RE: The Warlords of Krahl - A Collaborative Writing Adventure
01-23-2014, 07:34 AM
(This post was last modified: 01-23-2014, 07:34 AM by SleepingOrange.)
Quick hadn't been enthusiastic when the plan had involved getting arrested. He'd been even less enthusiastic when it had occurred to him that being arrested would separate him from his tools, literally the only things that made his facsimile of wizardhood plausible. He had been supremely unenthusiastic when the plan had continued to unfold in such a way that they were going to have to rely on a rogue elemental to break them out and get them reequipped.
But, as had been pointed out, the only other real option was mounting a frontal assault on the castle and being pincushioned by ballistae before even getting within spellcasting range. Invisibility couldn't be counted on to get the group inside, since Gring doubtlessly had mages of his own. And so Quick had allowed himself to be divested of much of his gear (although consolidated into several carefully-nested bags of holding so as not to draw suspicion for being so heavily-armed), and carefully painted a few runic tattoos on his hands for emergencies.
Fortunately, it seemed, those emergencies wouldn't be arising. The capture went smoothly, no suspicion was aroused, and the elemental failed to go berserk or betray them. Ana flicked brain matter off her fist in a manner that mirrored the distaste on Quick's face, but with a cheerfulness that clashed with his cynicism and worry. As soon as the gates were unlocked, he scuttled into the storeroom and gathered up his bags and cloak and trinkets; he quickly lost focus on his surroundings as he catalogued what was present and what condition it was in. It wasn't a wave of Ana's wild mana short-circuited a minor orb of scrying that he snapped back to the present.
Quick edged closer to the wall, trying not to eye the elemental unpleasantly. The others had joined them, but there were a number of other faces he didn't recognize filtering into the storeroom. He'd known that there were other prisoners in the cell block with them, but he hadn't really payed them much attention or considered what would happen when they were freed. It occurred now.
"What," he quavered, buckling a belt with a dozen wands holstered to it to his belt, "are we going to do about them?"
A number of "them" looked at him at that, and he cringed nervously. He'd felt it had been a pretty fair question; a larger group was more likely to draw suspicion, especially an unorganized one. He just wished he hadn't sounded so callous saying it.
But, as had been pointed out, the only other real option was mounting a frontal assault on the castle and being pincushioned by ballistae before even getting within spellcasting range. Invisibility couldn't be counted on to get the group inside, since Gring doubtlessly had mages of his own. And so Quick had allowed himself to be divested of much of his gear (although consolidated into several carefully-nested bags of holding so as not to draw suspicion for being so heavily-armed), and carefully painted a few runic tattoos on his hands for emergencies.
Fortunately, it seemed, those emergencies wouldn't be arising. The capture went smoothly, no suspicion was aroused, and the elemental failed to go berserk or betray them. Ana flicked brain matter off her fist in a manner that mirrored the distaste on Quick's face, but with a cheerfulness that clashed with his cynicism and worry. As soon as the gates were unlocked, he scuttled into the storeroom and gathered up his bags and cloak and trinkets; he quickly lost focus on his surroundings as he catalogued what was present and what condition it was in. It wasn't a wave of Ana's wild mana short-circuited a minor orb of scrying that he snapped back to the present.
Quick edged closer to the wall, trying not to eye the elemental unpleasantly. The others had joined them, but there were a number of other faces he didn't recognize filtering into the storeroom. He'd known that there were other prisoners in the cell block with them, but he hadn't really payed them much attention or considered what would happen when they were freed. It occurred now.
"What," he quavered, buckling a belt with a dozen wands holstered to it to his belt, "are we going to do about them?"
A number of "them" looked at him at that, and he cringed nervously. He'd felt it had been a pretty fair question; a larger group was more likely to draw suspicion, especially an unorganized one. He just wished he hadn't sounded so callous saying it.