Post by Dwirhian on Sept 5, 2020 10:22:54 GMT
You may have seen her crossing the Coldshaw valley, or else passing through the northern Feythorn near the Dell, or making her way among the fields just south of Daring. An elven woman with pale blue skin, a rangy form, a shorn head of silver-white bristles.
You may have noticed her unusual buff-coloured skirt and jacket that moved a little stiffly, perhaps woven from some kind of grass or reed; or the small stringed instrument swinging at her side; or the fact that she seemed to be carrying very little else besides a staff, a small shoulder-bag, and a couple of water-skins.
Most likely you noted her long, easy strides, her lack of hurry or obvious purpose, her frequent stops to look up at the sky or down at the ground or around at everything and nothing in particular.
If you didn’t happen to pass her in open country, you may well have seen her arriving in Daring Heights: talking to the guards at the Gravegate, wandering through the town, occasionally stopping to talk to people. Maybe she even spoke to you, asked for directions to – a slight frown, trying to make sure she got the name right – to the Three-headed Ettin. A wide smile, a small tattoo over the right cheekbone, bright blue eyes with flecks of gold. Maybe you know moon elf eyes when you see them. But are moon elves usually so tall – over six feet?
Well, if you didn’t see her in town either, don’t worry. If you ever go to the Ettin, you’ve surely come across her since she moved in there, or you soon will. Most likely she started to chat to you, if you seem at all the sort of person who’s willing to be chatted to. Asked your name, how you came here, what you’ve seen and done and experienced in this land that’s clearly very new to her. Listened with great attention to any stories you chose to share. And if there was a musician playing in the main hall, you certainly observed her tapping her short-nailed fingers on the table, humming along, and probably getting up and dancing before the night was over.
On other days, if you’re a regular, you may have seen her leaning over the big table in the middle of the hall, pointing at different parts of the crude map carved into the wooden table-top and eagerly questioning some veteran adventurer or other about where they’ve been or heard about. Or studying the Rumour Mill board and occasionally calling over to whoever is behind the bar to ask who so-and-so is or how far to such-and-such-a-place.
Occasionally, on a quiet morning when nobody else is up yet, you may have walked in and found her at a corner table, her fingers wandering over the face of that small wooden box and plucking bright, echoing notes from the strings.
More likely, though, you’ll have seen her coming down from her room once breakfast is in full swing, pulling a chair over to some group of bold explorers or other, and greeting them with a cheery—
“So! What’s everybody doing today?”
You may have noticed her unusual buff-coloured skirt and jacket that moved a little stiffly, perhaps woven from some kind of grass or reed; or the small stringed instrument swinging at her side; or the fact that she seemed to be carrying very little else besides a staff, a small shoulder-bag, and a couple of water-skins.
Most likely you noted her long, easy strides, her lack of hurry or obvious purpose, her frequent stops to look up at the sky or down at the ground or around at everything and nothing in particular.
If you didn’t happen to pass her in open country, you may well have seen her arriving in Daring Heights: talking to the guards at the Gravegate, wandering through the town, occasionally stopping to talk to people. Maybe she even spoke to you, asked for directions to – a slight frown, trying to make sure she got the name right – to the Three-headed Ettin. A wide smile, a small tattoo over the right cheekbone, bright blue eyes with flecks of gold. Maybe you know moon elf eyes when you see them. But are moon elves usually so tall – over six feet?
Well, if you didn’t see her in town either, don’t worry. If you ever go to the Ettin, you’ve surely come across her since she moved in there, or you soon will. Most likely she started to chat to you, if you seem at all the sort of person who’s willing to be chatted to. Asked your name, how you came here, what you’ve seen and done and experienced in this land that’s clearly very new to her. Listened with great attention to any stories you chose to share. And if there was a musician playing in the main hall, you certainly observed her tapping her short-nailed fingers on the table, humming along, and probably getting up and dancing before the night was over.
On other days, if you’re a regular, you may have seen her leaning over the big table in the middle of the hall, pointing at different parts of the crude map carved into the wooden table-top and eagerly questioning some veteran adventurer or other about where they’ve been or heard about. Or studying the Rumour Mill board and occasionally calling over to whoever is behind the bar to ask who so-and-so is or how far to such-and-such-a-place.
Occasionally, on a quiet morning when nobody else is up yet, you may have walked in and found her at a corner table, her fingers wandering over the face of that small wooden box and plucking bright, echoing notes from the strings.
More likely, though, you’ll have seen her coming down from her room once breakfast is in full swing, pulling a chair over to some group of bold explorers or other, and greeting them with a cheery—
“So! What’s everybody doing today?”