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Qísìk raises a hand as if to say, 'Why not?' and then finds a place to sit. It's rude to stand and talk, it gives the impression you're in a hurry to get out. The hobgoblin leans on his cane and waits until Melor is done addressing Ardax. "Thank you for having us. To echo Melor's words, what is it you need from us?"
Qísìk tries to force a conversation with Kestrel about famous knights, try being the operative word. Sluggish and awkward, the conversation flows nowhere, and before Qísìk knows it, someone else steals Kestrel's attention.
Qí relaxes when the two perytons turn around and take to the sky. He eyes the remains of the victims of the perytons, and shudders. "Good job! That could've easily gone south." Unceremoniously, he squats down and inspects what useful items and other bits remain. He fishes out what looks to be a wand and holds it up for the others to see. "Skaytar, would this be of any use to you?"
Qísìk is stunned by the hideous nature of these creatures and try as he might, he can't recall ever having heard of these awful beasts before.
The hobgoblin goes down, but in the nick of time, he gets hit by a pulse of positive energy. He continues to flail at the undead while on the ground, focusing his jabs on its ankles and knees.
When the foul undead hits him, Qísìk wonders why exactly he bothered to engage it in melee combat. Is this really his role to play in all of this?!
Qísìk darts forward and puts his faith in steel, not magic, to overcome their wicked foe.
Seeing that the time has come to get his hands dirty, Qí draws his sword with the intention to join the melee, but not before blasting the withered orc one last time with magic.
Qísìk hears the lyrics but shakes his head to get them out of his brain and ears. "Burn, foul necromancer!"
The hobgoblin kneels next to the tattered, battered, and shattered remains. He inspects what's left of the skeletons, but he has to admit to himself that he has no clue who or what these people were in life. And that bothers him, a bit. "Whoever these people were, they died a long, long time ago. Maybe they were part of the original Taldan exploration armies? I ... I admittedly do not know."
The hobgoblin is caught by surprise when they spot a group of skeletons and the skeletons spot them! He quickly ransacks his brains for what he knows about these particular undead. He then conjures forth fire with which he assaults the undead.
Not knowing what Melor is doing, Qísìk takes a step back. And then another. How is this contraption he's applying going to undo this pile of rocks? "Are you sure this is safe?"
Qísìk offers Njinga a shrug and downplays his contributions. "I listen. I read." Silently, he has more to say in the safe space of his mind. I plan. I plot "So in a sense, I know of things, rather than know things."
The hobgoblin ponders where one might find mushrooms nearby. To the east, where the kids supposedly went, are some valleys that could nurture mushrooms. Could they have found a cave and, stupidly so, decided to go in? He shakes his head to dismiss the thought, for now isn't the time to speculate. He gives the woman a succinct reply. "We will do just that then." When the group has left, Qí shares his thoughts on where they might be able to find the three orcs: in the low valleys to the east.
The hobgoblin fails to comprehend how Njinga managed to do what she just did and like the rest of the crowd, gets up and applauds her success. He's stunned. *** Qísìk eyes his companions to gauge their reaction to this request. While he doesn't mind helping, he realizes that failing this task will have severe repercussions. "We can try to help, yes. Like you, some of us are also strangers to these parts, so we can't make any promises other than that we will try. Now, are all of you from the same tribe?" Perhaps there's a common thread to be found in those who went missing.
With Skaytar occupying Davorr, Qísìk drifts towards the Sarenite. Sure, she's an elf, but everyone's a friend here, right? The hobgoblin introduces himself to the elf and after exchanging pleasantries, name-drops some of the Lastwall knights he has read about in recent years, hoping it will spark a conversation.
The hobgoblin flashes the orc a pained smile. All these compliments are making him feel awkward because hobgoblins don't do compliments. A job well done speaks for itself, after all. "I must admit, I wasn't expecting us to be out and about for this long. My feet yearn for a break and my eyes are eager to consume a couple of books."
Ah! Patience pays off! Qísìk knows he is no quitter, but on the fifth day of what seemed to be a no-hunt, the hobgoblin was starting to have some doubts about whether they'd find any aurochs at all. And now that the aurochs have presented themselves to the group, Qísìk finds himself rather impatient. Did he spend all of his patience over the last six days? Possibly, though it's more likely that it's the excitement he's feeling, the excitement resulting from the fact they finally managed to do what was becoming more and more unlikely: find these damned beasts! "Follow my lead," the hobgoblin whispers as he eyes the aurochs with singular intent. Like a Molthuni mountain lion, the hobgoblin slinks forward. Speed is of the essence as there is not much in the way of cover once he leaves their vantage point, and for a man with a walking cane, the hobgoblin manages to be surprisingly fast!
The hobgoblin deftly avoids the worst of the first blast of acid, but he is caught off-guard by the second blast!
The hobgoblin reaches for his cane but sees that the blasted bugs are well out of caning range. He invokes arcane words of power and showers one of the nasty-looking bugs with fire.
Qísìk tries to assist the hunters with his knowledge of nature. There is a problem, however, as the hobgoblin is completely unfamiliar with the terrain he finds himself in. To complete this disaster, he also has zero experience with aurochs. Suffice it to say, he learns a lot yet offers nothing in return.
Qísìk gives the dromaar a curt nod. "I accept your invitation. It will be the first time I get to hunt with orcs, and I expect to learn a thing or two." Though going on a hunt, the hobgoblin doesn't bring a bow or some other sort of ranged weapon. Going by his neatly kept fingernails, Qísìk is not in the habit of performing manual labor.
The hobgoblin takes a step back as he obviously wasn't here last time, he'd hate to infringe on what might be a meaningful ritual of sorts. He cradles his mug with one hand and rhythmically taps his fingers against it while listening to the orcs sharing stories. Embracing individuality and entrusting happenstance, or fate if you will, to pave the path forward seems to be a reoccurring theme. "Ardax sure stoked the fires of ambition going by what I'm hearing and seeing. And that, I can assure you, is a good thing."
"Something like that, yes." The answer is accompanied by a friendly toothy smile, a hobgoblin specialty. He gets the newcomer a drink to ensure she feels welcome and then introduces himself. "I am Qísìk Becq, special liaison. I come with the gift of knowledge, and in this here place, I hope to acquire more knowledge. Consuming books is my forte, swinging a sword is not."
Qísìk offers Ardax a slight bow when he finishes his speech and jumps off the log. It seems the waiting game is still going on strong, but Qísìk doesn't mind waiting. It gives him time to think, to reflect, to ponder. And to wonder. Why are they here? Is Ardax expecting an event that requires witnesses? Or an attack that requires additional victims? The possibilities are endless and each one is like a path or road, and the hobgoblin will use whatever time he gets to explore as many of them as possible. Now, with Ardax out of the picture, he can resume sampling the local ale. "Well, it appears we are to stay put for a little while longer! How horrible, being tied to this place with ample food and ale, what have we done to deserve such a cruel fate? Cheers!"
The hobgoblin offers Skaytar a sly smile. "Danger is inherent to this world of ours. A lack of understanding can either be the starting point of a learning process or, if not addressed, become a veritable pitfall for its owner to fall into. Isn't that why we are all here? To acquire knowledge and insight, to forge new ties that bind us in understanding? Anyway, let us drink. We'd be fools to waste words when drinks are to be had. Cheers! To Belkzen, to Oprak!"
Qísìk Beqk smiles when Nix gives the orc the 'talk'. Yes, Azaersi had insisted certain phrases be hammered into their noggins before giving them the okay to head on out to Belkzen. Admittedly, she had been tougher on Nix and Knarr. It's been a while, and Qísìk still hasn't been able to figure out whether that's because Azaersi expects more from those two or that she's aware of Qísìk's ability to soak up information like a sponge. Whatever the reason might be can wait, because there's ale to be had. Dressed in what must be noble regalia (by hobgoblin standards!), a wiry hobgoblin joins Nix, Knarr, and the orc. He hobbles forward using a cane and, unlike the other two, doesn't strike the orc as a soldier. "Oh, us hobgoblins do abhor magic so very, very much! And necromancers practice some of the vilest magic there is! You can rest assured knowing that the people of Oprak will stand with you against the Whispering Tyrant, if not physically, at least so in heart and spirit. Oh, forgive my manners, my name is Qísìk Beqk, of House Beqk. Our Lady sent me here as a liaison." |
