Patience
Posted: Tue Feb 01, 2011 3:56 pm
"Down there, Walter."
The netherdrake, quite young by dragon standards, descended with a lethargy more appropriate to its centuries-old rider. It seemed to shriek a question.
"No, I will not try another spot. I know he is here."
In an almost comical display, the Malebrignon leapt from the drake, dropped crashing into the lake below, and then porpoised up from the lake and onto the shore. A moment later, he'd stepped free of his raiment and slung them over a low-hanging branch. Without pause, the old lich reached for the long case which held his fishing rod. Practiced hands retrieved and assembled the pieces with an ease only the most experienced anglers could hope to mimic.
Satisfied that his garments were drying properly and his weapon was ready to be unsheathed, he looked around for the spot. Quickly spying the well-worn rock, 'Brig took the reading crystal from his pack and waded into the shallows. He cast his line and set the rod in the mud, then laid back against the stone. He set the crystal into his left eye socket, keeping the right set firmly upon his line.
"That's right, Pinchy. Nobody here at all. Just some bones in the water." he muttered quietly as he began to read.
"Shaman...shaman....hunter....elf....elf....ah, a priest! Drat! Taken!...shaman....goblin...what's this? Trusted soldier returns. Now this druid and...oh, my. I knew that cat was insane but...
A tug on the line snatched his thoughts away from his documents. Instinct alone put his hands firmly upon his rod moments before it was pulled with a force so strong it hoisted the undead to his feet. The Malebrignon dug in his heels and taunted his as-yet-unseen opponent.
"Now that you have finally shown yourself, do you think I will fight fair?"
He glanced to the trees to his left. He could not see it, but he could feel the venomhide which lurked just out of sight.
"Stig! Go!"
With a dash and a leap, the poisonous raptor was upon its master's adversary. A grand melee was obscured by the spray of water. A great deal of hissing, splashing, and clacking later, the raptor fled the shoreline yelping as blood spewed from its nose. The Artificer coolly observed that one of the beast's eyes hung limply from its socket.
"How unfortunate. You have forced my hand, crayfish."
The old lich called forth his shadowfiend.
"Stephen! Consume it."
The blob-like maw of negative energy began its drunken-dash into the water.
"WAIT!", the crayfish screamed as it surfaced.
The shadoweaver was surprised to find that such a fight was being put up by a creature that could weigh no more than ten pounds. The highly magical nature of this beast had not been exaggerated.
"Hold, Stephen. You," he pointed at the crawdad. "Move closer. You speak. Let us talk, then."
Mr. Pinchy glided across the surface as a bird through air. He perched upon the rock where the Inquisitor's head had lay scant moments before. There was something about the violet glow of the priest's eyes that was eerily soothing...calming....serene...
SNAP!
The trap locked down tight around the crayfish.
"Three years! Three years I have plotted. I have tried every lake, every bait, every lure...I perfected this cage over a year ago, even."
Mr. Pinchy stared helplessly from the trap. He was being lifted from the water. Now away from the land. Now high into the air. So cold...so dry....
"Back to Dalaran, Walter. We have to add this prize to the menagerie and make sure Uthgra knows it is not food. Then there is the matter of kicking around some minions."
The netherdrake, quite young by dragon standards, descended with a lethargy more appropriate to its centuries-old rider. It seemed to shriek a question.
"No, I will not try another spot. I know he is here."
In an almost comical display, the Malebrignon leapt from the drake, dropped crashing into the lake below, and then porpoised up from the lake and onto the shore. A moment later, he'd stepped free of his raiment and slung them over a low-hanging branch. Without pause, the old lich reached for the long case which held his fishing rod. Practiced hands retrieved and assembled the pieces with an ease only the most experienced anglers could hope to mimic.
Satisfied that his garments were drying properly and his weapon was ready to be unsheathed, he looked around for the spot. Quickly spying the well-worn rock, 'Brig took the reading crystal from his pack and waded into the shallows. He cast his line and set the rod in the mud, then laid back against the stone. He set the crystal into his left eye socket, keeping the right set firmly upon his line.
"That's right, Pinchy. Nobody here at all. Just some bones in the water." he muttered quietly as he began to read.
"Shaman...shaman....hunter....elf....elf....ah, a priest! Drat! Taken!...shaman....goblin...what's this? Trusted soldier returns. Now this druid and...oh, my. I knew that cat was insane but...
A tug on the line snatched his thoughts away from his documents. Instinct alone put his hands firmly upon his rod moments before it was pulled with a force so strong it hoisted the undead to his feet. The Malebrignon dug in his heels and taunted his as-yet-unseen opponent.
"Now that you have finally shown yourself, do you think I will fight fair?"
He glanced to the trees to his left. He could not see it, but he could feel the venomhide which lurked just out of sight.
"Stig! Go!"
With a dash and a leap, the poisonous raptor was upon its master's adversary. A grand melee was obscured by the spray of water. A great deal of hissing, splashing, and clacking later, the raptor fled the shoreline yelping as blood spewed from its nose. The Artificer coolly observed that one of the beast's eyes hung limply from its socket.
"How unfortunate. You have forced my hand, crayfish."
The old lich called forth his shadowfiend.
"Stephen! Consume it."
The blob-like maw of negative energy began its drunken-dash into the water.
"WAIT!", the crayfish screamed as it surfaced.
The shadoweaver was surprised to find that such a fight was being put up by a creature that could weigh no more than ten pounds. The highly magical nature of this beast had not been exaggerated.
"Hold, Stephen. You," he pointed at the crawdad. "Move closer. You speak. Let us talk, then."
Mr. Pinchy glided across the surface as a bird through air. He perched upon the rock where the Inquisitor's head had lay scant moments before. There was something about the violet glow of the priest's eyes that was eerily soothing...calming....serene...
SNAP!
The trap locked down tight around the crayfish.
"Three years! Three years I have plotted. I have tried every lake, every bait, every lure...I perfected this cage over a year ago, even."
Mr. Pinchy stared helplessly from the trap. He was being lifted from the water. Now away from the land. Now high into the air. So cold...so dry....
"Back to Dalaran, Walter. We have to add this prize to the menagerie and make sure Uthgra knows it is not food. Then there is the matter of kicking around some minions."