Psylence
First Post
"Ahh. I see." Dyre responds to the comment about shadow men. "So sort of like a cross between a bilge rat and a kracken I imagine. Or maybe just kracken... but tiny." The coated man reaches up with his free hand and strokes at the bristly chin that bears a couple days worth of growth.
"I'm not sure if there is an adequate term for this one... there must be though. Unless a yardarm don't swing, or a jib not run up with the sound like the crack of a whip, there must be a term." Dyre leans to the left as if he must keep in solid contact with at least three surfaces at any given time. The liquid swims precariously in the ale holder before he lifts it to his lips, casting some of it down in a whirlpool as it drinks it in.
"Well if I can't think of an adequate way to talk about a vicious bilge rat that's fleeing for the crow's nest and causes the wind ta fall from the sails as surely as the seas themselves did it." The hand holding the ale lowers it for a moment, then pulls it back up, drinking strong to finish off the first mug. His free hand knocks on the wood and he says something under his breath as if the very notion of what he talked about was thing of myth and well to be feared. "Well, I guess I could say that, but it's far longer than fear... scith?"
(OOC: Okay, normally I'd wait longer but inspiration struck and I had to hit while the iron was hot. Or in this case, I had to let out the sails and run broad reach... Arrrr)
"I'm not sure if there is an adequate term for this one... there must be though. Unless a yardarm don't swing, or a jib not run up with the sound like the crack of a whip, there must be a term." Dyre leans to the left as if he must keep in solid contact with at least three surfaces at any given time. The liquid swims precariously in the ale holder before he lifts it to his lips, casting some of it down in a whirlpool as it drinks it in.
"Well if I can't think of an adequate way to talk about a vicious bilge rat that's fleeing for the crow's nest and causes the wind ta fall from the sails as surely as the seas themselves did it." The hand holding the ale lowers it for a moment, then pulls it back up, drinking strong to finish off the first mug. His free hand knocks on the wood and he says something under his breath as if the very notion of what he talked about was thing of myth and well to be feared. "Well, I guess I could say that, but it's far longer than fear... scith?"
(OOC: Okay, normally I'd wait longer but inspiration struck and I had to hit while the iron was hot. Or in this case, I had to let out the sails and run broad reach... Arrrr)
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