tharveysinjin
05-17-2007, 03:32 PM
The padded, soft leather chair was comfortable enough. It should be. After all, it had been painstakingly hand crafted by Tirin’s lighter-skinned kin-folk centuries ago for a high ranking member of the Valenar. Still, despite its luxury, it was hard to derive comfort from it after fourteen hours of study. The mage stood up to stretch his legs and began to pace. Scores of documents were sprawled out on the top of the oaken desk to his side. Dozens more were still scrolled and tied, having yet to be researched.
The texts were ancient, and in many different languages. Those that particularly interested him were written in an elder version of the giant tongue and in some type of code, which made most of what was on them meaningless. He’d already tried to use a Comprehend Languages spell, but that was of no use. The words were understandable, but their context was not revealed by the magic.
Peering out of the window at the darkened landscape, Tirin saw the flame on the candle flicker more robustly in the reflection of the glass, and then felt a slight stir in the air.
“I was about to give up on you, Dalagar,” the mage whispered. “You’ve been gone, for so long, I thought that perhaps you’d met your doom.”
“You only wish you could be rid of me that easily”, came the reply. There, in the corner of room, an elf in leather jerkins and a black cape crouched in the shadows. The two shook hands.
“It’s good to have you back”, the drow smiled.
“Oh, it’s good to be back. It’ll be even better once I’ve had the chance to clean up, eat and get a good night’s sleep!”
“Well, I won’t keep you, but first, do you have any good news for me, Dal?
“Well, yes and no.” The elf walked over to the chair that Tirin had formerly occupied and dropped down with an uncharacteristic plop. “I spent two weeks in Sharn just trying to find a sage that might know something about this old giant language. I finally found one, a fellow by the name of Tershione. He could translate it without a problem, but, like you, he says it’s got to be a code. He suggested that we try to ingratiate ourselves with the inhabitants of Giant hold, and try to find a key or legend or something.”
Tirin strolled back to the window, eyeing the distant mountains silhouetted against the moonlight.
“That’s what I was trying to avoid. If we go there, we’re going to need someone who is handy in a fight, and that means Kruc. I think trying to get him to go back there is going to be a lot like trying to coax a reluctant turd.”
“You’re absolutely right!”, the elf bellowed. “Now all we need to do is find a proper laxative!", and with that, Dalagar stood and walked through the doorway, allowing his grumbling belly to guide the way to Tirin’s pantry.
(To be continued. . . )
The texts were ancient, and in many different languages. Those that particularly interested him were written in an elder version of the giant tongue and in some type of code, which made most of what was on them meaningless. He’d already tried to use a Comprehend Languages spell, but that was of no use. The words were understandable, but their context was not revealed by the magic.
Peering out of the window at the darkened landscape, Tirin saw the flame on the candle flicker more robustly in the reflection of the glass, and then felt a slight stir in the air.
“I was about to give up on you, Dalagar,” the mage whispered. “You’ve been gone, for so long, I thought that perhaps you’d met your doom.”
“You only wish you could be rid of me that easily”, came the reply. There, in the corner of room, an elf in leather jerkins and a black cape crouched in the shadows. The two shook hands.
“It’s good to have you back”, the drow smiled.
“Oh, it’s good to be back. It’ll be even better once I’ve had the chance to clean up, eat and get a good night’s sleep!”
“Well, I won’t keep you, but first, do you have any good news for me, Dal?
“Well, yes and no.” The elf walked over to the chair that Tirin had formerly occupied and dropped down with an uncharacteristic plop. “I spent two weeks in Sharn just trying to find a sage that might know something about this old giant language. I finally found one, a fellow by the name of Tershione. He could translate it without a problem, but, like you, he says it’s got to be a code. He suggested that we try to ingratiate ourselves with the inhabitants of Giant hold, and try to find a key or legend or something.”
Tirin strolled back to the window, eyeing the distant mountains silhouetted against the moonlight.
“That’s what I was trying to avoid. If we go there, we’re going to need someone who is handy in a fight, and that means Kruc. I think trying to get him to go back there is going to be a lot like trying to coax a reluctant turd.”
“You’re absolutely right!”, the elf bellowed. “Now all we need to do is find a proper laxative!", and with that, Dalagar stood and walked through the doorway, allowing his grumbling belly to guide the way to Tirin’s pantry.
(To be continued. . . )