Baldur's Gate : The Sword Coast Chronicles : NWN2 Persistent World

* removed and put in the box until ... whatever *

Noticing a slight wavering of light from the mythal, Sly looks up and see's something fluttering down, many small white objects that swing side to side as they make their way from the heights. Focusing on one of the white spots, he watches as it slowly filters it's way down, suddenly, as it grows nearer his position, an Imp darts up and grabs one of the objects.

By now, the closeness of the Imp with the item in its hand, Sly can see it appears to be a piece of paper.

"Dos Imp bring what dos have, here is a shiny plak'la for dost troubles."

The Imp hearing this, cackles gleefully and approaches, dropping the note as Sly flips the coin in the air, the Imp deftly catching the small gold coin. Heading off in search of another leaflet, the Imp chatters happily on its' success.

Opening and reading the note, Sly shows no emotion other than a passing interest, but carefully re-folds it and puts it in a document cylinder in his pack. Past the Bazaar and the the Mage School, he heads towards Darkspire.

Shur is walking away from the auctioneer's tent when he bends low toward the ground, inspecting a propaganda pamphlet before picking it up; he brings the pamphlet up chest high, while reading it with a half comical sneer.

"I care not if S'shmath burns to the ground," he then spits onto the cobbled pavement, crumpling up the paper in his gloved hand.

The Dark Druid of Talona slowly makes his trek up the spire barely nodding as he walks past a S'shmatha Guard. He begins muttering to himself, his mind racing over the contents of the pamphlet, "S'shmatha deserves to fall; thewizards of this filthy city feel overbearingly invincible atop their lofty towers."

As his anger wells, he stops in front of the tunnel entrance to Varallas, his fists clenching while he curses vehemently, "Damn waela! The S'shamthan Wizards and their unfounded arrogance are a mockery to Talona!"

He peers down the dark dripping wet caverns for a moment, his teeth gritting. Turning his body, Shur scans S'shmath from his vantage point atop the spire, his eyes narrowing. Unexpectedly the Dark Druid smiles as he whispers, "The gaping maws of death will soon purge S'shmatha of this wasteful arrogance and paving the rise of a new order."

Shur's smile is bitter as he peers across S'shmatha. With a flourish he turns suddenly, his cape flinging up in the wind, his boots biting down on the cobbled path toward the dank caverns of Varallas. Chisle, his pet spider, suddenly emerges from under a crag scuttling softly onto the moist path. Shur walks unaware of Chisle, or the bloodied and severed goblin hand caught between the his pincers. Slowly devouring the meal, Chisle clicks happily, following the trudging Shur down the impenetrably dark caverns.