Mole
ButtsnBalls
MurderVictim
Little Bird
AlteredTundra
Izurich
Carlyle
Kidd
ruler of spades
shylarahVarric, after kicking Ifor in the head, made a business proposition to Liliana, hopeful for escape from the island.
Izzy left a corked bottle in the sand, and with another in-hand she sauntered in the general direction of the yellow light.
Ifor, after waking rudely, silently appeared quite murderous in his thoughts.
Thomas stood tall and recited emergency protocols as he had learned them.
Temp called out for Evelyn; upon no response, she smacked Elliot, berated Thomas, took up the corked bottle and followed Izzy.
Elliot scanned the beach, hopeful, searching for his lost journal.
Liliana tentatively accepted Varric's offer, took up her mandola and sang her way after Temp and Izzy.
Golde, exhausted and in pain, called out to the approaching troupe of women.
The goat stared with dim eyes, watching Izzy then Temp pass by its rocky perch. It opened its mouth and bleated, flicking its little tail.
Behind the goat, a spot of light approached, swinging in the dark.
"Sssssshhhh!"
A small boy, no older than eight or ten, stepped up alongside the goat and propped a heavy boot up on the rocks. His leg appeared to be made of intricate brass and copper, weathered and dirty as his peasant's clothes, and creaked quietly when he moved. The rest of the child, of course, was very much normal: pale skin, pale hair, a pale hand clasped around his goatherd staff from which a little burning lamp dangled, illuminating his finger at his mouth. Clutched between his elbow and his ribs was a scruffy old journal that might look familiar to Elliot.
The boy scanned the beach, watched the women marching eastward, the men dallying by the rocks, and he gesticulated widely to them all. "Keep it down!" he called out in a whispering voice.
The goat bleated as if in agreement -- then raised its head in sudden alarm before it turned and fled immediately, the tin bell clonking.
.....Evelyn......
A scathing, scratching voice hissed, quiet but strangely audible against the roaring waves; Elliot would hear it the best, for he was closest to the pair of bright shining eyes that appeared out of the craggy rocks.
....you imbeciles....who dud it, yo ho.....ocean called so salty....
It badly imitated their voices one by one as it emerged, thin and gray, long-limbed and long-toothed, its grin wide. It looked as if it might have been human once -- but something horrid, something unspeakable had been done to it.
It shuffled directly at Elliot, eyes locked on him, grinning. The way it stood suggested it was capable of moving much faster.
The little boy's eyes went wide; he sucked in a breath and blew out his little lamp, effectively making himself all but disappear from view. He bolted away, back across the moss and mushrooms to a quiet chorus of tin bells and scared bleating, leaving the beachgoers behind.
.....over here.....everything's....fine......Evelyn.....
Izzy left a corked bottle in the sand, and with another in-hand she sauntered in the general direction of the yellow light.
Ifor, after waking rudely, silently appeared quite murderous in his thoughts.
Thomas stood tall and recited emergency protocols as he had learned them.
Temp called out for Evelyn; upon no response, she smacked Elliot, berated Thomas, took up the corked bottle and followed Izzy.
Elliot scanned the beach, hopeful, searching for his lost journal.
Liliana tentatively accepted Varric's offer, took up her mandola and sang her way after Temp and Izzy.
Golde, exhausted and in pain, called out to the approaching troupe of women.
The goat stared with dim eyes, watching Izzy then Temp pass by its rocky perch. It opened its mouth and bleated, flicking its little tail.
Behind the goat, a spot of light approached, swinging in the dark.
"Sssssshhhh!"
A small boy, no older than eight or ten, stepped up alongside the goat and propped a heavy boot up on the rocks. His leg appeared to be made of intricate brass and copper, weathered and dirty as his peasant's clothes, and creaked quietly when he moved. The rest of the child, of course, was very much normal: pale skin, pale hair, a pale hand clasped around his goatherd staff from which a little burning lamp dangled, illuminating his finger at his mouth. Clutched between his elbow and his ribs was a scruffy old journal that might look familiar to Elliot.
The boy scanned the beach, watched the women marching eastward, the men dallying by the rocks, and he gesticulated widely to them all. "Keep it down!" he called out in a whispering voice.
The goat bleated as if in agreement -- then raised its head in sudden alarm before it turned and fled immediately, the tin bell clonking.
.....Evelyn......
A scathing, scratching voice hissed, quiet but strangely audible against the roaring waves; Elliot would hear it the best, for he was closest to the pair of bright shining eyes that appeared out of the craggy rocks.
....you imbeciles....who dud it, yo ho.....ocean called so salty....
It badly imitated their voices one by one as it emerged, thin and gray, long-limbed and long-toothed, its grin wide. It looked as if it might have been human once -- but something horrid, something unspeakable had been done to it.
It shuffled directly at Elliot, eyes locked on him, grinning. The way it stood suggested it was capable of moving much faster.
The little boy's eyes went wide; he sucked in a breath and blew out his little lamp, effectively making himself all but disappear from view. He bolted away, back across the moss and mushrooms to a quiet chorus of tin bells and scared bleating, leaving the beachgoers behind.
.....over here.....everything's....fine......Evelyn.....
