Another lull in the routine bureaucracy took hold over the lane in another intonation, but stopped short. All eyes looked on the group, even those of other merchants and travelers passing through. Phyllis, for her part, seemed to take the order in phlegmatic silence. The rest of the guards barely moved, barely breathed at the confrontation. It was Yorna, the collie, who cleared her throat as she began to speak, but was cut off by a rippling laughter. Phyllis nodded, her stern demeanor shaken loose by chortling.
Helen had been relishing the lashing that Willow had doled out, but was now becoming nervous again.
“The Captain knows how to pick’em,” resolved the pit-bull hybrid, lifting her head to look at Willow, “I’ll not shame the 52nd by being proud and belligerent. Yorna, take over the watch.”
“Aye, sarge,” snapped Yorna, “What do you want to do with them–...”
“Dinnae bother, the word-bearer has no time for us,” Phyllis snarled, “Tell the leftenant she’s to mark one less cart for the bridge. I’ll take them across.”
“To the quarrids? By yourself?”
“Cannae have the word-bearer being stopped, she’s in a hurry afterall,” shrugged the Sergeant, “Come now, Helen, whip up Thaler, lest he fall asleep.”
The porcinepine snorted as Helen whipped at his reins.
“You know, an armed escort isn’t necessary,” said Helen, trying to get rid of the sergeant.
“Wouldn’t be sayin’ such tripe if you’d been out here more than once,” answered Phyllis, waving her long-hafted weapon to clear the way.
The cart began to move again, this time with the sergeant at the head, who guided them forward to the lip of the bridge. Willow didn’t need to flex her authority this time around, instead, their guide barked aside any and all obstacles in their way. Few questioned the decorated hound, asserting Willow’s credibility. Wounded and glimmering guards alike parted for them as they passed the guardhouse onto the bridge.
Unlike the span between the Cairn Valley and the Floating Hills, the divide between this land and the Yormundyaws was vast. The bridge uniting them was a stone structure, just wide enough to allow two carts to go side-by-side, and allow traffic to come to and fro. Orange veins stretched the length of the road and walls, providing some kind of mystical strength, pulsing like a heart. These veins allowed the long bridge to flex and churn with the movement of the disparate lands, with an unnerving, heavy sway.
“I dinnae care what you say of me,” growled Phyllis, once they were some way away from the Floating Hills, her back to the rest of them as she stayed in front, “but leave m’cadre out of it. There’s no honor in watching the bridge, getting picked off by wraiths and harassed by the stone-horkers across the way. The most of them, those pups, are fresh, green and couldn’t bear hearin’ that the Captain thought less of them.”
[The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
"Sorry I had to raise my voice like that, but it could have been avoided by simply honoring the coin's significance," Willow spoke plainly as she walked beside the sergeant; wondering herself what the significance of the coin was. She'd eaten the first one passage coin she'd received, and the second carried weight but not so much that it couldn't be brushed aside in matters of authority. "And, to be fair, I mostly was addressing you. If your big hang up is that Helen is involved, then trust your Captain that trusts me."
For effect, Willow placed her hand on the orichalcum saber hanging from her belt and gave it a jostle. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead, which she hoped made her seem intense rather than trying to avoid feeling sick on this bridge. Although, a part of her did feel bad. This canidaer was doing her job, and well by the looks of things; while Willow was bluffing simply to keep her word to a known smuggler that could be transporting something dangerous. Gripping the saber a bit tighter, she resolved that if something did run South as a result of this, she'd do what she could to correct it.
"So'll ya be joinin' us the entire way the Forge, or just across the bridge? I know none o' yall have watched Seven Samurai, or the Magnificent Seven, but between myself, Bjorn here, Helen, and Serge; we're only a few shy of the archetype."
For effect, Willow placed her hand on the orichalcum saber hanging from her belt and gave it a jostle. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead, which she hoped made her seem intense rather than trying to avoid feeling sick on this bridge. Although, a part of her did feel bad. This canidaer was doing her job, and well by the looks of things; while Willow was bluffing simply to keep her word to a known smuggler that could be transporting something dangerous. Gripping the saber a bit tighter, she resolved that if something did run South as a result of this, she'd do what she could to correct it.
"So'll ya be joinin' us the entire way the Forge, or just across the bridge? I know none o' yall have watched Seven Samurai, or the Magnificent Seven, but between myself, Bjorn here, Helen, and Serge; we're only a few shy of the archetype."
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
“Join us!?” buzzed Helen shrilly, as she snapped the reins again, urging Thaler to push up to where the two were walking, “That would be a waste of the good guard’s time, wouldn’t it?”
The Sergeant said nothing as they came to the far end of the bridge, having become taciturn at the sight of Noble’s saber. It was something that Phyllis seemed to know; that distinct, orange color. She gripped her own pole-axe more tightly, and regarded Willow with greater wonder than ever before.
“Not in my power,” answered the pit-bull hybrid, finally, looking up at Willow, “I answer to the leftenant, who answers to the Captain, himself.”
“Heh heh heh,” a gravely chuckling crackled above them. The haze over the Yormundyaw side of the bridge began to thin, and Willow could make out a figure hanging from a rope under an arch erected just at the edge. Coiled tightly in ropes of dark color was what the Allomancer could only assume was a quarrid. It had dark skin, and glowing orange eyes. Chiseled, fragmented stone hung from its head like a mop of hair, “Blood. Real blood. And a beating heart. Heh heh heh… Hah haha… ehgh HA HA HAHA–... ough!”
“Shut up!” A stone came up and struck the suspended creature, halting the bubbling laughter.
A cadre of dark figures, looking much like the one hanging above stood to greet the cart, and watched them pass. They were small, like other small-kin, but stout and broad in most cases, with manes of rocks, and flat, scaly faces. To Willow, they looked like someone had crossed dwarves and dragons and made the beards a partial requirement. Their black and orange eyes tracked them as they came into the foothills of the domain of Diligence.
“This is as far as I can go, Metal-eater,” claimed Phyllis, stopping with the Allomancer, “I dinnae know what you are, but it’s clear the Captain has the utmost trust in ye. Yer a stiff bitch, but I’d hold yer banner any day, if I were given leave. Farewell.”
Phyllis smiled, showing a spark of something bright and happy, terribly marred by whatever weapon had wounded her eye. Then, she turned, only to find herself fenced in by three of the quarrids that had been watching their side of the bridge.
“Where’r you goin’, mutt?” crackled the biggest quarrid, a broad fellow with a long beard of granite and a blackened axe he tugged out of the earth.
“Back tae civilized lands, ye dirt-horker,” growled Phyllis, which prompted the rest of the quarrids to draw axes and hammers. The Sergeant took a step back, leveling her weapon for a fight.
“No paws are welcome in our lands, mutt, you’re goin no-where,” roared the quarrid, “Foul her in chains and hang her up with the berserker.”
Willow felt a stony hand grip her arm.
“That’s our cue,” hissed Helen, pointing to the path that led into the hills, “let’s scram, sister.”
The Sergeant said nothing as they came to the far end of the bridge, having become taciturn at the sight of Noble’s saber. It was something that Phyllis seemed to know; that distinct, orange color. She gripped her own pole-axe more tightly, and regarded Willow with greater wonder than ever before.
“Not in my power,” answered the pit-bull hybrid, finally, looking up at Willow, “I answer to the leftenant, who answers to the Captain, himself.”
“Heh heh heh,” a gravely chuckling crackled above them. The haze over the Yormundyaw side of the bridge began to thin, and Willow could make out a figure hanging from a rope under an arch erected just at the edge. Coiled tightly in ropes of dark color was what the Allomancer could only assume was a quarrid. It had dark skin, and glowing orange eyes. Chiseled, fragmented stone hung from its head like a mop of hair, “Blood. Real blood. And a beating heart. Heh heh heh… Hah haha… ehgh HA HA HAHA–... ough!”
“Shut up!” A stone came up and struck the suspended creature, halting the bubbling laughter.
A cadre of dark figures, looking much like the one hanging above stood to greet the cart, and watched them pass. They were small, like other small-kin, but stout and broad in most cases, with manes of rocks, and flat, scaly faces. To Willow, they looked like someone had crossed dwarves and dragons and made the beards a partial requirement. Their black and orange eyes tracked them as they came into the foothills of the domain of Diligence.
“This is as far as I can go, Metal-eater,” claimed Phyllis, stopping with the Allomancer, “I dinnae know what you are, but it’s clear the Captain has the utmost trust in ye. Yer a stiff bitch, but I’d hold yer banner any day, if I were given leave. Farewell.”
Phyllis smiled, showing a spark of something bright and happy, terribly marred by whatever weapon had wounded her eye. Then, she turned, only to find herself fenced in by three of the quarrids that had been watching their side of the bridge.
“Where’r you goin’, mutt?” crackled the biggest quarrid, a broad fellow with a long beard of granite and a blackened axe he tugged out of the earth.
“Back tae civilized lands, ye dirt-horker,” growled Phyllis, which prompted the rest of the quarrids to draw axes and hammers. The Sergeant took a step back, leveling her weapon for a fight.
“No paws are welcome in our lands, mutt, you’re goin no-where,” roared the quarrid, “Foul her in chains and hang her up with the berserker.”
Willow felt a stony hand grip her arm.
“That’s our cue,” hissed Helen, pointing to the path that led into the hills, “let’s scram, sister.”
Last edited by Kokuten on Thu Oct 16, 2025 6:33 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
"Slow your roll there, Rock-of-Ages," Willow brushed off Helen's hand before stepping forward to position herself in between the canidaer and the quarrids. "She's here because of me, so I reckon you'd best put me into chains first. That said, I'm here because of this..."
Willow flashed the electrum coin as though it were a badge.
"Business for the Artisans including good Diligence up in his Hall. You have a problem with Phyllis, then you have a problem with me; and if you have a problem with me, then you're creating a problem for Diligence. Now, why don't you prove Phyllis here wrong, stand down, and show me that this is in fact civilized land? Sound keen?"
This was getting to be a lot of persuasion checks for one day, and Willow felt a strain growing between her eyes as she put her brain through its paces.
Willow flashed the electrum coin as though it were a badge.
"Business for the Artisans including good Diligence up in his Hall. You have a problem with Phyllis, then you have a problem with me; and if you have a problem with me, then you're creating a problem for Diligence. Now, why don't you prove Phyllis here wrong, stand down, and show me that this is in fact civilized land? Sound keen?"
This was getting to be a lot of persuasion checks for one day, and Willow felt a strain growing between her eyes as she put her brain through its paces.
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
“Heh HAH,” guffawed the broad quarrid. It was a booming, shaking laugh that caused the quarrids around him to join in with craggly, hissing laughter. This went on for some time, and eventually devolved in a few of the stout creatures punching each other in a friendly way. A few, closer towards the bridge, were less friendly, and began fighting in a bare-knuckle brawl.
Either ignorant of the squabble, or in spite of it, the broad quarrid continued, “You’re in the wrong neighborhood, throwin’ around words like civilized and artisans. You don’t have enough legs to be a mutt, and you’re too squishy to be a golem, too large to be a construct, too pink for a spriggan, too featherless to be an odinkine. You’re either young or ignorant; neither is your fault.”
“Does that mean we’re lettin’ them go?” asked one of the smaller quarrids.
“Hmmm,” pondered the broad quarrid, an evident leader of the group, “No, we can’t have the mutt walkin’ back to the other side all, prim and puffed out like she conquered the mountains.”
This idea seemed to rile up the quarrids in the surrounding encampment, bringing a few from the tree line in the lightly forested foothills. A few more came out of a stone-wrought building, a guard house, cleaning tools from work they had done within. In all, there had to be roughly thirty or more of them, beginning to encircle the group, not counting the one hanging from the arch, giggling madly.
Now with an audience, the leader boomed aloud, “If she wants to swing with her pet, then let’s swing her around too! Let’s show the artisans what we think of their dogs!”
A resounding cheer went up, with raised axes, hammers and tools. Workers, dressed in leather aprons, came running with ropes and chains. Phyllis braced herself, looking up at Willow for some sense of guidance. Helen and the odinkine, as spriggans, were looking skittish. Bjorn stared on in grim silence.
Then, just as the quarrids began to close in, the revelry was cut short by the sine of pitched laughter from the arch.
“The ropes that hold the world will be cut by an orange blade,” intoned the swinging quarrid, “the variable. She is not a dog, she is worse; she is change. She carries the end in her heart! Ha ha ha! She has the end on her lips! Heh he hah he! Her failure will kill us all! HA HA HA HEH GHG HEAH–UGHK!”
A rock silenced the mad quarrid again, causing him to devolve into vacillating moods of growls, snarls and laughter. The leader of the group turned, having tossed the stone, looking more than troubled by the revelation. His companions, who had drawn out the chains and ropes, were now also stuck in a mild stupor. A haze of whispers carried aloft the idea that perhaps Willow was something important.
“Alright! Alright. No chains, no ropes,” commanded the leader, waving off a team of disappointed workers. As they plodded back to their workshop, the broad quarrid sank his axe into the ground, “The berserker hasn’t spoken clearly like that in days. So. Maybe you are something. We’ll let ya go, but on two conditions. You take your dog with you to stand before the Grand Foreman–...”
Bjorn leaned in Willow’s ear, “Another name for Diligence.”
“...--so that he may judge her for trespassin’, and...”
He pointed up at the quarrid swaying in the wind above, “... you take him with you. There is no hope for his mind out here in the foothills; only the Grand Foreman knows what to do with a berserker. Do these things, and we’ll not hang you to hold torches and seasonal knick-knacks over our bridge.”
Either ignorant of the squabble, or in spite of it, the broad quarrid continued, “You’re in the wrong neighborhood, throwin’ around words like civilized and artisans. You don’t have enough legs to be a mutt, and you’re too squishy to be a golem, too large to be a construct, too pink for a spriggan, too featherless to be an odinkine. You’re either young or ignorant; neither is your fault.”
“Does that mean we’re lettin’ them go?” asked one of the smaller quarrids.
“Hmmm,” pondered the broad quarrid, an evident leader of the group, “No, we can’t have the mutt walkin’ back to the other side all, prim and puffed out like she conquered the mountains.”
This idea seemed to rile up the quarrids in the surrounding encampment, bringing a few from the tree line in the lightly forested foothills. A few more came out of a stone-wrought building, a guard house, cleaning tools from work they had done within. In all, there had to be roughly thirty or more of them, beginning to encircle the group, not counting the one hanging from the arch, giggling madly.
Now with an audience, the leader boomed aloud, “If she wants to swing with her pet, then let’s swing her around too! Let’s show the artisans what we think of their dogs!”
A resounding cheer went up, with raised axes, hammers and tools. Workers, dressed in leather aprons, came running with ropes and chains. Phyllis braced herself, looking up at Willow for some sense of guidance. Helen and the odinkine, as spriggans, were looking skittish. Bjorn stared on in grim silence.
Then, just as the quarrids began to close in, the revelry was cut short by the sine of pitched laughter from the arch.
“The ropes that hold the world will be cut by an orange blade,” intoned the swinging quarrid, “the variable. She is not a dog, she is worse; she is change. She carries the end in her heart! Ha ha ha! She has the end on her lips! Heh he hah he! Her failure will kill us all! HA HA HA HEH GHG HEAH–UGHK!”
A rock silenced the mad quarrid again, causing him to devolve into vacillating moods of growls, snarls and laughter. The leader of the group turned, having tossed the stone, looking more than troubled by the revelation. His companions, who had drawn out the chains and ropes, were now also stuck in a mild stupor. A haze of whispers carried aloft the idea that perhaps Willow was something important.
“Alright! Alright. No chains, no ropes,” commanded the leader, waving off a team of disappointed workers. As they plodded back to their workshop, the broad quarrid sank his axe into the ground, “The berserker hasn’t spoken clearly like that in days. So. Maybe you are something. We’ll let ya go, but on two conditions. You take your dog with you to stand before the Grand Foreman–...”
Bjorn leaned in Willow’s ear, “Another name for Diligence.”
“...--so that he may judge her for trespassin’, and...”
He pointed up at the quarrid swaying in the wind above, “... you take him with you. There is no hope for his mind out here in the foothills; only the Grand Foreman knows what to do with a berserker. Do these things, and we’ll not hang you to hold torches and seasonal knick-knacks over our bridge.”
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
"Oh... wow, an actual fight fight. Proving Phyllis right works too, I guess," Willow's voice was surprised but level. Figured it was only a matter of time before she failed a check, but kind of a shame it wasn't against intimidating Helen or the Hounds-keepers. Dropping back and drawing her saber, Willow ran through her training with Miss Smith. Against this many opponents it was likely going to be bedlam, and... it was over already...
Letting the dull back of the saber rest on her shoulder, Willow watched as the quarrids milled and deliberated and eventually agreed to let them go. The teen's face spread across an array of emotions that focused mostly on confusion and disbelief. Cocking an eyebrow she looked towards the berserker, and then over to Helen and back to Phyllis.
"Good talk. Yall quarrids shrewd negotiators," the ring of metal sliding into a sheath sounded as Willow turned to kneel beside Phyllis. Her voice lowered to a hushed whisper. "Ya wanna just beat feet back 'cross the bridge? Otherwise my Magnificent Seven analogy is becoming oddly accurate, what with the berserker."
Letting the dull back of the saber rest on her shoulder, Willow watched as the quarrids milled and deliberated and eventually agreed to let them go. The teen's face spread across an array of emotions that focused mostly on confusion and disbelief. Cocking an eyebrow she looked towards the berserker, and then over to Helen and back to Phyllis.
"Good talk. Yall quarrids shrewd negotiators," the ring of metal sliding into a sheath sounded as Willow turned to kneel beside Phyllis. Her voice lowered to a hushed whisper. "Ya wanna just beat feet back 'cross the bridge? Otherwise my Magnificent Seven analogy is becoming oddly accurate, what with the berserker."
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
“Might be the only option I have,” answered Phyllis, meeting the hungry eyes of the quarrids watching her. It would be a risky gambit, but if she made it to the bridge, four legs would quickly outrun two. Canidaer were naturally very fast and agile, hard to match in terms of speed, even by odinkine.
“OI!” the broad quarrid turned, calling to the pair fighting at the bridge, “Stop horsing around!”
The fighting continued, ignorant of the large quarrid. So, he picked up a large rock, and spiked it at the two belligerents, striking one out-cold, and finally getting the attention of the other. Their boss roared, “Enough mucking about! Cut down Ghyslain. It is time.”
The still-standing quarrid looked up at the giggling Ghyslain, and looked back at the boss, “Pascal, you sure?”
Pascal picked up another rock.
“Oi! Oi oi oi! No need for that!” the quarrid snatched up a hatchet, and kicked his unconscious compatriot, who began to stir.
Phyllis tapped Willow on the leg, “Thass’ my cue, I’ll go right as they–...”
“Olivier! Wake the wyrm! The beserker cannot be allowed to escape into other lands,” barked Pascal, summoning another quarrid from the throng, who carried a large horn. Olivier stood at the edge of the divide, and blew a loud blast on the instrument, unleashing a brassy clarion over the expanse. The echo of the note carried on for some time.
Then, right as Phyllis took her first step, the bridge began to undulate. The ground near the base of the bridge cracked and split, and a serpentine head rose, connected to the rest of the bridge. It stared down at the quarrids and company with expectation before another blast of the horn urged it to slither into the hills, cutting off the Yormundyaws with the rest of the world.
“Fook,” cursed Phyllis, wide-eyed.
“Cut down the berserker!” ordered Pascal.
At the call, the quarrid at the arch made a swing with his axe, and severed the rope holding Ghyslain aloft. The berserker fell silently, flopping to the ground in near-lifelessness. Instantly, the throng that had surrounded Willow, were now encroaching on the berseker, but before someone could grab the rope, he snapped to his feet. All of his kind around him froze, raising their weapons defensively. Ghyslain’s eyes were empty and mad all at the same time; seeing nothing, and everything, before a chilling sense of sobriety overtook the madness.
“Gravity works as intended,” he said, calmly. This seemed to bring comfort to his surrounding brethren, and they lowered their weapons, which turned out to be a mistake. As soon as their guard lowered, he tackled the nearest quarrid, “GRAVITY. WORKS. AS. INTENDED.”
Then, he leaped opposite, ramming his boot into the face of another of his kin, “GRAVITY! HA HA AH, GRAVITY!”
Willow felt a stony hand slapping her on the arm. It was Helen again, this time sporting her more expressive face, a face that showed a great deal of anxiety.
“Hey, Metal-eater,” hissed Helen, intending not to be ignored now, “Can we speak? In private?”
This was said, pointedly looking at Phyllis, who seemed intent on being present, and ignoring Bjorn, who was always present.
“OI!” the broad quarrid turned, calling to the pair fighting at the bridge, “Stop horsing around!”
The fighting continued, ignorant of the large quarrid. So, he picked up a large rock, and spiked it at the two belligerents, striking one out-cold, and finally getting the attention of the other. Their boss roared, “Enough mucking about! Cut down Ghyslain. It is time.”
The still-standing quarrid looked up at the giggling Ghyslain, and looked back at the boss, “Pascal, you sure?”
Pascal picked up another rock.
“Oi! Oi oi oi! No need for that!” the quarrid snatched up a hatchet, and kicked his unconscious compatriot, who began to stir.
Phyllis tapped Willow on the leg, “Thass’ my cue, I’ll go right as they–...”
“Olivier! Wake the wyrm! The beserker cannot be allowed to escape into other lands,” barked Pascal, summoning another quarrid from the throng, who carried a large horn. Olivier stood at the edge of the divide, and blew a loud blast on the instrument, unleashing a brassy clarion over the expanse. The echo of the note carried on for some time.
Then, right as Phyllis took her first step, the bridge began to undulate. The ground near the base of the bridge cracked and split, and a serpentine head rose, connected to the rest of the bridge. It stared down at the quarrids and company with expectation before another blast of the horn urged it to slither into the hills, cutting off the Yormundyaws with the rest of the world.
“Fook,” cursed Phyllis, wide-eyed.
“Cut down the berserker!” ordered Pascal.
At the call, the quarrid at the arch made a swing with his axe, and severed the rope holding Ghyslain aloft. The berserker fell silently, flopping to the ground in near-lifelessness. Instantly, the throng that had surrounded Willow, were now encroaching on the berseker, but before someone could grab the rope, he snapped to his feet. All of his kind around him froze, raising their weapons defensively. Ghyslain’s eyes were empty and mad all at the same time; seeing nothing, and everything, before a chilling sense of sobriety overtook the madness.
“Gravity works as intended,” he said, calmly. This seemed to bring comfort to his surrounding brethren, and they lowered their weapons, which turned out to be a mistake. As soon as their guard lowered, he tackled the nearest quarrid, “GRAVITY. WORKS. AS. INTENDED.”
Then, he leaped opposite, ramming his boot into the face of another of his kin, “GRAVITY! HA HA AH, GRAVITY!”
Willow felt a stony hand slapping her on the arm. It was Helen again, this time sporting her more expressive face, a face that showed a great deal of anxiety.
“Hey, Metal-eater,” hissed Helen, intending not to be ignored now, “Can we speak? In private?”
This was said, pointedly looking at Phyllis, who seemed intent on being present, and ignoring Bjorn, who was always present.
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
"Or right, of course the bridge is a snake. How could I have forgotten that this place is effing weird?"
Just as she began contemplating her next course of action following the berserker doing some berserking, she once again felt Helen's hand.
"What, Helen? What?" Willow practically hissed as she spun to face the golem.
Just as she began contemplating her next course of action following the berserker doing some berserking, she once again felt Helen's hand.
"What, Helen? What?" Willow practically hissed as she spun to face the golem.
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
“D-don’t take that tone with m-me!” stammered Helen, this time not hiding away in her torso, she pointed up at the Allomancer and then back at the cargo. “W-we have…–”
Phyllis squinted her eye at the golem, who carefully censored herself. She took the equivalent of a stony breath, and played along with the story Willow had constructed so far, “--...important cargo... and your special task is adding lot of risk atop all of this. You contracted me to help you out; to help you out in a specific way, that didn’t include or mention taking on any hangers on or volatile canidaer or quarrids. I could go so far to say I feel like this is making things a lot more difficult. Could we figure something out? This needs to work. I have a family to take care of!”
“Dinnae yer old odinkine pally say ye were an orphan,” asked Phyllis.
“A husband and child!” shrilly rebutted Helen.
“Did ye get married in the last couple a’months?”
“URRGGH! Stay out of this! Metal-eater! What are you going to do about this!?”
“He’s coming for the cart,” Bjorn interjected into Willow’s ear. Ghyslain was now partially restrained, two quarrids had managed to grab the rope dangling from his coils, but his legs were bulging with barely contained force and dragging them along. Judging by his speed and his momentum, he was going test the strength of his head against the whole of the wagon.
Phyllis squinted her eye at the golem, who carefully censored herself. She took the equivalent of a stony breath, and played along with the story Willow had constructed so far, “--...important cargo... and your special task is adding lot of risk atop all of this. You contracted me to help you out; to help you out in a specific way, that didn’t include or mention taking on any hangers on or volatile canidaer or quarrids. I could go so far to say I feel like this is making things a lot more difficult. Could we figure something out? This needs to work. I have a family to take care of!”
“Dinnae yer old odinkine pally say ye were an orphan,” asked Phyllis.
“A husband and child!” shrilly rebutted Helen.
“Did ye get married in the last couple a’months?”
“URRGGH! Stay out of this! Metal-eater! What are you going to do about this!?”
“He’s coming for the cart,” Bjorn interjected into Willow’s ear. Ghyslain was now partially restrained, two quarrids had managed to grab the rope dangling from his coils, but his legs were bulging with barely contained force and dragging them along. Judging by his speed and his momentum, he was going test the strength of his head against the whole of the wagon.
Re: [The Dorms] A Perilous Acquaintance
"You shoulda known I was trouble. That's on you, not me. Now, if y'll 'scuse," Willow said to Helen with an aggressive point of her finger. Setting her herself once more, she turned on her heel and moved with a brisk pace to put herself between the berserker and the cart.
"Not so fast there, bud," the orange saber swung off of Willow's shoulder and casually pointed towards the coming quarrid. "Sounds as though y'ur comin' wit' me. That gives ya a chance ta see me cut some world ropes; whatever tha' means. But, if ya want in on any of the fun, y'ur gonna hafta listen to me. Keen, or am I letting y'ur friends hang you back up to dry?"
"Not so fast there, bud," the orange saber swung off of Willow's shoulder and casually pointed towards the coming quarrid. "Sounds as though y'ur comin' wit' me. That gives ya a chance ta see me cut some world ropes; whatever tha' means. But, if ya want in on any of the fun, y'ur gonna hafta listen to me. Keen, or am I letting y'ur friends hang you back up to dry?"