning. He took the sage’s skin and headed up over the shoulder of the mountain. </p><p></p><p>The grotto was a deep fissure in the dark basalt of the mountain rock. From a thin crack about half way up the north wall of the fissure an underground river cascaded to a pool at the grotto’s bottom. The water’s dark surface was in constant motion, and the steep fissure walls kept the whole area cool and in shadow.</p><p></p><p>Treffin made his way down the rough-hewn path in the grotto wall, heading towards the pool. He was becoming increasingly resentful at being treated like the sage’s lackey and he was certain that no truly professional mercenary would settle for such treatment. As he worked his way down he muttered to himself; “I should definitely charge extra for this.”</p><p></p><p>Treffin was almost to the narrow pebbled beach at the bottom of the grotto, when he heard the sound of weeping. No more than twenty paces away, sitting at the water’s edge, was a woman. She was facing the water, her long black hair cascading down her back in lustrous waves. Her skin was the color of honey. As near as Treffin could make out, she was completely naked and the sound of her crying carried even over the noise of the falling water. Nearly irresistible visions filled Treffin’s mind; of damsels in distress, being rescued in a proficient, military manner by young mercenaries out for glory and pay, but not above the occasional act of chivalry. He raced across the pebbles, casting down the water skins as he ran.</p><p></p><p>“Tell me, m’lady,” he called out, trying to sound calm and confident. “What troubles you?”</p><p></p><p>“The beauty and succulence of youth,” came the woman’s reply, with a voice that sounded like bones cracking against the rocks of a fast flowing river.</p><p></p><p>Treffin recoiled in horror as the ‘woman’ turned to face him. The honey colored skin sloughed off like an old cloak, revealing a warty green hide. The hair transformed into a tangled, black mat, like rotting swamp grass. The creature’s face was dominated by long hooked nose and her eyes were blacker than the depths of the grotto pool.</p><p></p><p>“Such a pleasure to entertain so juicy a meal,” the monster said, her breath stinking like slime. Her long, bony arm shot out and grasped Treffin by the throat. He tried to struggle, but the creature’s grip was stronger than deep current and she was inexorably choking the breath from his lungs. He reached for his dagger, but the blinding pain in his head was too much and the blade slipped from his grip. Blackness, like the darkness of the deep pool, rose up in his eyes as he began to feel himself pass out.</p><p></p><p>From above the contending pair came the sound of arcane language, invoking magic older than the dawn of time. A bolt of eldritch energy, a lightning bolt of emerald and gold, arced downward and struck the monster fair in the chest. Treffin staggered back, released from the creature’s grip. He gasped loudly, sucking in sweet, fresh air. The green-skinned monster screamed in pain and frustration as, high above, the sage intoned another spell. The monster tried to flee towards the safety of the pool, but the sage’s magic struck it down before it could take even a step, and it fell, dead, across the rocks.</p><p></p><p>Treffin could hear the swift sounds of the sage’s footsteps as he rubbed his sore neck and tried to clear his vision. “Thank you,” he started to say, when he realized that the sage had run straight past him to the body of the monster. He slowly levered himself off the pebbles and staggered over.</p><p></p><p>“A river hag,” said the sage, his delight obvious. “This is an excellent find, my boy. Do you have any idea what I can do with the skin alone? Then there’s the teeth; the bones; I think I even have a use for the eyes!”</p><p></p><p>“Lots of alchemical recipes?” asked Treffin.</p><p></p><p>“Oh yes, rare ones. River hag ingredients are especially difficult to come by.”</p><p></p><p>“Right,” said Treffin, looking for his dagger. “I’ll have to charge you extra for this then.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="NoOneofConsequence, post: 846782, member: 5400"] [b]My entry - unnamed[/b] Treffin balanced his fighting knife by the point of its blade on the palm of his hand. It was a trick that he had almost completely perfected and he used it frequently to exude an air of professional indifference; the look of a competent mercenary too experienced to be surprised by anything and only interested in his own aptitude with weapons. At least that was how it had looked to Treffin when he’d seen a mercenary sergeant doing it last summer in the taproom of the Crofter’s Rest. Treffin had been so impressed he’d bought himself a similar dagger from a tinker at the next market day and had spent the winter teaching himself the trick. He felt it made him look very calm and competent, and he only cut himself very infrequently nowadays. Not that the sage he was working for would likely have noticed, even if Treffin cut his own hand right off. The small, skinny man with the sparse white beard and grizzled face spent the whole day bent over flowers, while Treffin stood guard against wild animals or monsters. It was Treffin’s first real job as a mercenary and while he was glad to be paid, he had no idea it would be so boring. He was to keep watch at the head of the field while the sage danced about from flower to flower, seeking out what he called the Mickelmas bee, which the sage claimed should frequent the flowers of fields like this one. Treffin had never heard of the Mickelmas bee before the sage had hired him, but he now knew how the species differed from the regular honey bee, how rare the species was and how the jelly from the insect’s hive was an important ingredient for several rare alchemical recipes. The young mercenary had not wanted to learn all these details, but having spent day after day listening to the sage’s expostulations, Treffin was sure that he could easily pick a Mickelmas bee from a hundred paces. In fact the bee that had landed on a nearby flower was almost certainly was a Mickelmas. Treffin called the sage. “Oh well done,” said the sage, leaning close to study the bee as it walked across the heavily pollen-covered flower. “This is exactly what I’m looking for. Now I’ll try and find the hive.” “I should charge you extra, for this,” said Treffin. He was well satisfied with the price he’d originally negotiated, but he’d heard that experienced mercenaries always keep an eye out for extra payment. The sage wasn’t interested. Instead he handed his mercenary guard the empty water skin and said, “Be a good lad and refill this in the grotto while I look for the hive.” Treffin wanted to protest, but realized that his own skin needed refilling, since he’d drunk it dry over the course of the morning. He took the sage’s skin and headed up over the shoulder of the mountain. The grotto was a deep fissure in the dark basalt of the mountain rock. From a thin crack about half way up the north wall of the fissure an underground river cascaded to a pool at the grotto’s bottom. The water’s dark surface was in constant motion, and the steep fissure walls kept the whole area cool and in shadow. Treffin made his way down the rough-hewn path in the grotto wall, heading towards the pool. He was becoming increasingly resentful at being treated like the sage’s lackey and he was certain that no truly professional mercenary would settle for such treatment. As he worked his way down he muttered to himself; “I should definitely charge extra for this.” Treffin was almost to the narrow pebbled beach at the bottom of the grotto, when he heard the sound of weeping. No more than twenty paces away, sitting at the water’s edge, was a woman. She was facing the water, her long black hair cascading down her back in lustrous waves. Her skin was the color of honey. As near as Treffin could make out, she was completely naked and the sound of her crying carried even over the noise of the falling water. Nearly irresistible visions filled Treffin’s mind; of damsels in distress, being rescued in a proficient, military manner by young mercenaries out for glory and pay, but not above the occasional act of chivalry. He raced across the pebbles, casting down the water skins as he ran. “Tell me, m’lady,” he called out, trying to sound calm and confident. “What troubles you?” “The beauty and succulence of youth,” came the woman’s reply, with a voice that sounded like bones cracking against the rocks of a fast flowing river. Treffin recoiled in horror as the ‘woman’ turned to face him. The honey colored skin sloughed off like an old cloak, revealing a warty green hide. The hair transformed into a tangled, black mat, like rotting swamp grass. The creature’s face was dominated by long hooked nose and her eyes were blacker than the depths of the grotto pool. “Such a pleasure to entertain so juicy a meal,” the monster said, her breath stinking like slime. Her long, bony arm shot out and grasped Treffin by the throat. He tried to struggle, but the creature’s grip was stronger than deep current and she was inexorably choking the breath from his lungs. He reached for his dagger, but the blinding pain in his head was too much and the blade slipped from his grip. Blackness, like the darkness of the deep pool, rose up in his eyes as he began to feel himself pass out. From above the contending pair came the sound of arcane language, invoking magic older than the dawn of time. A bolt of eldritch energy, a lightning bolt of emerald and gold, arced downward and struck the monster fair in the chest. Treffin staggered back, released from the creature’s grip. He gasped loudly, sucking in sweet, fresh air. The green-skinned monster screamed in pain and frustration as, high above, the sage intoned another spell. The monster tried to flee towards the safety of the pool, but the sage’s magic struck it down before it could take even a step, and it fell, dead, across the rocks. Treffin could hear the swift sounds of the sage’s footsteps as he rubbed his sore neck and tried to clear his vision. “Thank you,” he started to say, when he realized that the sage had run straight past him to the body of the monster. He slowly levered himself off the pebbles and staggered over. “A river hag,” said the sage, his delight obvious. “This is an excellent find, my boy. Do you have any idea what I can do with the skin alone? Then there’s the teeth; the bones; I think I even have a use for the eyes!” “Lots of alchemical recipes?” asked Treffin. “Oh yes, rare ones. River hag ingredients are especially difficult to come by.” “Right,” said Treffin, looking for his dagger. “I’ll have to charge you extra for this then.” [/QUOTE]
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