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<blink>"Yer wounds are gonna fester Sir Lancel-lot...could rot right off. Seen that before..."<blink> "...but I've got a guud tonic fer that in me bag." <blink> There's a loud cracking sound of knuckles releasing tension. "Yer all bleed'n guud. Let me out of my damn crate and I'll help." <belch>
There's a chuckle, "Seriously?" A snort follows. "Jus open the damn box and hand me my cigar." The blinking eye responds. "I'm a darn captive you fool." The hoarse voice bellows.
”Hey…you smoke? Now stop look’n ‘round like yer nuts and make yerself useful, git me a cigar from my pack hang’n on the tree stump right o'ver there.” There’s another short pause, ”And how ‘bout a shot o’whiskey… to help out. Cayden Cailean's curse it’s been two long days sob’r, not a drop, I swear ... or may Iomedae strike me down right here in my crate. Me throat's parch'd and I'm see 'un demons, it's been so long without a proper drink.” There's a big a purplish blue eye peeking through a rotten hole in the wooden crate. Blink ... blink. "Come on now, don't dally 'round twittl'n yer thumbs, I need a smoke and drink."
”Eeww that was nasty." As the eye blinks inside the crate. "Speared 'em in the back." The crate coughs and starts to speak out loud again. "Hey... you...hey.” There’s a pause. ”O'ver here to yer left… no, no yer oth’r left. Yeah, there you go. I'm talk'n to you.” The gruff voice beckons from the battered wooden crate. "NO jabb'n the crate wit yer stick eith'r." He then kicks the crate a few times to make a racket.
First, hand me a cigar before your torch the crates.
Congrats!
"Don't forget the crate." <shake> "don't leave me behind." <rattle>
<blink><blink>"No...no...no don't run 'way, turn ta yer left."Darn dangit, I need a smoke.
"C'mon lugheads...c'mon. O'ver here to yer left."
As the battle begins to turn, ”Pssst…hey you…psst.” There’s a pause as the crate shakes a bit as it tries to get someone's attention.
D...d...demons? Really. <gulp>
"No...no...over 'ere."
"Pssst...hey..." |
