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<blockquote data-quote="Urko" data-source="post: 2354570" data-attributes="member: 30822"><p><strong>Knowledge checks</strong></p><p></p><p><span style="color: silver">Eff Flat remembers:</span></p><p><span style="color: silver">[sblock]<em>A smoky tavern in the Lhazaarite town of Cliffscrape. Eff Flat's musical stylings have been received well enough, but he lost the attention of his audience with the arrival of a gaudily dressed human. "It's Captain Malik!" was the excited whisper that ran rippled through the crowd. He ordered a round of drinks for the house, then for the next hour held everyone, Eff Flat included, enthralled with the tales of his exploits. He boasted of penetrating deep into the heart of Riedra, and of bringing back many trophies. Among other things, he explained how the ruling class there are believed to be infused with the power of the divine. "The Inspired, the called themselves." He threw a blade that could have been the twin to the one taken from Kajalaketh onto the table. "I took that from one of their company commanders, in single battle. Very dangerous--and treacherous--foes, the Inspired."</em>[/sblock]</span></p><p> <span style="color: silver"></span></p><p><span style="color: silver">Erin remembers:</span></p><p><span style="color: silver">[sblock]<em>The campfire was hardly necessary under eight moons and in the gentle climate of the Talenta Plains, but the refugees huddled around it nonetheless. There was little talk on the trek from Cyre's ruins, and Erin had spoken less than most. She couldn't help but notice, even admire, the handsome, elderly fellow who always seemed to be in good spirits. This despite the fact that he was scarred and clearly ill with a sickness the harried healer could not touch. This particular night he was singing softly to himself, in a tongue Erin did not recognize, but which she found compelling in it's sweet sadness. She was moved enough to break her silence and ask him about it. He smiled wanly and replied, "It is a lament for lost homes. I sing it for Cyre, and Adar, my homeland, which I will not see with these eyes again." His gaze grew far away. "And I sing it for another land, more remote than any of the nations of Eberron." Erin noticed that he had been writing. The old man saw her glance. "A letter to my line brothers. It will never be delivered, I fear." He coughs weakly and speaks no more, turning back to his pen and paper. The characters were the same embellished circles found today in Kajalaketh's book.</em></span></p><p><span style="color: silver"></span></p><p><span style="color: silver"><em>When Erin awoke the next morning, the old man was dead and his possessions had been stripped away. He was not the first or the last to fall along the path to Q'Barra.</em>[/sblock]</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Urko, post: 2354570, member: 30822"] [b]Knowledge checks[/b] [color=silver]Eff Flat remembers: [sblock][i]A smoky tavern in the Lhazaarite town of Cliffscrape. Eff Flat's musical stylings have been received well enough, but he lost the attention of his audience with the arrival of a gaudily dressed human. "It's Captain Malik!" was the excited whisper that ran rippled through the crowd. He ordered a round of drinks for the house, then for the next hour held everyone, Eff Flat included, enthralled with the tales of his exploits. He boasted of penetrating deep into the heart of Riedra, and of bringing back many trophies. Among other things, he explained how the ruling class there are believed to be infused with the power of the divine. "The Inspired, the called themselves." He threw a blade that could have been the twin to the one taken from Kajalaketh onto the table. "I took that from one of their company commanders, in single battle. Very dangerous--and treacherous--foes, the Inspired."[/i][/sblock] Erin remembers: [sblock][i]The campfire was hardly necessary under eight moons and in the gentle climate of the Talenta Plains, but the refugees huddled around it nonetheless. There was little talk on the trek from Cyre's ruins, and Erin had spoken less than most. She couldn't help but notice, even admire, the handsome, elderly fellow who always seemed to be in good spirits. This despite the fact that he was scarred and clearly ill with a sickness the harried healer could not touch. This particular night he was singing softly to himself, in a tongue Erin did not recognize, but which she found compelling in it's sweet sadness. She was moved enough to break her silence and ask him about it. He smiled wanly and replied, "It is a lament for lost homes. I sing it for Cyre, and Adar, my homeland, which I will not see with these eyes again." His gaze grew far away. "And I sing it for another land, more remote than any of the nations of Eberron." Erin noticed that he had been writing. The old man saw her glance. "A letter to my line brothers. It will never be delivered, I fear." He coughs weakly and speaks no more, turning back to his pen and paper. The characters were the same embellished circles found today in Kajalaketh's book.[/i] [i]When Erin awoke the next morning, the old man was dead and his possessions had been stripped away. He was not the first or the last to fall along the path to Q'Barra.[/i][/sblock][/color] [/QUOTE]
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