"Looks like I can touch you... while you stand here helplessly. I get the feeling... she is with me still. But do you really think she accepted me after what happened to the boy... my manfully charming looks. Realizing there is more to someone than appearance is something she would never understand... " The bugbear wallowed on its last uncomfortable breaths as the wizard dug the killing knife into its blistered face that dripped viscous fluid, and its eyes bulged with blood, the hope all leaking away...
The sound of bone splintering sourly and the body falling to the wet-glistening grass with little struggle.
----
Upon reaching Soubar, a horse kicked up enough mud to soak him through, and he saw many businessmen thundering about, smacking their hands out to shake with others in vibrating purpose. Beggars rotting about, useless as desiccated jawbones littering the floor of the hells. Northlander barbarians belching out their groggy ales. To think I can potentially make more money selling this mithral breastplate than I have on the four or five jobs with the Ebon Blade... seriously props the question why I don't go back to the Nethanlyr Isles?
Bisery dropped the mithral breastplate dismissively onto the desk, in the glaring Soubar heat, and eased himself carefully into the chair in furious determination. His arse was too big to fit inside of it!
The third leg of the chair snapped off, careened Bisery backwards with worrying speed, and burned the philosophy into Bisery's head it was not a chair to be bribed or groveled.
A man with jet-black hair and a heavy coat made out of some orag's body nearby spluttered with laughter, spit blearily shining off his chin and hitting the dewy grass.
"I am selling this here tongue-watering, modernistic mithral breastplate of finest quality! The bidding starts at 40,000." Bisery blinked angrily like he had glass floating at the corner of his eye; then thought bitterly: And it would seem today is another prime opportunity... to be laughed at former eldritch knight champion who competed in all the greatest tournaments throughout Amn...
The man with jet-black hair frowned back, "Modernistic?"
I suddenly wonder what are his psychological ticks... what drives him to feel the toil of a bee sting? Is it overly explaining himself about technical nothings or is it the fall-back tradition of employing the usage of my best friends and their second and third cousins: screws, clamps, hammer-and-nail, heat-shimmering tongs, oiled-up whips, or maybe my latest learned spell... the -evil eye-, or is that too effeminate?
"Latest fashion is all, my good man..."
//Selling mithral breastplate; Base Armor Class 5, Maximum Dexterity Bonus 5, Armor check penalty -1, Spell failure 15%-- please do not respond to this OOCly, rather post a RP response with minimal OOC response
