Grimsage Matt
Star
- Joined
- Feb 26, 2014
- Location
- Toronto Canada
Celina
The day, while warm, was for the most part bearable, as you kept to what little shade you could. Still, the cool breeze from the river may have had a good deal to do with it, but it would hardly be unwelcome. Still, as you walk along the path, little more then a donkey or sheep trail by the river, making a brief detour to avoid a hippo, but as the day wears on, there is no sign of pursuit, and no sign of any ambushers.
Still, as the sun rises high into the sky, there is a shape by the river, a woman you assume, clad in blue robes, and with a basket to take water from the river, to wherever she goes too.
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Northern Women
As the speak, particularly at the words Grobi, there is a snort, and cruel laughter from a nearby table, an old man, his body and face covered with scars, his gear worn but still dangerous looking, turns to face you, a faint sneer on his face, his remaining eye expressing contempt, as he looks at the women, but does not spit. "You speak of the Grobi as if they were a band of bandits, as if they rode horses. And you assume that that child eating bastard," at that, several of the other men at his table sneer and scowl, using their mugs to beat against the table, "is just another bandit chief? Grobi, are smaller then men, the size of a child, but as cruel as a stygian noble or priest of Set. Horses and Ponies won't bear them, but wolves, jackals and hyenas? Aye, they have mounts in abundance."
He reaches down, and takes a pull of his ale, and turns his back to them. "You'll be more meat in their pots."
The day, while warm, was for the most part bearable, as you kept to what little shade you could. Still, the cool breeze from the river may have had a good deal to do with it, but it would hardly be unwelcome. Still, as you walk along the path, little more then a donkey or sheep trail by the river, making a brief detour to avoid a hippo, but as the day wears on, there is no sign of pursuit, and no sign of any ambushers.
Still, as the sun rises high into the sky, there is a shape by the river, a woman you assume, clad in blue robes, and with a basket to take water from the river, to wherever she goes too.
//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
Northern Women
As the speak, particularly at the words Grobi, there is a snort, and cruel laughter from a nearby table, an old man, his body and face covered with scars, his gear worn but still dangerous looking, turns to face you, a faint sneer on his face, his remaining eye expressing contempt, as he looks at the women, but does not spit. "You speak of the Grobi as if they were a band of bandits, as if they rode horses. And you assume that that child eating bastard," at that, several of the other men at his table sneer and scowl, using their mugs to beat against the table, "is just another bandit chief? Grobi, are smaller then men, the size of a child, but as cruel as a stygian noble or priest of Set. Horses and Ponies won't bear them, but wolves, jackals and hyenas? Aye, they have mounts in abundance."
He reaches down, and takes a pull of his ale, and turns his back to them. "You'll be more meat in their pots."