Spider_Jerusalem
Explorer
I got a 3.
Congrats Rel, you deserved it. Though I should have entered my "Small Beginnings conquers the Underdark without light sources" entry (animated, 2 hours long)
Awaiting the next chapter...
Spider J
The Heroes of Icemist (SmallBeginnings 2)- Interlude update 2/21/2008!
- Thread starter Enk&D'Shai
- Start date
Congrats Rel, you deserved it. Though I should have entered my "Small Beginnings conquers the Underdark without light sources" entry (animated, 2 hours long)
Awaiting the next chapter...
Spider J
Rel
Liquid Awesome
Spider_Jerusalem said:Congrats Rel, you deserved it. Though I should have entered my "Small Beginnings conquers the Underdark without light sources" entry (animated, 2 hours long)
Please post it! I've got some time to kill over the weekend and I'd love to watch it.
Fett can join me but he has to buy the popcorn.I'd like to think I won on the merits of my OotS style picture of Ashrem and Worm rather than my earlier "Black Cat in a Dark Room" sketch, which I don't regard as my best work (I felt that the darkness should have been darker).
A quick update on the update:it should be ready sometime in the next 24 hours, so look for it over the weekend. We'd have had it to you sooner, but we've been putting some finishing touches on the format for the raffle prize to make sure that it's coffeetable material.
Speaking of which, Rel needs to email me with updated (there's that word again!) contact info. You can use my gmail account address, which is the same as my nick here.
In other news, we haven't decided whether or not we can get copies of this thing to anyone that wants it (apart from Rel, who'll get his soon). Or more accurately, WotC hasn't decided if we can. We're waiting on word from Wizard's IP department to find out if they would have objections to something like this. I don't think there will be any issues (I think fan fiction falls under fair use), but we're just covering our collective butt in case there are.
By the way, we think we need to adhere to the OGL standards, including license reproduction, etc. Anybody with a clue on how to do that?
Speaking of which, Rel needs to email me with updated (there's that word again!) contact info. You can use my gmail account address, which is the same as my nick here.
In other news, we haven't decided whether or not we can get copies of this thing to anyone that wants it (apart from Rel, who'll get his soon). Or more accurately, WotC hasn't decided if we can. We're waiting on word from Wizard's IP department to find out if they would have objections to something like this. I don't think there will be any issues (I think fan fiction falls under fair use), but we're just covering our collective butt in case there are.
By the way, we think we need to adhere to the OGL standards, including license reproduction, etc. Anybody with a clue on how to do that?
Rel
Liquid Awesome
Enk&D'Shai
First Post
D'shai, why in the book of love are you jumping up and down?
Because I'm hopping mad!
Ooooookay. Anyway, I just wanted to say that I had some fun with our last contest. To both of our entrants, I don't know how to thank you guys.
I don't know why to thank you guys.
In fact, I had so much fun with the last one that I think we should run another one right now.
Are you sure about that? Need I remind you: two entries. Better give them instructions even you can follow.
How about this. This contest will be a short and easy one...
Like Fett during freshman year?
Better watch your kneecaps after a remark like that. Now on with the contest:
Since the last contest was obviously too difficult for some of our readers, we're going to lower the bar for this one. You'll have until Friday July 29th, 2005 to get your entries in, and a winner will be chosen by whatever the heck method we feel like. We reserve the right to alter the rules at any time with no notice and laugh in your face when we do.
Hey we need a prize!
OK Mr. Poopypants, what's the prize?
The module that started it all: The Sunless Citadel. Signed by the players including the soda stains and dm's notes.
Oooohhhhh.
But that's not all, enter now and will throw in a hand painted miniature from one of our players to the lucky winner.
WOW! I hope its Worm cause he's the only one who can paint well.
He's won a few contests, but I am getting better.
You would if you ever finished one!
Maybe it will be a half painted fig.
Given our posting schedule that's strangely appropriate.
Tip O' the day
When running an internet fan contest always give creative prizes...but good ones!
*****
Ashrem walked slowly along the library wall, running his fingers along the bindings of the books on the shelf and enjoying the feel of the well worn leather. He breathed deeply, savoring the heady mix of well aged brandy and old ink and parchment. When he reached the end of the stack he moved to the next, lightly tapping each book in line. Behind him, a light rhythmic thump kept cadence.
“Pack,” he heard Ander say, “will you please stop that?”
“But… An… der… this… is… fun!” Pack replied. Each word was punctuated with the same light thump.
“Leave him be,” grumbled Worm. “He’s not hurting anything except a few cushions, and this Sir Brandi-whatever can afford new ones from the look of it.”
Ashrem frowned as he heard his friend sigh helplessly. The longer you wait to deal with this issue, my friend, the more difficult it will become. He stood there for a few moments, finally turning away from the stacks of books and toward the plush furniture scattered throughout the center of the room.
Brother Theo and Ander sat near one another in high backed chairs, while Worm lay on divan next to a long table, filling his glass of brandy nearly to its rim. Ashrem saw Pack’s head appear and disappear behind the half-orc’s massive shoulder. The little bard had been jumping on the sofas since they entered the room, and showed very little sign of stopping. For a moment, the scout considered schooling the halfling in proper decorum, but declined after quick consideration. Instead, the feloine moved to a nearby couch, his loose fitting wrap billowing behind him.
He settled on the plush cushions and let his head recline, taking a moment to admire the railed landings on either side of the library. The railing’s dark wood contrasted beautifully with the intricately carved ash doors that led to adjoining rooms. With a free hand, he cradled a snifter of brandy, swirling it gently as he breathed deeply of its tantalizing aroma. He closed his eyes, letting the thump, thump, thump of Pack’s bouncing keep time for his still throbbing head. That the ache persisted was unsettling, a constant reminder of both his quarry’s escape and the power of whoever – or whatever – had enabled it.
The companions sat in silence for a while, until Theo’s whisper rumbled throughout the room. Ashrem grimaced, One would think that after all that we have been through, Ander or I would have taught him how to properly whisper! “I’ve been thinking,” the priest said. “Given what we know now, how should we deal with Brandimere?”
“We’ve got to play it near our hilts,” Ander whispered back. The woodsman’s attempt was much more effective. “Don’t give him too much information.”
“I concur,” Ashrem found himself saying. “Discretion should be our byword, and we should volunteer little.”
“I don’t know,” Theo started, “I’m beginning…”
“Ash is right, Theo,” said Ander. “As far as Brandimere is concerned we’re simply people with a claim on Aurora’s Master’s goods.”
“I don’t like it, lad. I feel a storm coming.”
“Neither do I, but we’ve got a better lead right now and I’d just as soon get this whole thing over with.” Ander’s voice had a familiar tone to it – Ashrem had heard it once before, when the spring melt had filled a riverbed that had been dry a week before and the two had to walk the extra day to find a proper ford – to the woodsman, this dinner had just become one more time-wasting obstacle.
“Telling him who we are might be useful,” continued the cleric.
“Brother Theo,” Ashrem intervened with another whisper, “this dinner will end much more quickly if we feign personal indifference to Aurora’s whereabouts. By making this a matter of property, we should be able to conclude our business early and take our leave.”
The priest looked perturbed, but if he had any other comments he made them silently. You are not built for this life, my friend. I wish that it did not wear on you so heavily. When he did speak again, he did so much more loudly, his voice booming in its usual gregarious manner. “So, what do you think is keeping our host?”
Ashrem answered, “I assume he will be along shortly.” He sniffed. “I believe I smell our first course in the adjoining room.”
“Really?” said Worm, interested in something other than his brandy for the first time since he had unstoppered the bottle. “What’s for eats?”
“Mutton and fresh baked bread.”
“That’s all?”
“I am afraid so, Worm.”
“What are the rest of you going to eat?” The half-orc laughed at his own joke, slapping his knee. Ashrem eyed the brandy, wondering how much of the young warrior’s tipsy behavior was real versus false.
Worm’s laugh died at the sound of three solemn sounding knocks on the library door, as did the soft thump of Pack’s acrobatics. The door swung noiselessly wide, revealing two guards flanking a small, overdressed man bearing an ornate staff. Ashrem smiled – his contact had described the knight’s chamberlain perfectly, right down to his jowly chin. The chamberlain struck the butt of the staff on the ground four times, said, “His Honorable Lordship, Sir Kreshel Brandimere!” and stepped aside. Behind him stood a tall, solid man dressed in understated yet crisp clothing.
“Good evening,” he said. “As you may have guessed, I am Sir Brandimere. Thank you for coming. If you will follow me?” The knight turned on his heels and led the companions into a grand dining hall, Worm leading the way, a toothy smile plastered on his face. Ashrem thought he could hear the half-orc’s stomach rumbling.
* * *
“Fascinating, my little friend!” said Brandimere through a beaming smile. “Please, tell me more!”
Pack wiggled as he fluffed the cushions on his seat to get a better view of the table and grabbed several more pieces of crockery. “This trencher is the main streets, see? And this napkin is the Shimmering Sword, and this salt urn is me! So all of the sudden the street falls in and out come all these kobolds riding…”
“Pack…” said Ander, his forehead resting on his palm.
“…humongous ants and they grabbed the children and set some buildings on fire,” he sprinkled some red spice on the napkin, “and then Whoosh! Back under the ground they went!”
“Pack…” said the woodsman helplessly. Ashrem shook his head in pity and wonderment. Since securing a seat at Brandimere’s left hand the bard had been breathlessly recounting the companion’s journey across Tor’s northlands, much to Sir Brandimere’s delight and Ander’s chagrin.
The halfing continued to ramble. “And then – oh this is a good part – then… hey! Give that back, Worm! That’s Durnan’s store!”
“The second course needs more gravy,” the warrior said, matter-of-factly, emptying the gravy-boat-turned-story-prop over his plate. “Besides, I’ve heard this overdone tale so many times it makes my teeth ache. Tell him later while I take a nap. And have some of this fowl, its good.”
Sir Brandimere chuckled. “Please, Master Tosscobble, eat! I am nothing if not patient. And what sort of host would I be if I let you miss this fine feast?” The knight nodded knowingly to Ashrem, who’s plate was conspicuously full, and gave a lopsided smile. The feloine furrowed his brow beneath his low hood, He suspects…
“I have a confession to make,” said Sir Brandimere as he dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “I have been dreading this dinner all day.”
“Why’s that?” Pack said indistinctly, his mouth full of pulled pheasant.
“Master Tosscobble, I am a collector of esoteric knowledge. I enjoy knowing the unknowable. Sadly, my talents as a youth were more martial than magical, and the Academy was denied to me. And so, when I became wealthy enough, I swore to use my fortune to indulge my more intellectual side.” The knight paused for a moment and sighed. “It is a shame that my chance to do so has come at the pain and loss of others.”
“We had heard…” started Brother Theo.
“I imagine you have,” answered Sir Brandimere. “Each time another of the Academy’s Masters was taken from us, I have purchased their estate ‘wholecloth,’ as my Nana would say. Their libraries and research are too important to be broken up by scavengers.”
“And you thought we were scavengers?” said Pack.
“That explains the rude welcome at the door,” said Worm between mouthfuls.
“Now Worm,” said Brother Theo, “I wasn’t too happy about the armed guards either, but there’s more polite ways of saying it.”
“Please,” said Brandimere, holding up a hand Ashrem supposed was meant to be placating, “let me apologize for your greeting. It was regrettably necessary, as a precaution. Most of the visitors I get due to my collection are pretenders, droning on and on about ‘the arcane right of ownership,’ but I have had, on occasion, a more… determined petitioner.”
Pack let out a low whistle, “I can see why you were jumpy!”
“Well, it all turned out for the best, didn’t it? Instead of a boring evening with stuffy academics I have the company of a fine bard, a strapping young man who knows good food when he smells it, a wise and esteemed servant of Zuras, and two travelers from far off lands. What more could a man ask for?” The knight raised his goblet, “To unexpected good fortune!”
“To good fortune!” said the companions, raising cups of their own.
“I must admit, though, that the minstrels returning from your Festival didn’t get things right at all.”
“What do you mean?” said Ander. The woodsman had not spoken much since being seated. So you can sense it too, my friend. This evening may have been a mistake.
“The Heroes of Icemist; that is what you called yourselves, isn’t it Master Tosscobble?” Ashrem watched Pack gulp as his eyes grew wide. “‘A holy man, a halfling boy, a woodsman bold and true; an angel wreathed in hair of red and wielding magic blue.’ That’s what they sing, I am told. But they did not mention someone as unforgettable as our large friend here, nor a guide from… where did you say you were from, my friend?” Sir Brandimere gave a sidelong glance at Ashrem; he had a twinkle in his eye as he asked his question.
“West of Arboria,” the scout lied.
“It must be wondrous land indeed where men go clad in garments that cover the flesh so effectively, and who’s customs dictate fasting during such a feast.” The knight’s smile had turned into a smirk. “How long have you lived in Icemist, Monje Ashrem?”
Ashrem nearly started at the use of the title. It was inaccurately used – Ashrem was strictly speaking not yet old enough to bear the honorific – yet the fact that Sir Brandimere had pronounced, correctly, said volumes. “Not long,” said the feloine. Very well, I shall play the game. With a smooth motion, he freed his head from its cowl.
The knight gave an approving nod, though the smirk still played about his lips. “I had begun to wonder how long you would decide to carry the charade,” he said. “Tell me, have you seen any of your countrymen since you’ve been in Tor, or while on your journey across the kingdom?”
“None,” Ashrem replied, letting ice creep into his voice.
“You have not been to the embassy,” Sir Brandimere continued. It was a statement, not a question. This grows tiresome.
Worm gave voice to Ashrem’s thoughts. “Enough of this! If you have something to say, say it!”
Sir Brandimere sighed and took a slow sip from his goblet. “Come now, my friend. Do not play with me. Tor has not seen a feloine within its walls for many years. Your King Jerlemaine called his subjects home shortly after the war. I had thought to never see one of your kind again; you may very well be the last.”
Ashrem glared at the man. “Speak plainly, Sir Brandimere.”
The knight’s smile faded, “I cannot believe you do not know this.” He shook his head. “Less than one month after your king called his people home, they all vanished.”
“Vanished?” asked Pack. “You mean like hiding?”
“No, Master Tosscobble. Vanished.” Sir Brandimere locked eyes with Ashrem, his gaze full of pity. “Five years ago, the Mist Isles vanished, as if they had never existed.”
The ensuing silence was broken only by the sound of claws on wood, as Ashrem’s grip cut furrows in the grain.
Because I'm hopping mad!
Ooooookay. Anyway, I just wanted to say that I had some fun with our last contest. To both of our entrants, I don't know how to thank you guys.
I don't know why to thank you guys.
In fact, I had so much fun with the last one that I think we should run another one right now.
Are you sure about that? Need I remind you: two entries. Better give them instructions even you can follow.
How about this. This contest will be a short and easy one...
Like Fett during freshman year?
Better watch your kneecaps after a remark like that. Now on with the contest:
Since the last contest was obviously too difficult for some of our readers, we're going to lower the bar for this one. You'll have until Friday July 29th, 2005 to get your entries in, and a winner will be chosen by whatever the heck method we feel like. We reserve the right to alter the rules at any time with no notice and laugh in your face when we do.
Hey we need a prize!
OK Mr. Poopypants, what's the prize?
The module that started it all: The Sunless Citadel. Signed by the players including the soda stains and dm's notes.
Oooohhhhh.
But that's not all, enter now and will throw in a hand painted miniature from one of our players to the lucky winner.
WOW! I hope its Worm cause he's the only one who can paint well.
He's won a few contests, but I am getting better.
You would if you ever finished one!
Maybe it will be a half painted fig.
Given our posting schedule that's strangely appropriate.
Tip O' the day
When running an internet fan contest always give creative prizes...but good ones!
*****
Ashrem walked slowly along the library wall, running his fingers along the bindings of the books on the shelf and enjoying the feel of the well worn leather. He breathed deeply, savoring the heady mix of well aged brandy and old ink and parchment. When he reached the end of the stack he moved to the next, lightly tapping each book in line. Behind him, a light rhythmic thump kept cadence.
“Pack,” he heard Ander say, “will you please stop that?”
“But… An… der… this… is… fun!” Pack replied. Each word was punctuated with the same light thump.
“Leave him be,” grumbled Worm. “He’s not hurting anything except a few cushions, and this Sir Brandi-whatever can afford new ones from the look of it.”
Ashrem frowned as he heard his friend sigh helplessly. The longer you wait to deal with this issue, my friend, the more difficult it will become. He stood there for a few moments, finally turning away from the stacks of books and toward the plush furniture scattered throughout the center of the room.
Brother Theo and Ander sat near one another in high backed chairs, while Worm lay on divan next to a long table, filling his glass of brandy nearly to its rim. Ashrem saw Pack’s head appear and disappear behind the half-orc’s massive shoulder. The little bard had been jumping on the sofas since they entered the room, and showed very little sign of stopping. For a moment, the scout considered schooling the halfling in proper decorum, but declined after quick consideration. Instead, the feloine moved to a nearby couch, his loose fitting wrap billowing behind him.
He settled on the plush cushions and let his head recline, taking a moment to admire the railed landings on either side of the library. The railing’s dark wood contrasted beautifully with the intricately carved ash doors that led to adjoining rooms. With a free hand, he cradled a snifter of brandy, swirling it gently as he breathed deeply of its tantalizing aroma. He closed his eyes, letting the thump, thump, thump of Pack’s bouncing keep time for his still throbbing head. That the ache persisted was unsettling, a constant reminder of both his quarry’s escape and the power of whoever – or whatever – had enabled it.
The companions sat in silence for a while, until Theo’s whisper rumbled throughout the room. Ashrem grimaced, One would think that after all that we have been through, Ander or I would have taught him how to properly whisper! “I’ve been thinking,” the priest said. “Given what we know now, how should we deal with Brandimere?”
“We’ve got to play it near our hilts,” Ander whispered back. The woodsman’s attempt was much more effective. “Don’t give him too much information.”
“I concur,” Ashrem found himself saying. “Discretion should be our byword, and we should volunteer little.”
“I don’t know,” Theo started, “I’m beginning…”
“Ash is right, Theo,” said Ander. “As far as Brandimere is concerned we’re simply people with a claim on Aurora’s Master’s goods.”
“I don’t like it, lad. I feel a storm coming.”
“Neither do I, but we’ve got a better lead right now and I’d just as soon get this whole thing over with.” Ander’s voice had a familiar tone to it – Ashrem had heard it once before, when the spring melt had filled a riverbed that had been dry a week before and the two had to walk the extra day to find a proper ford – to the woodsman, this dinner had just become one more time-wasting obstacle.
“Telling him who we are might be useful,” continued the cleric.
“Brother Theo,” Ashrem intervened with another whisper, “this dinner will end much more quickly if we feign personal indifference to Aurora’s whereabouts. By making this a matter of property, we should be able to conclude our business early and take our leave.”
The priest looked perturbed, but if he had any other comments he made them silently. You are not built for this life, my friend. I wish that it did not wear on you so heavily. When he did speak again, he did so much more loudly, his voice booming in its usual gregarious manner. “So, what do you think is keeping our host?”
Ashrem answered, “I assume he will be along shortly.” He sniffed. “I believe I smell our first course in the adjoining room.”
“Really?” said Worm, interested in something other than his brandy for the first time since he had unstoppered the bottle. “What’s for eats?”
“Mutton and fresh baked bread.”
“That’s all?”
“I am afraid so, Worm.”
“What are the rest of you going to eat?” The half-orc laughed at his own joke, slapping his knee. Ashrem eyed the brandy, wondering how much of the young warrior’s tipsy behavior was real versus false.
Worm’s laugh died at the sound of three solemn sounding knocks on the library door, as did the soft thump of Pack’s acrobatics. The door swung noiselessly wide, revealing two guards flanking a small, overdressed man bearing an ornate staff. Ashrem smiled – his contact had described the knight’s chamberlain perfectly, right down to his jowly chin. The chamberlain struck the butt of the staff on the ground four times, said, “His Honorable Lordship, Sir Kreshel Brandimere!” and stepped aside. Behind him stood a tall, solid man dressed in understated yet crisp clothing.
“Good evening,” he said. “As you may have guessed, I am Sir Brandimere. Thank you for coming. If you will follow me?” The knight turned on his heels and led the companions into a grand dining hall, Worm leading the way, a toothy smile plastered on his face. Ashrem thought he could hear the half-orc’s stomach rumbling.
* * *
“Fascinating, my little friend!” said Brandimere through a beaming smile. “Please, tell me more!”
Pack wiggled as he fluffed the cushions on his seat to get a better view of the table and grabbed several more pieces of crockery. “This trencher is the main streets, see? And this napkin is the Shimmering Sword, and this salt urn is me! So all of the sudden the street falls in and out come all these kobolds riding…”
“Pack…” said Ander, his forehead resting on his palm.
“…humongous ants and they grabbed the children and set some buildings on fire,” he sprinkled some red spice on the napkin, “and then Whoosh! Back under the ground they went!”
“Pack…” said the woodsman helplessly. Ashrem shook his head in pity and wonderment. Since securing a seat at Brandimere’s left hand the bard had been breathlessly recounting the companion’s journey across Tor’s northlands, much to Sir Brandimere’s delight and Ander’s chagrin.
The halfing continued to ramble. “And then – oh this is a good part – then… hey! Give that back, Worm! That’s Durnan’s store!”
“The second course needs more gravy,” the warrior said, matter-of-factly, emptying the gravy-boat-turned-story-prop over his plate. “Besides, I’ve heard this overdone tale so many times it makes my teeth ache. Tell him later while I take a nap. And have some of this fowl, its good.”
Sir Brandimere chuckled. “Please, Master Tosscobble, eat! I am nothing if not patient. And what sort of host would I be if I let you miss this fine feast?” The knight nodded knowingly to Ashrem, who’s plate was conspicuously full, and gave a lopsided smile. The feloine furrowed his brow beneath his low hood, He suspects…
“I have a confession to make,” said Sir Brandimere as he dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a napkin. “I have been dreading this dinner all day.”
“Why’s that?” Pack said indistinctly, his mouth full of pulled pheasant.
“Master Tosscobble, I am a collector of esoteric knowledge. I enjoy knowing the unknowable. Sadly, my talents as a youth were more martial than magical, and the Academy was denied to me. And so, when I became wealthy enough, I swore to use my fortune to indulge my more intellectual side.” The knight paused for a moment and sighed. “It is a shame that my chance to do so has come at the pain and loss of others.”
“We had heard…” started Brother Theo.
“I imagine you have,” answered Sir Brandimere. “Each time another of the Academy’s Masters was taken from us, I have purchased their estate ‘wholecloth,’ as my Nana would say. Their libraries and research are too important to be broken up by scavengers.”
“And you thought we were scavengers?” said Pack.
“That explains the rude welcome at the door,” said Worm between mouthfuls.
“Now Worm,” said Brother Theo, “I wasn’t too happy about the armed guards either, but there’s more polite ways of saying it.”
“Please,” said Brandimere, holding up a hand Ashrem supposed was meant to be placating, “let me apologize for your greeting. It was regrettably necessary, as a precaution. Most of the visitors I get due to my collection are pretenders, droning on and on about ‘the arcane right of ownership,’ but I have had, on occasion, a more… determined petitioner.”
Pack let out a low whistle, “I can see why you were jumpy!”
“Well, it all turned out for the best, didn’t it? Instead of a boring evening with stuffy academics I have the company of a fine bard, a strapping young man who knows good food when he smells it, a wise and esteemed servant of Zuras, and two travelers from far off lands. What more could a man ask for?” The knight raised his goblet, “To unexpected good fortune!”
“To good fortune!” said the companions, raising cups of their own.
“I must admit, though, that the minstrels returning from your Festival didn’t get things right at all.”
“What do you mean?” said Ander. The woodsman had not spoken much since being seated. So you can sense it too, my friend. This evening may have been a mistake.
“The Heroes of Icemist; that is what you called yourselves, isn’t it Master Tosscobble?” Ashrem watched Pack gulp as his eyes grew wide. “‘A holy man, a halfling boy, a woodsman bold and true; an angel wreathed in hair of red and wielding magic blue.’ That’s what they sing, I am told. But they did not mention someone as unforgettable as our large friend here, nor a guide from… where did you say you were from, my friend?” Sir Brandimere gave a sidelong glance at Ashrem; he had a twinkle in his eye as he asked his question.
“West of Arboria,” the scout lied.
“It must be wondrous land indeed where men go clad in garments that cover the flesh so effectively, and who’s customs dictate fasting during such a feast.” The knight’s smile had turned into a smirk. “How long have you lived in Icemist, Monje Ashrem?”
Ashrem nearly started at the use of the title. It was inaccurately used – Ashrem was strictly speaking not yet old enough to bear the honorific – yet the fact that Sir Brandimere had pronounced, correctly, said volumes. “Not long,” said the feloine. Very well, I shall play the game. With a smooth motion, he freed his head from its cowl.
The knight gave an approving nod, though the smirk still played about his lips. “I had begun to wonder how long you would decide to carry the charade,” he said. “Tell me, have you seen any of your countrymen since you’ve been in Tor, or while on your journey across the kingdom?”
“None,” Ashrem replied, letting ice creep into his voice.
“You have not been to the embassy,” Sir Brandimere continued. It was a statement, not a question. This grows tiresome.
Worm gave voice to Ashrem’s thoughts. “Enough of this! If you have something to say, say it!”
Sir Brandimere sighed and took a slow sip from his goblet. “Come now, my friend. Do not play with me. Tor has not seen a feloine within its walls for many years. Your King Jerlemaine called his subjects home shortly after the war. I had thought to never see one of your kind again; you may very well be the last.”
Ashrem glared at the man. “Speak plainly, Sir Brandimere.”
The knight’s smile faded, “I cannot believe you do not know this.” He shook his head. “Less than one month after your king called his people home, they all vanished.”
“Vanished?” asked Pack. “You mean like hiding?”
“No, Master Tosscobble. Vanished.” Sir Brandimere locked eyes with Ashrem, his gaze full of pity. “Five years ago, the Mist Isles vanished, as if they had never existed.”
The ensuing silence was broken only by the sound of claws on wood, as Ashrem’s grip cut furrows in the grain.
Enk&D'Shai
First Post
For being the first, we'll double your entry! Congratulations!!!!!!!
OaxacanWarrior
First Post
Since I didn't win the last contest here's my entry in the next one! I hope my luck changes for this one. Authentic soda stains...I can only hope and wait!
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