Bookishness Pt 1

Please listen while reading

14th of Patchwall, 6pm, Arbor-Portum


Meager awoke, washed, dressed and ate a quick breakfast before leaving his temporary room in the Moon Wing House. He met Icarus and Emerys in the hall, minutes later they had collected Gemma and were on their way back to embassy. A pattern was quickly developing, explore a few rooms, then study, take a break, more study, eat lunch and share findings then repeat.

Meager cracked his little knuckles and sighed as he continued his research learning as much as he could about Arbor Embassy


The Embassy wasn’t yet safe enough for them to stay in, but what a wealth of knowledge, he was still only a third of the way through The Coronation of the King .


This was hard, harder than anything else, she felt naked without her pistols, and useless; Meager and Emerys seemed content to sit and read, and though that was interesting; she was concerned. Should she be working on her EAT? What of her sister? What if she left Eiradun before she returned? Gemma tried her best to study, but found herself restless and pacing more often than not.


It felt odd to be given free reign within a Waylen Embassy, everything he had ever be taught suggested he should not be in here, he should not be reading these books, and yet Meager eagerly offered them, heck Meager could not even read his own language. A nibble of doubt began to grow within Icarus… what if he was wrong, what if Meager was not truly a Waylen, maybe he was an awakened mouse, or worse, a former familiar masquerading… he used the Weave right… Icarus had seen it happen, he had to be a Waylen… right? What about Emerys? The Lord of Balance… he seemed pretty sure that he didn’t want to be called that… that this was not him… but he was a druid right? And not a Suzuki, could he have been wrong? Things went so wrong at the Eiradon Embassy, he had followed the prophecy though, he had brought the Lord of balance and the final Waylen there… why hadn’t Shepard been defeated? Had he missed something? He hoped not… they were here now, in Arbor-Portom … it would not be long before he would have to stand before the King and explain himself, the Captain could only deflect questions for so long, and then would have to explain that He had returned… did a Waylen and the Lord of Balance make up for his transgressions? Likely… but what about a Waylen who wasn’t a Waylen and a Lord of Balance who doesn’t think he is? What does that earn him? The little Clava shuddered and passed Meager another book, willing the Guard Mouse to study faster and become the master he needed him to be.

16th of Patchwall 10:30pm, Eiradun


Anya looked at Clyde and openly wept, she felt physically weak, it would take rest to gain her strength back, but her mind was already firing away. It felt like someone had gone into her head and scooped out a thick useless sludge that had muddled her thoughts and processes. She looked down now at the sloppy attempt at a tracheotomy using tree sap and a whistle… maybe on NZT she could have saved him, would have remembered key facts about anatomy and dwarves, about the consistency of tree sap, or the creation of the whistle, or of what other resources she could have used, maybe she could have saved him, but in all honesty looking at him now and critically reevaluating what had happened, she had gotten there too late and her friend had died. She laid the small Dwarf beside the small Honalian and looked at them, Dentoni Amanda had not minced her words and again the painful tears of loss came to her. A gentle repose spell had failed, the spell did not recognize them as bodies, did not see them as vessels that were tethered to a soul; a simple raise dead would be highly unlikely to work, she would likely need a Resurrection Spell, or perhaps even a True Resurrection Spell; rare enough to start with. He mind on its own accord began to puzzle though the problem.

Eiradon is a large city, population between nine and twelve thousand, on a trade way within a county that had another four thousand people in. The trade way connected the city to a large Empire that had a population that was pushing almost half a million. Within the Dwarven Empire right now, based on her readings and interaction so far, she would hypothesize that the chances of meeting a cleric of Hithilum was maybe 1 in 210… no probably be closer to 1 in 200, meaning that the entire Empire likely hosted approximately 2,500 clerics of Hithilum. Now a cleric who can cast above the fifth circle is pretty rare, maybe 1 in 150 clerics attain the ability to cast the fifth circle; extrapolating from there one could predict that maybe 1 in 500 reach the 7th circle, and that perhaps 1 in 700 could attain the capabilities to reach the 9th circle. When you put it all together that would mean that in the Dwarven Empire the number of clerics or Hithilum who could cast a “Raise Dead” spell, was approximately 16.6, if one felt lucky they could round that up to 17. Following the earlier thought process the number of clerics who could cast a “Resurrection” spell, was probably only five, and those that could cast a “True Resurrection” was likely only 3.5, likely safer to round that one down to 3.

She smiled for a brief moment amazed at the amount she had remembered and extrapolated from growing up in religious households. When you take out the tragic nature of the premise this was starting to become a very interesting problem. Now, one might be a little put down at the thought of only having 17 individuals who can cast clerical magic of a level needed. Sadder still if you note that it could be significantly less, when one measured the size of the dwarven holdings and gave and equal probable chance of a cleric being in each area, the math was incredibly unfavorable… she scratched away at most of a notebook working out the figures. It had been the better part of three hours when insight stuck, the variables oh, such wonderful variables, variables were, key, if the original math had not been so much fun, such a pleasant distraction she likely would have noted sooner, clerics were not planted equally through the land, or even sprinkled across cities based on population, though that certainly was part of it. What about the fact that some cities only had churches and shrines, and others carried temples. A quick trip down the hall to a map of Eiradon confirmed for her that Eiradon had a temple to Hithilum. She got up and headed down the hall, it took some work to convince the Dentoni to allow her to enter the library after hours, from there she quickly found several books on the clerical rights, and history of Hithilum.

Wow four hours can fly by when one is reading dwarven clerical texts on ancient rights and rituals. She had not known that the ratio of male to female clerics who can caste within the 4th circle or higher was tilted 62% towards males… not really relevant but interesting none the less. What was relevant was that one must be able to cast at least the 3rd circle to operate a shrine; at least within the 5th circle to operate a church… and one must be able to cast at least within the 6th circle to operate a temple. She grinned to herself feeling like she’d made good progress so far. Now for the next phase, IF she wanted to gamble on a “Raise Dead” spell, the Dentoni said that the costs varied from church to church. Her research indicated that component wise she could expect that a 5000gp diamond would be required, as well as some level of conviction that Clyde was a believer or worshiper of Hithilum. Anya was relatively certain she could convince someone of Clydes devotion. 5000 Silver Crowns (in dwarven currency, likely what they would want,) however… or 5000 Gold Spirals, that was another story. This was all still assuming that the Cleric was willing to do it at cost, and not charge a service for the church, based on what she had read unless you were a member of the church and known by the cleric that could be another two to three thousand spirals… this was getting expensive. And that was all of IF she wanted to gamble… would it be better to be sure? OK so… assuming she could find a cleric that could do it, a Resurrection or a True Resurrection stood a much better chance of success, that was 10,000 Silver Crowns or 25,000 Silver Crowns respectively. This still presumed that no cost from the church would be levied beyond the cost of components, if it did she was looking at double or maybe tripled those costs. There was also the issue that Resurrections and True Resurrections were usually saved reserved for the very devote or those on holy quests. From what she had read, it would be a much harder sell to convince them to bring Clyde back with these spells, this was not an endeavor to take on without NZT. Still there was a course of action to be followed and possibilities to solve this issue, Clyde was at least achievable academically anyway. Her eyes drifted to her dearly departed Bronwyn, this would be a lot harder.

Bronwyn was Honalain and had been rather clear in her lack of respect or love for many of the deities. If she was a worshiper of a religion she had never let Anya know of it. What churches would raise someone who did not worship them. Another quick trip down to the library caused her to delve into a wider search on religions. The time was fascinating, though unclear, it required a lot of extrapolating and guessing on church edicts. She came across two right away before crossing them off, they made the list at all only for completions sake… both the Church of Talib and Cthulhu would likely be willing to strike a deal, not one that Anya was ready to cast her friend into… yet. What about Pan, free wheeling and free love? He was not strict, but required at least token worship? The Everlast? Kind of all over the place, really hard to tell any of his edicts from the writings. He might be a solid start but he had not temples in Eiradun, just shrines, the odds of finding a cleric of his, powerful enough to cast such spells… that math had a lot of decimals. She could appeal to the church of Selwyn, or Anamachara, claim that Bronwyn had been a strong women cut down by a man all too early and had unfinished business. That was not necessarily untrue… it might be worth a try. Anya scratched her head, she was sure the cost of the spells would be much higher for a non-believer, and likely have a lower chance of success. That meant gambling with a raise dead was near pointless with Bronwyn. Anya would need to go with either a resurrection, or more likely a true resurrection… that complicated price, and the likelihood of finding a caster. To top all of this off it didn’t help that she was not a practitioner of any of these religions either, from what she had read that wouldn’t help her in bargaining at all… she let out a huge sigh feeling the weight of the world on her as the figures and ideas continued to swirl through her head, she reached out and grabbed more paper, it was going to be a long night.

4th Diary Entry of Gemma the Time Travelling Gunslinger


4th Diary Entry of Gemma the Time Travelling Gunslinger

I stood there frozen as the carriage carrying my sister rode off down the street. I was still in shock over seeing my sister, even if it was for so brief a time. She looked older but still I saw my little sister in her face. I wanted to cry out to her. But what if the assassins on the roof were still there? It was safer for her to get out of there quickly. And there was still a chance that she could be behind it. But how could she be. She must remember how hard it was with mom. No, she would never try to hurt me in that way. She would never betray the dwarves/dactyls and Delcor. It must be someone who wants the Flintlock clan to suffer/fragment. Whoever it is wants me to act rashly or maybe not at all. I either go into hiding or not be a threat to leadership of the Flintlock clan. Or maybe they want me to cause problems, to claim leadership. Having the leadership of Clan Flintlock be in question, or having Clan Flintlock being in disarray, could allow someone else in the Flintlock clan or in another clan to take power or take advantage of the situation.

I really need to talk to my sister. I need to talk to her one on one. She may not even believe it is really me. Who knows what she has been told about me, probably thinks I could be an imposter or something. It will be hard to get her alone. Her security people will be really on guard now. I need to talk to Jamieson. He will be able to arrange something.

We still need to figure out who placed the ad. If I can bring the proof to my sister and the authorities, we can make this right.

I need to get to know my family, my clan. How many are in the Flintlock clan? Who are its allies? Who are its enemies? Who is my sister supporting for the Chief of Clan Morgrin? Who are the other candidates? Maybe whoever is targeting me or her supports a different candidate than my sister? Is my sister being targeted as well? With both her and me being taken care of, who would be next in line?

I need to travel to Skyforge and the Dwarven stronghold. I need to seek out other Dwarves and Dactyls, other members of Clan Flintlock and Clan Morgrin. I need to find myself and rediscover my heritage and figure out my future.

I also can’t help but think Clan Durin could be involved but like Clan Flintlock, I know little about them.

But I won’t have a future unless I get this hit off my back. Maybe Jamieson has found Arcus, or knows where to find him.

Weaving Balance

“The delicate balance of mentoring someone is not creating them in your own image, but giving them the opportunity to create themselves” Obrasyn

The purple haze glowed bringing forth swirling images, links of past present and future, and the path towards harmony all precipitated by the great balance and the strength of the Weave flowing through it. As they floated to each other, not physically, but emotionally, they felt Meager’s Heart, Anya’s Worry for her friends, Gemma hope for family, Bronwyn’s ambition, Icarus’s pain and burden, Clyde’s Duty and Emerys’ longing for balance. The different voice spoke out

“Nature, with equal mind, Sees all her sons at play, Sees man control the wind, The wind sweep man away.” Gray Root

The group watched in awe as the weave laid out a path for them to float forth upon. Along the way images presented themselves, showing the world out of balance, showing Argyle and the planes out of balance showing a need for action.

“Remember: Your focus determines your reality.” BenJie

The Waylans voice echoed through the stormy clouds of emotion as things became clear to them. Eiradun could balance the precipice of greed and war, but was out of balance and could topple soon. A stable underground, one that wished the best for Eiradun was needed to create this. Magic overclouded science and would slowly weaken the realm, balance would be needed or calamity would arise. The Littles and Bigs lived in separate relams but were coming together, this union needed to be stewarded. The races of the littles were wrought with unbalance and injustice, temperance and champions were needed to correct the course

“The weave is neither light nor dark, taking nor giving, master nor slave, is it but a balance between extremes” Hennery Pickens

The gem spun faster and faster showing more and more possibilities. the fall of the elves and the rise of the dwarves were but small lappings in a pool compared to the human wave that could wash away them all, without a shoal at least for that wave to crash against

“Nature has no principals; she makes no distinction between good and evil” Pathfinder Cea-Teera

The land itself became smaller and less wild, civilisation grew, which was fine, but the wild places must be given refuge as well, must be given the chance to exist

“Existing is the consciousness of the resulting conditions – of success, failure, equilibrium, compromise or balance, in this continuous rivalry of ideas” Grand Druid Dafyd of the Suzuki

The rise of Cthulu, the rise of these cults cast a poison, a clever one that would seek only to tip balances and let the world ruin on its own, a catalyst only for what was always there

“Wisdom is merely the knowledge of good and evil, not the strength to choose between the two” Moredakka

The gods themselves, the very pantheon falls further and further from equilibrium, all these things must be corrected, or…

The lights dimmed and the visions faded, the wisdom of the masters of old began to fade as well, all save Obrasyn, he stayed and spoke once more to those clustered on the gem

“There exists everywhere a medium in things, determined by equilibrium. Nothing happens by accident, the universe wishes to be in balance, and when you give yourself to her, she will place you where you are needed to create that balance. Feel, don’t think, use your instincts and the balance will find you”

He too faded from view as the gem settled and landed. The realm was alight as the hour appeared early. They seemed to be in a small field, a cheery brook cascaded through and the rim was aligned with pear trees, the grass was tall with fragrant wild flowers throughout. The group let out a sigh as one, as their collective trance came to an end.


Emrys sat down at the small writing desk in his room and pulled a piece of papyrus and an inkpen out, intent to try and start writing as much about his first self as possible. It seemed important. This was the first time Emrys had died, and he had the sinking feeling it may not be the last. He didn’t want to forget.

It was the oddest experience to be alive again. He was both Emrys and not Emrys at the same time. There was a liberation to it. All the pain, doubt, fear and sadness he had experienced in his passed form seemed like it had happened to someone else. While he could remember the battlefields, the carnage, and all the horrors he’d seen, they were so far away from him now. It was though he has watched another person’s life play out. At the same time, Emrys didn’t feel like he’d lost anything. He had all the memories of his family, his masters, and his former mates. The people in those memories were still dear to him. He could remember everything about them. He still longed for the gentle touch of Meleri, the wise words of Grey Root or Obrasyn, even the harsh rebuke of his older sister, Rhoswen.

It was this phenomena that enticed Emrys to start writing. Icarus had counselled sleep, but Emrys couldn’t. He’d tried to lay down and close his eyes, but his memories kept forcing their way back in. Although often they’d get side tracked with visions of Obrasyn fighting Lord Sheppard. It seemed to happen each time Emrys got close to falling asleep. Eventually he’d given up. Now he was here, trying his best to put something down on the papyrus in front of him. He was having about the same success as he’d had trying to sleep.

Emrys’ pen hovered over the page, as if it itself was waiting for clarity. Emrys had poised there for almost fifteen minutes, his head pushing through fog trying to find something to write down. The sound of his roommates was reassuring. Clyde was snoring the way only a dwarf could, while Icarus was nearly silent. The only sound that came from the small bat was the occasional stretching of his wings or shuffling of his gear. Small sounds that would have been easy to miss by anyone not trained to listen for them. The thought of that training made Emrys think of his old masters. Emrys missed them most. It had been many years since he’d seen Grey Root. Obrasyn was a different story, but he missed him all the same. Emrys still wasn’t sure what to make of his last encounter with Obrasyn.

Emrys wondered what his masters would think of him now. He unsuccessfully tried to put it out of his mind as he looked down at the papyrus in front of him. Neither Obrasyn nor Grey Root had ever advocated writing. Grey Root had completely missed the point and had at first found the entire practice abhorrent. Emrys completely understood. It’s why he’d switched to papyrus. It was a little tougher, but it felt more right. Obrasyn, on the other hand, had just said something sage about experience and reflection and had dismissed the idea of writing for pleasure or record keeping as a waste of time. It was never explicitly stated, but the message got through. That’s how it was with everything Obrasyn did. He rarely had to actually say much at all. Emrys sighed, put down his ink pen, and gave into the memories his dead master.

Obrasyn had been a powerful man. Not in the way that some of the mages of the old world had been powerful. That was different. They summoned power, wielded it, manipulated it. Obrasyn was the physical manifestation of it. The only other being Emrys had ever met that came close to that stature was Grey Root, and Grey Root was at least twenty times the size of Obrasyn. It was something more than just physical power. Emrys had never been able to define the feeling. He just knew he felt it and that it was true.

It’s not like the man was twelve foot tall or anything. While he was a larger man, it’d be hard to pick him out from a town’s blacksmith, millwright or other tradesman. The only thing that ever made him stand out in a crowd was his gaze, and really only if he was angry or some other strong mood. All the same, people always listened when he talked.

Emrys placed his hands on the table in front of him and closed his eyes. Maybe holding on to old memories wasn’t as nice as he’d thought. Emrys let a few moments pass.

Emrys opened his eyes again and stared at the empty page in front of him. A feeling of resolve came over him as he stared at the rough papyrus. Emrys took his hands off the table, wiped them on his pants and stood up. Emrys smiled at himself and walked over to his bed. Emrys took off his armor and placed it neatly against the bed side table. It took a few moments, but Emrys held the smile and a warm look in his eyes. At the end of the ritual, he looked up and realized that Icarus had been watching him the whole time. Emrys smiled even wider at the little Clava, before lying down. He knew his new companion’s life was hard, but that only strengthened Emrys’ resolve.

As Emrys closed his eyes, he had one last thought before sleep finally took him; old memories and the pain of missing friends means that I haven’t forgotten about them.

3rd Diary Entry of Gemma the Time Travelling Gunslinger

3rd Diary Entry of Gemma the Time Travelling Gunslinger

9th of Patchwall, 381, ONT, Crasmere, Eiradun

I like shooting things. I like shooting bad people. I do not like being shot at though. I definitely don’t like being the target of assassination.

What possible threat could I be? Why am I an assassination target? Why only 40 gold?

I’m not exactly sure what I want to do in the future but it certainly didn’t occur to me that I could claim chiefdom of the Flintlock clan. I just wanted to be reunited with my sister.

Could it be true? Does she really want to kill me? I sent that message to her and supposedly Quim Alanna made sure one was sent to her as well. But isn’t it possible that she never received the message? She might already be on the pilgrimage to the Dwarven stronghold. Maybe someone else, like that Thandor person, read the message and is acting on their own with my sister’s knowledge or consent? I sure hope so. I can’t believe she would do something like that to me. I need to find my sister and talk to her. I need to go to the pilgrimage of Clan Morgrin where they are choosing the new Thane. That is where she will be.

But I’m woefully misinformed about dwarven/dactyl history and politics of the last 390 years and I really need to get caught up. I need to do some research and talk to people in the know. Maybe the Patron of Clan Morgrin, Jamieson, would be helpful? But he was one of the people that I talked to about who I was, so he could be involved in the assassination plot. Who is responsible for the assassination order? Who can I trust?

If they hadn’t of tried to hurt me, I probably just would have gone on my merry way not involving myself in clan affairs/dwarven or dactyl politics. I probably would have done something like opening up a little gunsmith shop in the Dwarven district, or joined law enforcement in Eridun or something. But they messed with me and now I’m a lot more interested in the affairs of Clan Flintlock and Clan Morgrin that is for sure.

That Arcus is an asshole. I cannot believe he tried to kill me. I need to go through Arcus’ possessions again, go through his wallet and find out more information about him, who his father is, anything that might help me. I would love to pistol whip that dude some more and give him what he deserves. He needs to be held accountable for his actions and brought to justice. I will offer to escort him back to Eridun to face trial for his crimes.

He said there was a coded classified ad that would be placed in the Eridun Daily Tribute, asking for proof of my death and whoever did that would get 40 GP. I need to make sure that that ad never gets published but it might have already, I need to be careful. Remy Mallone saved me. I’m not sure what I think of him. The Eridun authorities seem to think he’s Eridun’s most wanted criminal or something. He saved my life though, so he can’t be all bad. He’s pretty easy on the eyes too if you know what I mean.

I want to help the rest of my companions with what is happening in Crasmere but I won’t be much help if I don’t prevent that ad from being placed in the paper. But even if I do, I still need to find whoever placed the ad and deal with them.

And I still need to study and take my EAT’s, hopefully I do well. Sigh, I really miss my dad.

The Letter

13th of Patchwall 7am

The letter was there, just lying on the coffee table of Meegar, Anyas and Bronwyns sweet, none had heard anything in the night, none had seen anything, the doors and windows were locked and appeared untampered, but the note with the knife in it was there and it gave them each a chill knowing someone had been here without them knowing it.

Bronwyn scooped up the note and quickly read:


An opportunity has arisen for you to impress me. In 72 hours on the morning of the 16th of Patchwall a Plague is going to hit several major cities and villages within the Dwarven Empire and the surrounding states, Eiradun will likely also be targeted. The following individuals are to be located and evacuated from the city to either Rehume, Pirates Swoop, Don-Ton or Tukin, your choice. The individuals are as follows:

Thalamus Scansion

Fredrick Solis

Cornelia Wolfe


Hurois Wanddreamer

Uihe Marbleender

Lohlar Blackgem



Uihe and Lohlar can often be found in Ruterd, Hurois is known to enjoy Kaffe in Grandview, Art and his family live in South Gate, Cornelia and Guelm are often found in The Bazaar and Fredrick works on The Warf.

Get them out of town, but before you take off running around like a moron here are the rules… any twiddling idiot can go around screaming of danger. If you do that you will either be considered crazy or you will get the city locked down and these people will not be able to escape. I don’t need people who operate that way. People talk… so I want you to get them out, without them knowing why they are getting out. If any of these people know why they were evacuated… you fail. If anyone knows that I am involved in this at all, you fail. If the Dentoni or the general public get word of this before you finish your task, you fail. I think you get the idea.

Once your mission is complete, if you wish to inform the Dentoni or public at large without implicating association or knowledge from me; by all means go ahead. You have resources, use them, you think you are clever, prove it… clocks ticking kid, burn this letter and get to work.

The Rogue

BATing around ideas Pt 2

12th of Patchwall 2am, High Market, Eiradon

The small bat looked up at Clyde and Emerys as he finished speaking. Neither said anything for a long time. Icarus opened his small pack and began removing a series of tiny blades as well as a small kit for sharpening and polishing, he went about his task diligently until Clyde at last spoke up

“Dina ya say that Emry’s was a bein’ hunted? Whose lookin’ fer him? And why?” Icarus looked up gravely at the dwarf before answering, his words were accented by the silence and the constant ‘snick’ of his little blade running across the wet stone

“It was eighteen years ago when Lord Shepard made his final attack on the Waylen, destroying their power base and then beginning his merciless hunt to push them into extinction. My father, Shade, had been serving as an embassy guard in the Suzuki Grove for the Waylen ambassadors there. The Suzuki’s of old had been the link between the littles and the bigs, and though the new Suzuki’s had adopted that name for themselves it had appeared that they were planning on taking up the mantle as well… how wrong we had been. The Waylen Ambassador, at the prompting of the Suzuki’s had brought as many Waylen refugees to the grove as could be found. They had said they would protect them until this dark force could be stopped… but once the refugee tide had come to a stop, once they believed they were all in one location, they betrayed their Waylen guests, inviting in Lord Shepard and trapping the Waylen in the grove with him while he slaughtered them to the mouse. My father got my brother and I out, but felt duty bound to protect the ambassador and do what he could, I never saw him again…” Icarus stopped his work for a moment taking a deep sigh before continuing “In my searches for the Bellator Libra I have already come across two druids with the Suzuki name, both also searching for a ‘rouge druid’ who stood in defiance of the council, one was on his way to Eiradun when I found him, hence why I am so nervous. The Suzuki’s are powerful, for they let none practice or know of their ancient arts lest they bow to the council, not as I understand it how the true teaching of the green are meant to be… If the druids find you, they will kill you just for not being one of them; but also because they are in league with Shepard and do not wish the status quo to change. I am sorry Emerys, you seem like a nice person, and on my honour; I will do my best to protect you, from both the traitorous Suzuki’s and the evil Shepard and his minions” the little bat went silent as he once again began to sharpen his blades. Clyde looked over to Emerys and shrugged, rolling over in his bed and pulling up the blankets to sleep. Emerys continued to look at the little bat as the creature spoke once more “please Emerys, get some rest, the night and I are old friends, I will see to it that you reach the dawn without disturbance”

Night Watch
background music

Anya quietly closed the door to the hall as she headed back to her room. It had been a great effort to actually get the wounded dwarf to settle down and sleep and she didn’t want him to awaken him. She wanted to make sure all of her companions got the medical treatment they needed and deserved. As she entered her own room to check on bronwyn and meager her thoughts drifted back to the battle a few hours earlier. Images of their courageous actions. Clyde, fearlessly charging in with her even with his grievous wounds, the deft skill in which he test his opponents abilities, the humble practicality of a trained and hardened warrior. She drew so much confidence from his unwavering support and in this particular battle being able to notice all the trained movements he always masked by being boisterous and reckless were clearly visible to her. On Nzt for the first time in combat she had been able to track Meagers movement during the battle. It bewildered her to think of how much courage it must take to charge at opponents of such vast size. She was only half there size and it took her considerable time to work up the will to attack them. She imagined if Meagers people still had a society he would have been knighted a while ago. She cast her eyes towards the sleeping wealan with a smile. Imagining him clad in gleaming white armor riding his armored pig into battle. She wondered what he would be like if he was the size of everyone else. immediately her NZT addled brain conjured an image of meager as a human. Curly brown hair deep unwavering dark eyes and a gallant smile painted across his handsome face as he nonchalantly charged a titan with nothing but a long sword. She blushed slightly and quickly pushed the image aside. No need to make the perverted little wealans job any easier by imagining things like that! She moved on to bronwyn as she walked over and began to change bandages and checking wounds on the sleeping aunaleian. Bronwyn was always looking after Anya. Charging in whenever Anya did something stupid, backing her up when she did things alone and pulling her out of binds when she (frequently) messed up. She gazed up at her companion for a moment. This woman gave someone with NZT a run for their money when it came to confidence and intellect. She imagined the scene Of the fast paced dazzeling sword duel between bronwyn and the pirate. glinting scimitars casting metallic lights and showers of sparks in the amber lamplight until at last the dastardly sea-dog realized he was out matched and turned his edge towards bronwyns unconscious companion demanding money and his escape in exchange for her life. No doubt without that leverage there was no way bronwyn would have let him live.

Anya placed her hand on Bronwyns “thank you” Anya whispered before moving on to meager. She was not sure if she had the right to be proud of them but she was. She would most likely not sleep very much tonight between tending the wounds they had received helping her and standing vigil against what was sure to come from this sleep was a very low priority. And so Anya Wayforger wandered from bedside to bedside doing her best assure they could rest easy tonight. Watchfully guarding her platoon, her friends, her pack.

A Long Days Night

Meager tossed and turned on the seatte at the foot of his friend’s bed. At first Bronwyn had offered to let him share the bed with her. A beautiful women inviting him into her bed is not something he would normally refuse, but she had made it clear that sleeping was the only activity on the itinerary, and after her saw how the Honalain rolled around and kicked in her sleep, he knew he would be taking his own life in his hands with little pay off.

So here he lay, turning this way and that, trying to turn off all the questions and worries in his mind.

Having spent his whole life among the big races, there was so much he did not know. A whole world that was opening to him. How is it possible that so much could be happening right under foot of the bigs without them noticing in the slightest?
He was glad that he had met Icarus. At last he would have someone he could ask about the different races and their history, someone a little more tangible and less horny than Benji. Although he appreciated Benji teaching him the ways of the Weave, not only was it helping to keep him to stay alive, it was helping him with women too.

Besides, two Warriors were certainly better than one. Perhaps he and Icarus could fight side by side, he had never known anyone his size and was excited to gain a frame of reference outside of Lord Shephard and Benji to gauge the small races by.

Now he found himself wishing he had shared a room with his new winged acquaintance. Since he couldn’t sleep anyway, it would be nice to have someone to talk to. The Waylyn peered over the edge of the bed at Bronwyn’s calm, relaxed face in the moonlight. How amazing the difference in her as she slept, a delicateness no one would expect when confronted with the powerful and sly Honalain. He smiled and resettled, he was glad he had stayed with her, glad she trusted him to be here in this moment of vulnerability. Friends were a rare gift, and one he appreciated regardless of size.


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