The Elfblood Wanderers--New Story Hour!!
Bob Aberton
First Post
Thanks! I'm glad you like it.
Though Diesa claimed to know little of business matters, being a priestess of the Clan, she did turn out to be a shrewd bargainer. Talking first in Dwarven and then in King's Anglish, she finally managed to get Fjal and Nystyra to agree to a price of 80,000 gold crowns (but only after Nystyra reminded her that she never would have completed her quest had it not been for her help. Even then, she was unwilling to take Nystyra's side in the bargaining.), with 15,000 crowns to be paid in full before the construction began.
But however hard-bargaining the Dwarves may have been, once they got started, they set to working with a will. By the second day, a veritable tent city had been set up, and new mining carts arrived every day, full of supplies. Nystyra was sitting in the door of her own tent, watching the dwarves scurry about like busy, bearded ants, yelling and shouting and singing in Dwarven, a language that was utterly beyond her.
As soon as the Dwarves had erected their work-camp, Fjal and Diesa approached Nystyra, bearing great sheets of parchment with them. Trailing along behind them was the oddest creature Nystyra had ever seen. He resembled a scaly salamander about six inches taller than Eliad, walking on his hind legs. His little beady eyes darted around, taking in everything.
In one hand, he held a dirty little quill and another roll of parchment. Clutched in the other claw, he held what appeared to be a dead rat. Fjal was barking at him in Dwarven, and the lizard seemed to be listening intently, taking down a series of numbers, arithmetic, and runes on his parchment (which he balanced on his tail to write on). Occasionally, it chattered something back at Fjal.
"What is that?" Nystyra asked curiously, gesturing toward the lizard thing.
"Glink," replied the creature.
"What?" Nystyra asked, thinking it was speaking in some strange language.
"Name...Glink," it replied. Then it took the dead rat, lying in its hand, and thrust it into its mouth. Nystyra barely repressed an urge to gag.
"Err...That's..nice," she replied vaguely, turning away.
Meanwhile, Fjal and Diesa presented their own parchments to her.
"What are these?" Nystyra asked.
"Maen beon hicgan...seo hicgan scieldhal," he replied matter of factly
"Er...right," Nystyra said, unsure of what the dwarf meant.
It turned out that "hicgan scieldhal" meant "plan shieldhall," or, in other words, blueprints for Nystyra's castle. It was a small, twenty-roomed affair. By no means impressive, its walls were only four feet thick, its towers a mere fifty feet high, it was none the less packed with such homey touches as an extensive dungeon, a dank treasure-vault full of traps for the unwary, and all the standard features - murder holes in the gates, secret passages in the great hall, hidden arrow slits in the walls - that a feudal noble could possibly need. There were also some things that most ordinary nobles wouldn't need, such as a spellcasting chamber built all out of obsidian and a library full of occult books and tomes.
Nystyra smiled to herself. Things were shaping up well.
About noon, there was a commotion in the work-camp. A rider in a black cloak, to all appearances a message-rider of Dwllyn, galloped right up to Nystyra's door.
Following him was a mob of people.
Seeing the message rider, Nystyra almost reached for her bow and quiver, but all for nought. The message-rider turned out to be Eliad Pelgrin, having survived his delivery of Lord Meiron's letter.
"Eliad!" Nystyra cried joyfully, when she saw him. Then, her face fell. "Who are these people?" she asked, seeing the mob. Most were on foot, and ragged-looking. About fivescore were mounted, however, and they looked hard-faced and dangerous indeed.
"Oo, well y'see, it's sort of...sort of a gift," Eliad said, beaming at her.
"A gift?" Nystyra asked. How could this mob of criminals be a gift? she wondered.
"Well, y'see, when I was on me way back, I met these folks," Eliad said, gesturing to the mounted men. "They were bandits, y'see, an' they wanted to kill me. But I told them that ye could use a few good warriors in yer service, so..."
"We'll kill for you," one of them, seemingly their leader, said, urging his horse forward. "for pay, of course."
Oh joy, thought Nystyra, What have I gotten myself into now?
****************************************************
Sorry it took so long for me to post that update, but I've recently gotten involved in a Play by Post game that takes up a lot of time (I'm DM). I hope I'll be able to update at least once a week, but that may not be possible anymore...
Readers (I know you're out there somewhere), I leave it too you to keep my storyhour well bumped.
Though Diesa claimed to know little of business matters, being a priestess of the Clan, she did turn out to be a shrewd bargainer. Talking first in Dwarven and then in King's Anglish, she finally managed to get Fjal and Nystyra to agree to a price of 80,000 gold crowns (but only after Nystyra reminded her that she never would have completed her quest had it not been for her help. Even then, she was unwilling to take Nystyra's side in the bargaining.), with 15,000 crowns to be paid in full before the construction began.
But however hard-bargaining the Dwarves may have been, once they got started, they set to working with a will. By the second day, a veritable tent city had been set up, and new mining carts arrived every day, full of supplies. Nystyra was sitting in the door of her own tent, watching the dwarves scurry about like busy, bearded ants, yelling and shouting and singing in Dwarven, a language that was utterly beyond her.
As soon as the Dwarves had erected their work-camp, Fjal and Diesa approached Nystyra, bearing great sheets of parchment with them. Trailing along behind them was the oddest creature Nystyra had ever seen. He resembled a scaly salamander about six inches taller than Eliad, walking on his hind legs. His little beady eyes darted around, taking in everything.
In one hand, he held a dirty little quill and another roll of parchment. Clutched in the other claw, he held what appeared to be a dead rat. Fjal was barking at him in Dwarven, and the lizard seemed to be listening intently, taking down a series of numbers, arithmetic, and runes on his parchment (which he balanced on his tail to write on). Occasionally, it chattered something back at Fjal.
"What is that?" Nystyra asked curiously, gesturing toward the lizard thing.
"Glink," replied the creature.
"What?" Nystyra asked, thinking it was speaking in some strange language.
"Name...Glink," it replied. Then it took the dead rat, lying in its hand, and thrust it into its mouth. Nystyra barely repressed an urge to gag.
"Err...That's..nice," she replied vaguely, turning away.
Meanwhile, Fjal and Diesa presented their own parchments to her.
"What are these?" Nystyra asked.
"Maen beon hicgan...seo hicgan scieldhal," he replied matter of factly
"Er...right," Nystyra said, unsure of what the dwarf meant.
It turned out that "hicgan scieldhal" meant "plan shieldhall," or, in other words, blueprints for Nystyra's castle. It was a small, twenty-roomed affair. By no means impressive, its walls were only four feet thick, its towers a mere fifty feet high, it was none the less packed with such homey touches as an extensive dungeon, a dank treasure-vault full of traps for the unwary, and all the standard features - murder holes in the gates, secret passages in the great hall, hidden arrow slits in the walls - that a feudal noble could possibly need. There were also some things that most ordinary nobles wouldn't need, such as a spellcasting chamber built all out of obsidian and a library full of occult books and tomes.
Nystyra smiled to herself. Things were shaping up well.
About noon, there was a commotion in the work-camp. A rider in a black cloak, to all appearances a message-rider of Dwllyn, galloped right up to Nystyra's door.
Following him was a mob of people.
Seeing the message rider, Nystyra almost reached for her bow and quiver, but all for nought. The message-rider turned out to be Eliad Pelgrin, having survived his delivery of Lord Meiron's letter.
"Eliad!" Nystyra cried joyfully, when she saw him. Then, her face fell. "Who are these people?" she asked, seeing the mob. Most were on foot, and ragged-looking. About fivescore were mounted, however, and they looked hard-faced and dangerous indeed.
"Oo, well y'see, it's sort of...sort of a gift," Eliad said, beaming at her.
"A gift?" Nystyra asked. How could this mob of criminals be a gift? she wondered.
"Well, y'see, when I was on me way back, I met these folks," Eliad said, gesturing to the mounted men. "They were bandits, y'see, an' they wanted to kill me. But I told them that ye could use a few good warriors in yer service, so..."
"We'll kill for you," one of them, seemingly their leader, said, urging his horse forward. "for pay, of course."
Oh joy, thought Nystyra, What have I gotten myself into now?
****************************************************
Sorry it took so long for me to post that update, but I've recently gotten involved in a Play by Post game that takes up a lot of time (I'm DM). I hope I'll be able to update at least once a week, but that may not be possible anymore...
Readers (I know you're out there somewhere), I leave it too you to keep my storyhour well bumped.
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