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I'm just super curious about one thing, not sure if I should be asking this in game or what. Some of us were under the impression that we were limited to selling only 5 items in our tent... I'm wondering what was the reason for that, or if it was a misunderstanding?(Hashan and Mhaldor had about a dozen items, not sure about Ashtan and Targossas.)
Here is the Targossian showcase, for any who missed it! (Part I)
The interior of the tent dims, and soon the surroundings are swept away by a flood of pitch black drowning out all sight.
You say, "Thank you all for coming, and apologies for the slight delay."
You say, "Targossas, the Dawnspear, was founded by the Bloodsworn Divine to serve Good. Guided by Light, Targossians strive to always walk the Righteous path."
You say, "In simple terms, we must understand reality as it actually is so that we may make wise choices that will ultimately lead to the continued prosperity and growth of Creation."
You say, "Whether our actions serve Good, whether they are truly Righteous, is determined by the choices we make."
You say, "Those choices may lead to prosperity or ruin, happiness or sorrow, bliss or damnation. And by our choices are we judged."
You say, "Our showcase, thus, is a story, but throughout this story, you will be asked to make your own choices. When such a choice is presented, please tell <person> which choice you wish the character to make. The story will proceed based on majority vote."
You clear your throat in an attempt to gain the attention of those around you.
You say, "Send those tells to Eryl please."
You say, "May the Light guide you and our intrepid adventurer throughout her journey."
Farrah gestures to her surroundings and steps back.
Alasiel's voice echoes through the dark tent as she begins the story.
Alasiel says, "Our tale begins with a humble young villager, who has journeyed to Targossas from a small oasis town nestled within the arid dunes of the Mhojave desert. She is a human, barely over eighteen in age. Her name is Ahset."
Motes of shifting light languidly drift into view, their subtle glow casting a gentle radiance upon the surroundings.
From the light, a shimmering image of the gates of Targossas comes into existence, and a young woman, exhausted and uncertain, trudges through them.
Alasiel says, "Ahset came to Targossas after the death of her father to learn the ways of the world and of Light and Fire. Soon after she arrived, she learned that there are many ways to serve within the Dawnspear. The servants of the Bloodsworn were a force as varied in composition as any other."
The surroundings shift, and young Ahset, now clad in a simple ivory robe, is walking the grounds of Blackstone Isle. Rank upon rank of warriors move in perfect lockstep in the background, light shining off the argent steel of their armour.
As Ahset makes her way to Silverbright Square, she comes upon a congregation of citizens, each one's head bowed in expectant reverence. Standing before them, a female atavian in ivory and gold robes holds a simple ivory book, her lips moving in the midst of her prayer.
Silently, a figure in a travel-worn grey cloak observes, the constant shifting of the grey hood indicating a watchful gaze. A quill is visible from his pocket, along with a piece of parchment.
Alasiel says, "The Dawnblade, ever stalwart, ever faithful warriors. The Harbingers, the keepers of the faith, masters of oration and study. The Luminai, ever watchful, ever present, ever observant. Many choices, and many ways to serve. Ahset was required to make a choice. Should she join the Dawnblade, the Harbingers of Redemption, or, in time, the Luminai?"
Alasiel says, "The audience is now presented with its first choice."
Alasiel says, "As a reminder, please send votes to Eryl."
[The audience chose Luminai]
With a dip of the cowl, the figure places a similar grey cloak about the young woman's shoulders, palpable import evident even in this simple act. Leaning forward, a brief, hushed conversation passes between the two figures. Pulling up her cowl, Ahset gives a simple nod, before turning on her heel to depart.
Alasiel says, "So her duty went. One of the Luminai, ever observing, ever knowing, ever searching. It had been reported that of late, her home village had been suffering strange, unnatural happenings. Her first mission, along with a Harbinger named Kehlwa and her fellow Luminai and best friend Tajan, were to venture to the village. Her task was simple, observe and determine the truth of the happenings. She set off, confident in her handful of years training in the Luminai."
A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child creases his brow in a frown.
The image dissolves again, reforming to show the three adventurers climbing through seemingly endless dunes, before finally reaching the outskirts of the oasis village.
Myriad villagers gather, their expressions displaying obvious distrust. Stepping forward, Ahset speaks to them, calming gestures of her hands indicating herself, then her companions.
Alasiel says, "The villagers relaxed somewhat at recognizing Ahset, though they still wondered. What could bring these strangers here?"
Alasiel says, "Yes, there had been strange happenings, but... Chaos? Could it really be that?"
Alasiel says, "In the end, they determined that allowing their visitors to indulge their curiosity couldn't hurt, and may indeed solve their recent problems."
Alasiel says, "They commented on strange animals crawling out of the sand, mutated beyond recognition, and a general sense of unease throughout the village. Questioning them further, Ahset and her companions learned of a newcomer to the village."
The three adventurers follow the villagers to a house, which forms obligingly in the air. Little more than a ramshackle hut, each window has been covered with uneven planks of wood, multicolored light occasionally flickering from between the cracks.
Kneeling down by the door to the hut, Ahset presses her ear to a crack between two planks. The muted sounds of chanting drift into the air from within, growing faster and faster by the moment.
Standing once more, Ahset removes a slim case of picks from within her grey cloak, easily working the lock open with dexterous fingers and slipping silently through the door, to find the hut seemingly empty.
Glancing around the interior, Ahset moves from wall to wall, her gaze sweeping from floor to ceiling in measured contemplation. With a sudden, swift motion, she slides back a previously concealed panel in the wall to reveal a robed man holding a large book.
A robed man stands in the center of the room, a thick book open in one hand as his lips move in a furious chant.
Swirls of multicolored light churn about him, sickly in hue. They spin faster and faster with his chanting.
Alasiel says, "An occultist, there was no doubt in her mind, caught mid ritual, performing she knew not what foulness."
Ahset exclaims, "A garden thick with weeds! Let the impurity be purged beneath His Righteous gaze!"
The robed occultist observes Ahset with surprise, his eyes going wide as she nimbly produces a dagger from within the folds of her cloak. With a precise jab of the knife, the thick book tumbles from his grasp.
Ahset steps in quickly, landing a dazing blow with the weighted pommel of her knife before dragging the occultist to the center of the hut at knifepoint. He falls dramatically to his knees, babbling and blubbering with false remorse.
A robed occultist says desperately in a deceivingly pitiful voice, "I know nothing. Please, let me live. I only wanted to learn. I'll give up my dastardly ambitions! Only spare me my life!"
Ahset says, "You have tainted my home with these twisted arts. Why would I show you mercy? Don't you know the consequences of practicing the Occult arts? Are you so selfish that you would hurt Creation to satisfy your own curiosities?"
A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child gives the occultist a look of pity.
Mathonwy watches on, his face a look of amusement and exasperation.
Jiraishin watches Mathonwy carefully.
The grey-cloaked figure of Tajan appears in the doorway. He frowns, looking down at the foul occultist.
Ahset says to Tajan, "We found the perpetrator."
Tajan says, "He cannot be working alone. The villagers have mentioned seeing lights in more than one part of the village at the same time. There must be others."
A robed occultist says in a deceivingly pitiful voice, "No! It was me. Just me! Please, I have a cat! Sir Meow will have no one to feed him if you slay me."
A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child gives a horrified gasp.
A disgusting noise draws your attention as a mutant three-eyed cat hacks up a hairball in the corner of the room. Upon closer inspection, the hairball is actually kitten fur from the innocent kittens that the beast had slaughtered.
A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child exclaims, "Kitty!"
An adolescent dwarf says, "I'll take the cat."
Tajan stares at a robed occultist with barely concealed disgust. He turns his gaze back to Ahset.
A mutant three-eyed cat sniffs at a smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child before its image dissipates into nothing.
Tajan says, "We should interrogate him. How can we trust such a man? He has no reason to tell us the truth."
Tajan eyes a robed occultist with meticulous attention, humming thoughtfully to himself as he assesses the most efficient means of inflicting excruciating agony on a reluctant subject.
Alasiel says, "Ahset gazed down the blade of her sword at the kneeling man, hesitating. The direct and bloody route would certainly yield quick results of some manner, but surely a more effective means would not involve such grisly procedure?"
Alasiel says, "At this point, the audience is once again invited to decide: Does Ahset accept Tajan's offer to ...interrogate... the occultist, or does she reason with him directly?"
Jiraishin says with a harsh Western accent, "Is there an option for 'just kill the bastard'?"
Numira stares implacably at Jiraishin.
Jiraishin says with a harsh Western accent, "What?"
Jiraishin says with a harsh Western accent, "It's what I'd do."
You say to Jiraishin, "I am certain you could make it happen during the interrogation."
You tap your nose knowingly at Jiraishin.
Jiraishin says with a harsh Western accent, "Very well, then."
Mathonwy says flatly, "Classy."
[The audience chooses to interrogate]
And Part II
Ahset nods grimly at Tajan, and a dagger noiselessly materialises in his hand. She steps back, arms crossed as Tajan works. Muffled groans of pain echo through the space, punctuated by barely intelligible words and curses screamed out by the Occultist.
Mathonwy frowns and nods at a smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child.
Alasiel says, "The occultist finally revealed his secret: His cabal had obtained an ancient artefact that they could use to draw in Chaos energy for their vile plans. Their trial run would be the desert town that was Ahset's home, where the occultist had made all necessary preparations."
Alasiel says, "The Targossians acted quickly, and when the cabal arrived to perform their experiment, the Targossian army stood there, blades ready."
The deafening roar of battle surrounds you. Blades flash in the sunlight, and a tarot card flies past your face, briefly slowing down to reveal the image of the Aeon before disappearing into the battle once more.
Images flash by, one after another. A Chaos hound crouches over a twitching corpse, its maw crimson with blood. Arrows fall from the sky, thick as rain. An angel plunges her hand into her victim's chest.
Alasiel says, "At long last, the Targossian forces prevailed, and Ahset herself pried the artefact from the fingers of a fallen enemy."
Before you floats a beautiful silver locket, its intricately carved surface glittering in the soft light as it spins slowly.
Ahset shimmers into view after a moment, her gaze fixed upon the artefact. Slowly, she reaches toward it, but as her hands close around it, the locket turns to dust in her fingers, and the scene fades away.
Alasiel says, "The artefact was familiar to Ahset: a locket that had been passed down through her family, long thought to be lost. As the battle formation marched homeward to Targossas, Ahset removed it from her pocket, wistfully remembering her father's oft-repeated stories of its origin which always seemed to change a little with each retelling."
Alasiel says, "Finally back in safe hands, it was now the one treasure that kept the good memories close--a reminder of joyful times and steadfast morals instilled in her youth."
Alasiel says, "Grasping it with conviction, she felt it pulse with a new and strange power, and imagined how she might wield it against the enemies of Good."
A nearby Targossian soldier spies the object, expressing concern over its recent use and suggesting it be destroyed in the flames of the Chalice of Purity. With obvious irritation, Ahset dismisses his words as superstitious.
Alasiel says, "Once again, the audience must now decide. Ahset was now in possession of a family heirloom... but for the rest of the journey the soldier's words kept intruding into her thoughts. Does she accept the potential danger and keep the locket, or destroy it?"
[The audience chose to keep the locket.]
Alasiel says, "Ahset kept the locket on herself, knowing that the risks were outweighed by the potential benefit to the cause of Good. She took it into battle after battle, carefully wielding it to great effect and growing ever more cunning in its use as her familiarity with its imbued power increased. The occasional dark whispers intruded into the deepest parts of her mind, but she learned to ignore them."
Alasiel says, "Her outstanding service continued, and after many years, she humbly accepted the role of Dawnlord. City affairs continued smoothly and uneventfully under her leadership."
Alasiel says, "...But peace never lasts for long."
Alasiel says, "Many years after Ahset became Dawnlord of Targossas, something unexpected occurred. The Tsolteth, whispered of only in tales of the past, had been spotted on the continent of Sapience."
Mathonwy whispers, "We already know how the choice here goes."
A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child tilts his head curiously at Mathonwy.
Jaksim whispers to Mathonwy in a deep, resonant voice, "Hey, maybe they'll let us make the right decision, instead."
Alasiel says, "The Tsol'teth struck at the shrines of all overlanders, including those of the Bloodsworn Divine - but for what purpose?"
Alasiel says, "Ahset had read in the ancient histories that the Tsol'teth sought only destruction. And the lands were besieged by their weapon, the Tide. Cyrene had fallen. Yet, Hashan and Moghedu had struck bargains with the Tsol'teth. Could they be reasoned with?"
Qidaxt says thoughtfully in a wispy, sibilant voice, "I'd think 'reason' is the paradoxical tension at the heart of the Tsol'teth psyche... it's their most prided possession, and yet the one they struggle to hold onto."
Standing at a table are various members of Targossian leadership. Ahset is at the head of the table; to her right and left, Prophets Sorondis and Sothlas debate and discuss from opposite sides; Judicator Atalghar Aurolt in gleaming mail and sweeping cloak, is enraged; Eminent Master Tajan leans against a wall, glaring into his cup of kawhe; and the Herald and the Guardian of Blades stand by in silence but clearly perturbed.
Judicator Atalghar Aurolt slams a mailed fist down on the table.
Judicator Atalghar Aurolt says, "Aligning ourselves with such abominations is simply unthinkable. Dawnlord. Targossas must fight with its last breath against this threat."
Mathonwy stares pointedly at you.
Valos Grody Sorondis, Prophet of Enlightenment says, "Respectfully, Judicator, I must disagree. Did they not say they sought stability? If we allow them to sample some of our own and so improve their lines, could not their future generations become more stable... perhaps more inclined to serve Good?"
Farrah tilts her head slightly towards Mathonwy, smirking.
Mathonwy tells you, "It looks better when I do it."
You tell Mathonwy, "I would imagine you think so."
Tarmond Sothlas, Prophet of Justice says, "There is, admittedly, also the matter of what our options truly are. What would be the cost of fighting them? Will this lead to mutual destruction? Our enemies are numerous, and if they could be allies, it would benefit us all and Creation itself."
You tell Mathonwy, "Looks are less important than substance, anyway."
Judicator Atalghar Aurolt says, "You think we have a choice? Look what they did to Cyrene!"
Mathonwy tells you, "It could be the most appealing dish in the entire world but if it looks like baby vomit, nobody is going to eat it."
Valos Grody Sorondis, Prophet of Enlightenment says, "All sentient life has a right to pursue Growth, if it does not restrict the Growth of Creation itself. These Tsol'teth clearly seek to grow. But must they inhibit us and others, or is there another way?"
Eminent Master Tajan snarls, "I tire of the endless arguments. Decide one way or another before we simply sit here and rot."
Ahset massages her temples, her patience visibly wearing thin.
Alasiel says, "Ahset had a choice to make. Would she lead Targossas to ally with the Tsol'teth or fight against them?"
Alasiel says, "Once again, the choice, in reality, is yours."
[The audience chose to fight the Tsol'teth.]
Alasiel says, "Ahset took very little time to consider. The destruction of Cyrene filled her mind. Fury girded every word as she made her judgement. Opposition to the Tsol'teth line was declared."
Alasiel says, "Targossas stood shoulder to shoulder with members of the Coalition, including the Seat of Chaos. All negotiation attempts from the Tsol'teth were summarily rejected. Ahset did not wish to hear their words."
Durvan whispers in a full rich deep voice, "This will be interesting!"
Flickering briefly into being, an image of Ahset resolves, standing before an army massed upon Blackstone Isle. Her expression is touched with fury as she leads her army to battle.
Alasiel says, "So it was that Ahset, and Targossas, raised their blades against the Tsol'teth. And unbeknownst to most of Targossas, Ahset was armed with the locket she was retrieved from the Occultists. To Ahset, her powers seemed endless. She'd had enough of this invasion. She'd had enough of this world."
Alasiel says, "Keep fighting, child." A whisper emanated from the locket, familiar to her."
The dark-haired figure of Ahset standing before an army of Tsol'teth shimmers into view. She clutches the locket tightly within her hands as she leaps into the fray. She casts down enemy after enemy, leaving nothing but charred remains and warped bodies in her path.
Durvan whispers in a full rich deep voice, "Uh-oh!"
A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child cheers wildly!
Jiraishin watches the image, eyes intent and unreadable.
Eryl says to a smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child in a rumbling, listless voice, "Watch close, littl'un."
Alasiel says, ""Yes, Ahset. We believe in you." The locket whispered."
Alasiel says, "The whispers were comforting now. They encouraged her when opposed to any odds; they praised her each time an enemy is cast down. The longer she fought, the more she began relying on the powers contained within the artefact."
Alasiel says, "She wrapped herself in shadows and asked the whispers for the power it would take to destroy the vast army before her. They listened."
The artefact within Ahset's hand thrums with power that warps the very air around it.
It seeps into her flesh, takes hold of her bones, and twists her very soul. Her body begins to flow with raw, uncontrolled power as she screams out in ecstasy.
Her flesh sloughs off, replaced with flexible steel scales. Her head expands to twice its size, unlocking countless new strategies within her mind. Her muscles expand and bulge. She leaps towards her enemies, the newfound strength consuming her.
"Cool!" a smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child exclaims.
Alasiel says, "While Ahset's attention was focused on her new power, she failed to realize the armies of the Bloodsworn had arrived. But she did not need them. She had this under control."
Alasiel says, "She saw red, heard the cries of agony, felt the wet slick of blood."
Alasiel says, "She heard the whispers."
Alasiel says, "As her vision returned, there were no Tsol'teth in sight, and Ahset looked down to see her hands wrapped around the bloody throat of the Avatar of the Primordial Fire just as the life within her eyes faded away. Strangely, she felt no sadness, no remorse."
Alasiel says, "No, she felt invigorated."
The remnants of the Bloodsworn's army stare on in disbelief at the crumpled forms of the Avatar of the Primordial Fire, the Voice of Light, and the Guardian of Blades. For the first time, they feel fear.
Ahset looks upon her new-found enemies with joy. Beseeching the whispers one last time, a wave of sheer Chaotic force violently spreads outward, her own body as the epicentre. It rips through the remaining Targossians with ease, warping their bodies beyond all recognition.
A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child gazes on with wide eyes.
Manifesting herself in the Dawnspear, what was once Ahset casts her power about the city, destroying homes and lives without care.
Alasiel says, "When all was done, her destruction of the city was absolute."
Alasiel says, "...as was the destruction of her own mind."
The creature screams with rage as it moves from village to village, city to city, casting everything around her into the throes of Chaos. Wherever it goes, Creation is unwound.
Alasiel says, "None could stand before the creature that was Ahset's fury, for it no longer was a being that felt anything. It simply craved destruction, and its appetite was endless."
Alasiel says, "Creation, however... is not."
The images of destruction fade as the stage falls to blackness once again.
A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child says, "They got what they deserved for being mean to the kitty."
You say, "That concludes our story, grim as it ended. But this should be a lesson to all that the choices we make matter. Choose wisely in the future."
I absolutely agree
A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child says, "They got what they deserved for being mean to the kitty."
Gradually, the open area before the audience is lit with a soft ambiance. The sound of not blaring violins that don't deafen you slowly begin to play.Wait is this star wars : /sigh
It was super fun! But we're lucky that stuff like this didn't accidentally make it into the performance:SAY Unfortunately for her, you idiots are in charge of her fate. (edit later)
If Mathonwy is 2006 I wish 2007 had never come.
Message #12872 Sent by Jurixe
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "I think you'll enjoy this story, my young halfling friend."
A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child says, "What's the story about?"
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum pulls a musty tome from a stack and blows a cloud of dust from its cover.
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "Today's story comes from an old collection of fairy tales. I've tried my best to preserve the meaning and meter while making the language a bit more accessible. I hope you enjoy."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "Three witches, cunning and sly, lived together beneath an ancient sky. Sisters were they, wily and jaded, who feared the day when their talents had faded."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The first had her mind, her thoughts and smarts, who valued ideas more than her heart."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The second had her looks, pretty and spry, who feared with age her beauty would die."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The third had her body, agile and strong, who trained as hard as the day is long."
Three feminine shapes dance above the fire, hands held as they turn in circles around the flames. Above their heads, three shadows of symbols hang suspended: a book, a rose, a fist.
A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child becomes entranced by the rhyming story.
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "As proud as they were in their own devices, envy was but one of their vices. Each grew jealous over time, thinking "What's yours should just be mine.""
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The first knew spells and arcane tricks, and used her magic to get her fix."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The second had potions and wicked brews, and slipped her sisters a mystic ooze."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The third knew of ritual vexed, and so she left her sisters hexed."
The dancing figures break apart, each pointing toward the other. The crackling of the flames sweeps across the area, its cackling cries a poignant emphasis of the sisters' jealousy.
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "Though they were secretive on their own, what each sister could not have known was that on one so fateful night, each had acted in their own right."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The first drew in her sisters' acuity with incantations of greedy gratuity."
Two of the silhouettes fade from view as the first sister grows in size and clarity, her smokey outline reading from a grey book. Her arms wave maniacally as ashen lips speak inaudible words that momentarily render the campfire heatless.
A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child blinks.
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The second stole their sprightly youth with liquid manner quite uncouth."
A breeze swirls the spellbound witch into another silhouette, this one standing before a boiling cauldron. As she drops a rose into the brew, a flock of crows fly overhead, their raucous calls ushering a chill into the air.
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The third performed her nasty show, holding strength in selfish escrow."
The chill in the air causes the flames to recede momentarily, and its trailing smoke sinks to the ground as a dancing figure steps from its hazy embrace. She stomps about the campfire silently, arms akimbo as she chants a wordless invocation.
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "But envy is a fickle master, and so their fears arrived yet faster. For each attempt to shirk Lord Time, the sisters were punished for their crimes."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The first went insane, gibbering and mad, now slave to the madness that each witch had."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The second had regressed into a child, all her allure and guile exiled."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The third found herself turned to stone, tough and strong but erosion-prone."
The three sisters return, no longer dancing about the now low fire. A whirlwind of smokey pages swirl about a three-headed, studious sister. Above the infant hangs a rose-shaped rattle, its clattering heard in the crackling of the flames. The final sister stands still, an unmoving statue with arms raised in a fixed, pleading gesture.
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "Be wary, friends, of envy's call, and the thought of overcoming it all. This life winds down for all with time, so beware the devils within these rhymes..."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The first devil is dementia, the slipping of thoughts, whose misery arrives by the drawing of lots."
A cacophony of whispers accompany the dissipation of the demeted sister into the air.
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The second devil is decrepitation, whose sagging folds steal beauty's station."
Billowing folds of flabby smoke surround the infant as she quickly ages into an old crone. A wheezing sigh heralds the dismissal of the decrepit sister into the air.
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "The third devil is deficiency, whose withering destroys efficiency."
The deficient sister slowly crumbles into a black haze which quickly disbands into the air.
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "Thank you for listening. Do come back for more stories later."
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum snaps the old tome closed, glancing up with a wry grin.
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "Did you enjoy that, little halfling?"
A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child claps his hands together merrily.
A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child exclaims, "Yes!"
A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child says, "Are witches cool?"
Nissa, the Head Archivist of the Lucretian Athenaeum says, "I am given to believing you are quite fond of witches."
A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child says, "I've only met one."
A smartly-dressed, tiny halfling child stares implacably at you.
One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one's work is terribly important