work in progress wednesday
Mike rolled his eyes and said, “Yeah, if we ever start this shit. Let’s get this show on the road.”
“You’re lucky Eddie’s not in charge tonight,” Chrissy told him. “Or you’d be rolling with a disadvantage immediately.”
“Still might.”
“What? Will! No!”
“The Aotrom Continent is mysterious, Yseult Cresthouse,” Will said to Mike airily, “and there are many pitfalls in the vast, unforgiving lands of the Emperor. For that is where you find yourselves this dark, rainy afternoon, fellow travelers. You’re on the edge of the Continent, in fact, in a little settlement on the path to Watchling Keep, the seat of the Earl of Lístost. Lístost is the last hold of the Emperor, before it tips into the Howling Sea and, beyond, a string of archipelagos that form the first reaches of the Southern Warlord’s lands. But, now, our story is here, in the backroom of a small inn, where an even smaller goblin sits alone, damp and drinking from an almost comically large stein of beer. Yseult, if you would describe yourself.”
“Yseult is a small, green skinned female goblin, a bounty hunter and rogue,” began Mike. “She’s got big purple eyes, long dark hair tied up in a knot with like a sick undercut and a ton of earrings on her left ear, mixed metals, copper, iron, gold, you name it, she’s probably got one. She’s got a dark cloak wrapped around her, damp like you said, and you can tell she’s not very strong but she’s tough and crafty. And you can’t see any weapons on her but she’s got them.”
“She’s not been in this backroom by herself for long,” Will narrated to the table, “maybe twenty minutes, thirty, tops. Meanwhile, the main room of the inn, beyond this room, is bustling with life. The innkeeper’s daughter is moving too and fro, bringing food and drink to weary travelers. There are four people of note in this particular room: a man and a woman are in the corner closest to the door, furthest from the roaring fire, heads bent in conversation — Heard Brontide, and Sanngriðr of the Western Sea.” He gestured to Steve and Chrissy but didn’t ask them to describe themselves yet. “In front of the fire sits a woman in a very fine cloak, Beru, the Left Hand of the Duke of An Diona, and performing for the room at large is the Bard Narrow.”
A quick, light melody sounded from Eddie’s side of the table. He’d produced an honest to god lute from somewhere — because of course his throwaway introduction of himself earlier was actually story accurate and came with a fucking prop — and was playing it with a shiteatting grin
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