Esme busied herself lighting a few more candles, fat slow burning rolls of slightly fragrant beeswax. She didn’t look up at the stranger again until he insinuated that she might try to sell him. Blow up her house —? That staff-up-the-arse bit had perhaps not been figurative. This not-quite-guest was a mage as well as an elf.
Perhaps that explained his attitude.
“Oh dear. I hadn’t thought about kidnapping anyone today, but now that you mention it ... Shame the mules aren’t even harnessed.” A dip of her chin indicated, vaguely, the stables. “Suit yourself, though.” She picked up the toasting fork and took a bite of her now cold dinner.
Why would a mage want a crooked Templar? It came together as she chewed. Lyrium addiction? The stuff was so hard to come by now – and so expensive – that she was momentarily taken aback. With the light, she could see him more clearly. Tremors and sweat, a glassy look she knew well.
“No templars, no.” She pulled the crossbow off the bench and into her lap. Loaded it slowly, set it back – not aimed at him but close enough at hand to leave the threat in the air. Then she bent and flicked open a toggle on her right ankle, then another higher up on her calf. The fabric parted to show a length of lyrium etched steel where her right leg should have been. Byrne’s runic script glowed blue-white in the semi dark.
“Might be that I have some left over. But can you pay?”
Perhaps that explained his attitude.
“Oh dear. I hadn’t thought about kidnapping anyone today, but now that you mention it ... Shame the mules aren’t even harnessed.” A dip of her chin indicated, vaguely, the stables. “Suit yourself, though.” She picked up the toasting fork and took a bite of her now cold dinner.
Why would a mage want a crooked Templar? It came together as she chewed. Lyrium addiction? The stuff was so hard to come by now – and so expensive – that she was momentarily taken aback. With the light, she could see him more clearly. Tremors and sweat, a glassy look she knew well.
“No templars, no.” She pulled the crossbow off the bench and into her lap. Loaded it slowly, set it back – not aimed at him but close enough at hand to leave the threat in the air. Then she bent and flicked open a toggle on her right ankle, then another higher up on her calf. The fabric parted to show a length of lyrium etched steel where her right leg should have been. Byrne’s runic script glowed blue-white in the semi dark.
“Might be that I have some left over. But can you pay?”
04-30-2024, 02:46 PM
