the Parley at the SharpTeeth bridge
Posted: Thu Sep 13, 2012 3:39 pm
The little kobold diplomat muzzle leashed a large dire wolf at the north end of the bridge. Behind the wolf was drug a bundle of branches carrying a well wrapped humanoid form.
She kept her eyes on the woods and cliffs. The kobold, TapTap, had said there were archers poised and ready. Her mind screamed.. an elf lay inert wrapped in a bundle of branches and rags. She eyed the dire wolf again, the words of the parley not registering in her ears. She noticed the branding..the dead elf was handed over as a warning. She said a silent prayer.
The parley continued. Her focus remained on the trees and clefts of the cliff.
The parley ended. The kobold and wolf returned to the Orc camp. The elves crossed the bridge to the southern side.
She rearranged the rags covering the dead elf. A scout, two weeks unreturned from a patrol. One rag slipped, baring a brand. An ugly searing scar marred the fair skin of the sun elf. "Zhentarim" the elfs confirmed.
A reply would soon cross the bridge, a response that would be appropriately considered.
First though, preparations for a funural needed to be made. She carried the heavy burden into the village, past grim faces, into the chapel.
Closing the door she called for the other blessed priests of the Seldarine. "We must prepare this elf for Arvandor, the reward for his service and sacrifice to the people. Let us gather and honor him."
She kept her eyes on the woods and cliffs. The kobold, TapTap, had said there were archers poised and ready. Her mind screamed.. an elf lay inert wrapped in a bundle of branches and rags. She eyed the dire wolf again, the words of the parley not registering in her ears. She noticed the branding..the dead elf was handed over as a warning. She said a silent prayer.
The parley continued. Her focus remained on the trees and clefts of the cliff.
The parley ended. The kobold and wolf returned to the Orc camp. The elves crossed the bridge to the southern side.
She rearranged the rags covering the dead elf. A scout, two weeks unreturned from a patrol. One rag slipped, baring a brand. An ugly searing scar marred the fair skin of the sun elf. "Zhentarim" the elfs confirmed.
A reply would soon cross the bridge, a response that would be appropriately considered.
First though, preparations for a funural needed to be made. She carried the heavy burden into the village, past grim faces, into the chapel.
Closing the door she called for the other blessed priests of the Seldarine. "We must prepare this elf for Arvandor, the reward for his service and sacrifice to the people. Let us gather and honor him."