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Ptolus: Midwood - "The Dark Waters of Moss Pond"
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<blockquote data-quote="Whizbang Dustyboots" data-source="post: 4350682" data-attributes="member: 11760"><p>Hazel strains her ears to listen over the sound of the dwarf and gnome bickering. The bushes ahead of them tremble with life, but not in a way that she'd associate with a person.</p><p></p><p>Unsure why Bufer and Emus have stopped walking, but glad nonetheless, Hazel attempts to circle nearer on an arc that would bring her out far in front of her friends, and behind whatever is approaching their position.</p><p></p><p>She keep her eyes and ears fixated on the rustling bushes, her mind supplying several harmless possibilities -- rabbit, raccoon, doe -- and others, less harmless -- badger, wolf -- but her thoughts keep returning to the wizard Khenemet-Apep.</p><p></p><p><em>Could be he's sent that nasty-lookin' cat out to check up on Bufer.</em></p><p></p><p>Whatever the creature in the bushes is, Hazel knows the instant the gnome sees her, any hope of protecting him is over and her ears will be in for the same blistering Emus has been getting. She's careful to keep her maneuvering well out of Bufer's view.</p><p></p><p>Still chuckling, Emus nudges Bufer to keep them moving along.</p><p></p><p>Bufer scowls and shrugs off Emus' hand, but allows himself to be prodded forwards all the same. He frowns at his feet as he shuffles along, muttering in gnomish and apparently lost in thought.</p><p></p><p>As the gnome begins walking again, Hazel silently swears.</p><p></p><p><em>Sure, ya can take care o' yerself, Bufer. Plannin' ta negotiate wi' the creatures o' the forest, then?</em></p><p></p><p>Hazel slows her approach as an odd sound reaches her ears.</p><p></p><p><em>Are those ... bells?</em></p><p></p><p>Skeeter suddenly begins barking frantically, and the bushes before Bufer and Emus explode with color.</p><p></p><p>Tiny people, each borne aloft by frantically beating dragonfly wings and each a different vivid floral hue, fill the air, chirping in tiny panicked voices. A slightly larger figure, dressed in leaves and with wings like flower petals, aims a small bow at Bufer and Emus a moment before deciding that discretion is the better part of valor.</p><p></p><p>The entire assemblage of fluttering fairies flees into the trees as one, their high voices fading into the sounds of the forest a moment later.</p><p></p><p>"The hell was that?" Bufer blinks, turning wide-eyed toward Emus.</p><p></p><p>"Looks like we need to start keeping our eyes peeled," Emus says. "They was clearly running from something. I wonder if they're in trouble."</p><p></p><p>Hoping to give chase, Skeeter gives a playful "woof" while looking at Emus expectantly. He seems perfectly satisfied with a scratch behind the ear, however.</p><p></p><p>"Trouble, eh?" Bufer turns from Emus, looks pensively after the fleeing fairies, then looks back at the dwarf. "I assumed they were running from us, but if they're in trouble, my first instinct is to help them out. This is more your area of expertise than mine, though. What do you think?"</p><p></p><p>"I think we could spend a week and a day trying to follow them and never see hide nor hair of them. Skeeter may be a good tracker, but them fey is especially good at hiding. If they want our help, they'll come to us. Besides, the more we worry about them, the less we're paying attention to ourselves. Not a good idea considering where we're going."</p><p></p><p>"Yeah, ye're probably right," Bufer sighs, then turns back to the dwarf and jerks his head in the direction they were headed. "Onward then, I guess.</p><p></p><p>"Say Emus, ye seem to know a lot of druids hereabouts. I wonder, have ye ever met or heard tell of any other kobold druids, before ye met Flower?"</p><p></p><p>"Nah, but that ain't too surprising. There ain't that many of us, I don't even know all of them, and kobolds tend to be a bit more restrictive in what they allow each other to do. Not saying there ain't any. I just don't know about them."</p><p></p><p>"I met one, once," Bufer says, disappointed. "Long time ago, back when I was just a kid, way before our pa moved us from Kibosh to Wit's End. He was different. Not in the way Flower's different, but definitely not how ye'd expect a kobold to be, you know?</p><p></p><p>"Actually, it occurs to me just now how much ye remind me of him. He never stopped giving me crap, neither. Ye probably would have got on real famous-like. Anyway, I didn't get to spend a whole lot of time with him, naturally, and he weren't exactly one for sharing his life history, especially not with me, but he did let on that kobold druids tended to being individuals. Outcasts, I guess the word is. Or maybe self-exiles, I don't know. The point is, a lot of them tended to strike out on their own, leave the clan behind, on account of their differences. Some of them even turn on their own kin over it.</p><p></p><p>"A few souls like that, either left or been kicked off of Green Mountain by this Tiamat faction, them might be folks worth getting to know, you know?"</p><p></p><p>As Emus and Bufer consider this, the bushes suddenly part, and a cursing figure emerges. He looks at them in shock before visibly composing himself.</p><p></p><p>It's Khenemet-Apep, leaves in his hair, red stings from nettles on his hands and thorns stuck in his robes. He carries a burlap sack in his left hand and a heavy walking stick carved to look like a snake in his right.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Whizbang Dustyboots, post: 4350682, member: 11760"] Hazel strains her ears to listen over the sound of the dwarf and gnome bickering. The bushes ahead of them tremble with life, but not in a way that she'd associate with a person. Unsure why Bufer and Emus have stopped walking, but glad nonetheless, Hazel attempts to circle nearer on an arc that would bring her out far in front of her friends, and behind whatever is approaching their position. She keep her eyes and ears fixated on the rustling bushes, her mind supplying several harmless possibilities -- rabbit, raccoon, doe -- and others, less harmless -- badger, wolf -- but her thoughts keep returning to the wizard Khenemet-Apep. [i]Could be he's sent that nasty-lookin' cat out to check up on Bufer.[/i] Whatever the creature in the bushes is, Hazel knows the instant the gnome sees her, any hope of protecting him is over and her ears will be in for the same blistering Emus has been getting. She's careful to keep her maneuvering well out of Bufer's view. Still chuckling, Emus nudges Bufer to keep them moving along. Bufer scowls and shrugs off Emus' hand, but allows himself to be prodded forwards all the same. He frowns at his feet as he shuffles along, muttering in gnomish and apparently lost in thought. As the gnome begins walking again, Hazel silently swears. [i]Sure, ya can take care o' yerself, Bufer. Plannin' ta negotiate wi' the creatures o' the forest, then?[/i] Hazel slows her approach as an odd sound reaches her ears. [i]Are those ... bells?[/i] Skeeter suddenly begins barking frantically, and the bushes before Bufer and Emus explode with color. Tiny people, each borne aloft by frantically beating dragonfly wings and each a different vivid floral hue, fill the air, chirping in tiny panicked voices. A slightly larger figure, dressed in leaves and with wings like flower petals, aims a small bow at Bufer and Emus a moment before deciding that discretion is the better part of valor. The entire assemblage of fluttering fairies flees into the trees as one, their high voices fading into the sounds of the forest a moment later. "The hell was that?" Bufer blinks, turning wide-eyed toward Emus. "Looks like we need to start keeping our eyes peeled," Emus says. "They was clearly running from something. I wonder if they're in trouble." Hoping to give chase, Skeeter gives a playful "woof" while looking at Emus expectantly. He seems perfectly satisfied with a scratch behind the ear, however. "Trouble, eh?" Bufer turns from Emus, looks pensively after the fleeing fairies, then looks back at the dwarf. "I assumed they were running from us, but if they're in trouble, my first instinct is to help them out. This is more your area of expertise than mine, though. What do you think?" "I think we could spend a week and a day trying to follow them and never see hide nor hair of them. Skeeter may be a good tracker, but them fey is especially good at hiding. If they want our help, they'll come to us. Besides, the more we worry about them, the less we're paying attention to ourselves. Not a good idea considering where we're going." "Yeah, ye're probably right," Bufer sighs, then turns back to the dwarf and jerks his head in the direction they were headed. "Onward then, I guess. "Say Emus, ye seem to know a lot of druids hereabouts. I wonder, have ye ever met or heard tell of any other kobold druids, before ye met Flower?" "Nah, but that ain't too surprising. There ain't that many of us, I don't even know all of them, and kobolds tend to be a bit more restrictive in what they allow each other to do. Not saying there ain't any. I just don't know about them." "I met one, once," Bufer says, disappointed. "Long time ago, back when I was just a kid, way before our pa moved us from Kibosh to Wit's End. He was different. Not in the way Flower's different, but definitely not how ye'd expect a kobold to be, you know? "Actually, it occurs to me just now how much ye remind me of him. He never stopped giving me crap, neither. Ye probably would have got on real famous-like. Anyway, I didn't get to spend a whole lot of time with him, naturally, and he weren't exactly one for sharing his life history, especially not with me, but he did let on that kobold druids tended to being individuals. Outcasts, I guess the word is. Or maybe self-exiles, I don't know. The point is, a lot of them tended to strike out on their own, leave the clan behind, on account of their differences. Some of them even turn on their own kin over it. "A few souls like that, either left or been kicked off of Green Mountain by this Tiamat faction, them might be folks worth getting to know, you know?" As Emus and Bufer consider this, the bushes suddenly part, and a cursing figure emerges. He looks at them in shock before visibly composing himself. It's Khenemet-Apep, leaves in his hair, red stings from nettles on his hands and thorns stuck in his robes. He carries a burlap sack in his left hand and a heavy walking stick carved to look like a snake in his right. [/QUOTE]
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