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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Sparky" data-source="post: 1725761" data-attributes="member: 13681">The tension of the moment lends a strength to Mustafah he never knew he had and the unconscious Stumbin seems light as a feather as the rakish young man drags his comrade bodily across the floor, scale armor, heavy robes, gear and all. Dross' hackles are still raised in a nasty looking ridge all down his back. He's carrying his tail low and wags it slightly at Hella's reassuring words. He flicks her face with a brief lick before resuming the deep chesty rumble that is his growl. The girl's mouth purses and her brows draws down at Elial's dismissal of her master's words as a romantic fable. One of the first expressions besides anxiety and fear she's displayed yet. She nods to herself as Elial tugs off his glove and puts his hand on the table. While the table appears perfectly normal, it feels deeply carved. The effect is unsettling. Mustafah: [SPOILER]You feel simple geometric forms, ordered patterns.[/SPOILER] Hella: [SPOILER]You feel a lone raised shape under your hand surrounded by smoothness.[/SPOILER] Elial: [SPOILER]You feel sinuous, organic forms.[/SPOILER]  The shrieking and screeching grows louder and a great rustling fills the air. The cries of the running village folk rise and doors slamming sounds carries low under the din. Dull thumps and crashes sound outside and the fire swirls in the fireplace, disturbed by an errant wind swooping down the chimney. Stumbin moans, eyelids fluttering. He mumbles incoherently, "...so many... ...giant. Bat... ...big..." he groans, "...glowing..." Twisting, he wrenches his shoulder against Mustafah's grip and pain snaps him awake. He lurches to his feet loosing his hand from Mustafah's. He looks at the scholar and his companions blinking, down at Hella, her hand twisted in Dross' collar, pack on her shoulder. "Wha... Where are you, w-we g--?" The heavy door of the Oak and Horn slams open and a few wild eyed folks tumble in with a swirl of feathers. Their pale faces are scratched and smeared with blood. Pale bodies dart and flicker through the slash of light that falls from the warmth of the Inn's front door. The racket outside is deafening and Sharra and Kennet rush to the door together to close it against the madness outside. They look at each other, worried expressions on their faces and stoop to help their neighbors. The scholar's white-rimmed eyes now seem more fearful than mad, "This is not the time for revelations... " His hand lifts and sweeps across the table, reaching out toward the frightened villagers. His assistant swiftly props herself up under his out-stretched arm, making herself into a living crutch. "These people need help," she says. He nods, sagging as he leans heavily on the tall girl, "They will need more than help before this night is done..." Will saves for those whose hands are or were on the table.</blockquote>

Verification