To the Halfling Clan
Dribble.
First Post
Drogo walks to the boards, looking intention to look if there have been any updates in the bounty on his head, when he sees Merle's note. . o O ( Dribble won't like this... ) He tacks one of his own, however, under it.
Why, Merle the Watcher dares to judge us, when she never had the courage needed to stand in front of us without aid? Clean your dirty mouth before even pronouncing a word against us, Merle, otherwise your demise will come sooner than what you expect. Be grateful that you are fairly low on the List, because if you continue with these offenses to the Family, we will have no choice but put your disgusting name on top of it.
He sighs, as he prefers negotiations before idle threats, but leaves, knowing that answering something else would mean his superior's wrath... something that he is afraid, should the others be not.
Why, Merle the Watcher dares to judge us, when she never had the courage needed to stand in front of us without aid? Clean your dirty mouth before even pronouncing a word against us, Merle, otherwise your demise will come sooner than what you expect. Be grateful that you are fairly low on the List, because if you continue with these offenses to the Family, we will have no choice but put your disgusting name on top of it.
He sighs, as he prefers negotiations before idle threats, but leaves, knowing that answering something else would mean his superior's wrath... something that he is afraid, should the others be not.
From the crowded populace that frequents the tavern, little notice is taken to the being that emerges from the shadows, the form moving in a forced walk, as if the being lacked control. The form halts at the boards, heavily hunched over, to which the spine is forcibly jerked into place with a horrifying snap. The neck slowly rises erect, joints popping into place as blind eyes stare at the writing of one article in particular, to which the creature unveils his jagged maw, to which there is only the strange sound. The voice that emerges is of a hiss, as if stones were grinding together with the faint echo of something difficult to place to mortal ear. Whatever the tone, the laughter is truly horrible as it echoes from the beings mouth as its chest heaves heavily. From an outstretched arm it reveals a elongated and jagged finger nail,to which it carves strange symbols onto the parchment...none of which seem coherant or legible, save for the last portion, scribed in the common speech:
He who fears one's own finality
Who hid beneath a rotting veil
Find no solace in night of eve
Or find oneself like one's fell kin
The creature quickly droops its head and begins to shuffle off, body jerking and contorting violently to move towards the shadows once more
He who fears one's own finality
Who hid beneath a rotting veil
Find no solace in night of eve
Or find oneself like one's fell kin
The creature quickly droops its head and begins to shuffle off, body jerking and contorting violently to move towards the shadows once more
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