((Rolls carried))
Khorv wrote: ↑Thu May 01, 2025 9:43 amKhorv pauses a moment and runs a hand through his hair.
”Regarding my value, I have been trained in combat and am good with my daggers. I also have some mental abilities, but they mostly focus on the ability to sense things like seeing the invisible and sensing danger. For example, “ Khorv indicates Flora with his hand.
”your are relatively young and inexperienced, no offense.” And on it goes... but Flora stops listening.
Flora stands with the immense weight of her axe resting casually on her shoulder, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond Khorv as he drones on about his abilities. Her patience, however thin, is stretched taut, like a well-worn piece of leather threatening to snap. A muscle twitches in her jaw.
Elves do like to judge, she thinks, the urge to silence him physically a tangible thing. Her eyes flick down to his long thin elf arms.
Snap. Just like that. A fleeting image of splintered bone and a muffled yelp crosses her mind.
No, maybe the jaw. The fluffer won't talk so much then.
Yet, a sliver of pragmatic thought worms its way in.
Still, Trask and Tyral seem to tolerate him. A sigh, almost imperceptible, escapes her lips.
Fine. Patience. For now.
A grudging admission flickers within her.
He has a point, in a way. Back in the tribe, I was a young one. The elders were lethal in ways I can only dream of. But that was then. Now? Her gaze hardens.
Now, they are gone. I am alone. But I bet I could break a dozen tree huggers like him.
Her attention drifts to Tyral, her head tilting slightly.
Is the other elf nodding at Khorv's blather? Or is he rolling his eyes? Flora studies his face, trying to decipher his expressions to judge whether Khorv's foolishness is in fact elfin foolishness.
Oh it's probably just the "elf fetus," as she mentally dubs Khorv,
so full of himself and his own fluffery.
So she remains silent whilst the rest of the discussion takes place, which she largely ignores. She even misses Asher's talk, which is probably for the best for all concerned. Indeed, wondering whether or not to maim Khorv in some way occupies her thoughts, and she waits until there is an end in the current conversation.
But she will not let the accusation she is young and inexperienced lie unchallenged for long. Then, she speaks.
"I was always the weakest in my tribe," Flora muses, a faint smile touching her lips at the memory of her father, a braided, white-bearded gnome dragging a stag by its broken antlers.
"But we started to learn young. The last elf I killed probably thought I was young and inexperienced too. He had just killed my mother. So I chopped his elf legs right off. All his ancient elven wisdom and age didn't stop him from flopping around like a gutted fish, bleeding out." She shrugs, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.
"Didn't even finish him. I thought it was important for him to think about what he'd done before he died. So I watched. And watched. That's how you learn. Watching."
She pauses, looking at her reflection in her enormous battle axe.
"I loved my mother. She had me strangle my first dwarf before I could even properly walk."
Flora's smile broadens as she turns to Vidar, a disarming sweetness in her eyes that belies the words she's about to speak.
"Oh, it's alright," she says, her tone light and conversational, as if discussing the weather.
"He was in a war band, you see. Nasty fellows. Trying to take some gnomes, probably as slaves in one of their big underground cities. Not something you'd ever do I know."
She then returns her attention to the memory in her axe blade, her expression sweet.
"Anyway," she continues, her voice taking on a nostalgic quality,
"I had weak hands, you see. My sweet mother... well, she was always so helpful. She showed me how to crush granite rocks into dust. Practical skills, you know? Would you like me to show you how?" She pauses, her small frame radiating a surprising intensity. Then, she shrugs, the moment passing as quickly as it came.
"You know," she adds, her tone becoming more matter-of-fact,
"while these old experienced races were too busy carving one another up to notice the rest of us, we started off with real life very young. If I were you, I would not rely on elf mind tricks to judge. You miss out on so many details." Her gaze flicks back to Khorv, and she smiles like a tiger kitten about to pounce on a full grown sheep many times its size.
She asks the guide,
"How far down is the next level? How much rock between them and us?"
Land Navigation 62%:
1d100: [52] = 52
(SUCCESS)
Underground Sense of Direction 30%:
1d100: [89] = 89
(FAIL)
Underground Sense of Location 20%:
1d100: [62] = 62
(FAIL)
