#dnd thread

"You don't remember, do you?"

"I don't remember some weasley beenpole? No. What do you want?" Lydia could usually be found in a tavern after a job, nursing a mug of ale to help nurse whatever new wounds she had just patched up. She didn't much like clerics, and healing potions certainly had their uses, but if she could limp away from a fight, she could take the time to heal without interference.

"I think if you wanted to kill me, you'd have done it already."

"There's still time..." Lydia threatened, another dagger spin infront of Fox's face to show off a little. She continued to pace, thoroughly annoyed, spinning a dagger lazily on occasion, a sign of thought.

"Technically, you killed him."

"What? No-- I just--He was mean to us! He deserved to be told he was too ugly for anyone to love!"

Gem didn't want to believe the guy was ...actually dead. He was mean but not vicious... Gem gripped her dagger tightly and inched up to the man.

"Where does he get off talking to us like that anyway?" She leaned over him, unaware she was even using her other hand to hover over him... just in case, fingers splayed with magic she was barely aware of. She kicked him. He didn't move.

"You know I've... never actually spoken to someone that looked like me before..." Timon tilted his head, giving a small shrug. His skin was a light copper, his horns tall and twisted, his hair just a shade darker than his skin and his eyes black and curious. His kind weren't evil. They were misunderstood. They were maligned. All his life, Timon was expected to fail. And here was someone who seemed to be the opposite of that. Because she chose to be.

He was still learning. He didn't join the temple of Avandra to be 'saved'. He followed because he felt the goddess of luck would understand. At first he only needed help with a gambling debt here and there and praying seemed to work. Now... he knew it was because she was calling him into something bigger. Something better.

He was sweeping the main room of the temple of the Changebringer when Zahra walked in. He had spoken a few general pleasantries after being surprised at her appearance. He had been such an oddity in his small town, in his orphanage. Even when he as brave enough to travel Tal'Dorei he hadn't seen many, or those he did he was cautious of, ashamedly. Too nervous or too afraid of being disappointed or thought of as sheltered or childish. He was none of those things. Merely... unlucky. Or at least he used to be.

“And like lambs to a slaughter we shall follow…”

"You got any better ideas?" Timon raised his shackled wrists, shaking the chains to prove his point. He was a nobody. A tiefling with sticky fingers, no one nobody cared about or cared for. The priests of the Changebringer were kinder than most, but he didn't see them coming to the rescue while being led to the stocks.

"Don't fucking jinx me. I'll be put in a bad position for a while and it'll hurt like hell but I'll live. I just-- I need you to guard me. Okay? That's all. And I'll pay you when I get out. I promise."

“You don’t remember, do you?”

It's not often that Al would turn up in a place he'd been before. It was as much of a shock to him as anything. He'd started to call it 'leaping'. Something that was easier to think of in his mind than 'being teleported to another dimension or world other than your own suddenly and inexplicably.'

Not that he was regularly telling people this. But he would disappear, randomly. And he never expected to see anyone he had made any connection with before again.

"No. I'm sorry." Alastaire spoke sincerely. Because he was. Even if he was a liar and a bit of a cad, connections was what he missed the most. Maybe some other people in his place could have had more heart about the whole affair of being disappeared from one world to another every few weeks over three years of time so far...

But not Al.

"I'm a bard, you see." Alastaire shrugged, taking a deep, slow breath, exhaling an excuse, his lithe fingers tapping on his mug of ale, "I travel so often I don't remember everyone I meet."

❛  i had a lot of dreams about you recently.  ❜

"Really?" Perrin didn't know what to make of that. His dreams were always... troubling. Rarely were they something to look forward to. Either they made no sense or if they did, they made him sad. Seeing people in them he knew he never would again. Either by death or design. His parents, his old friends. Ris.

"Something good, I hope...?"

“What do you know? You weren’t even paying attention.”

"Ye-- I was-- I was paying attention!" Timon paused, the teifling's dark eyes darting from the action to their companion speaking to them. He hadn't. He still wasn't. The curse of a short attention span and jangling coins in the distance.