Six Torn Wings
09-02-07, 12:16 AM
[center]{closed to Amaril}[/closed]
The caverns within the mountains were quiet ones, dark and full of dripping silence. The three girls who sat now within them had nothing more than a few candles burning in their circle with which to make out each other's features with. Across from Francine, Andulace was nothing more than a floating head of light locks, the whites of her eyes catching the flame and glowing like fire-bugs. Humble's lime beard was almost like a neon sign shining in that darkness.
"We are here - why again?" Andulace asked in the terrible way she had of using TradeSpeak. Her sneer was evident, familiar. Humble disregarded her, continuing to watch the potion flicker in the candlelight, turning from the milk white it had been when they'd covered it in cloth and set out for the mines into something as dark as the air around them.
"It needs the dirt here, and the darkness to finish," Francine explained patiently, her brown eyes on the bubbles that were surfacing in the muck hungrily. "This is going to be great."
"Truely a slave maker?" Andulace asked, her skeptical tone earning a bitter glance from Humble. As the dwarven girl began to rub at the fine hairs of her young beard in thought, she tilted her head to the side. The coarse, curled hairs of her lime mane fell to the side, nearly catching flame on one of the candles.
"Of course it will work. It's a good reliable book I got this one out of. If it says it'll make men into your sex slaves, it will. For the record, it was a Drow book."
At this, Andulace seemed satisfied, and sat back, watching the brew with the others more patiently than before. Though Humble began to search through her pack for the proper vials to fill with the finished concoction, Francine paid no mind to her. Instead, her eyes were on the little tub of sludge, and on the last bubbles that rose and burst.
The caverns within the mountains were quiet ones, dark and full of dripping silence. The three girls who sat now within them had nothing more than a few candles burning in their circle with which to make out each other's features with. Across from Francine, Andulace was nothing more than a floating head of light locks, the whites of her eyes catching the flame and glowing like fire-bugs. Humble's lime beard was almost like a neon sign shining in that darkness.
"We are here - why again?" Andulace asked in the terrible way she had of using TradeSpeak. Her sneer was evident, familiar. Humble disregarded her, continuing to watch the potion flicker in the candlelight, turning from the milk white it had been when they'd covered it in cloth and set out for the mines into something as dark as the air around them.
"It needs the dirt here, and the darkness to finish," Francine explained patiently, her brown eyes on the bubbles that were surfacing in the muck hungrily. "This is going to be great."
"Truely a slave maker?" Andulace asked, her skeptical tone earning a bitter glance from Humble. As the dwarven girl began to rub at the fine hairs of her young beard in thought, she tilted her head to the side. The coarse, curled hairs of her lime mane fell to the side, nearly catching flame on one of the candles.
"Of course it will work. It's a good reliable book I got this one out of. If it says it'll make men into your sex slaves, it will. For the record, it was a Drow book."
At this, Andulace seemed satisfied, and sat back, watching the brew with the others more patiently than before. Though Humble began to search through her pack for the proper vials to fill with the finished concoction, Francine paid no mind to her. Instead, her eyes were on the little tub of sludge, and on the last bubbles that rose and burst.