Word has spread around Elexia calling for warriors and mercenaries, and when word spreads in Elexia it spreads in circles both low and high. Several noble houses are gathering a force to retake Alkhum Island from what outlaw presence currently holds it, and are looking to any sort and breed of person for help. Those interested should seek out the elf Darragh at the Passenger Docks.
An expression of horror took over the swordsman as the bauble passed through the portal. With a snarl he smacked the man across the face with the flat of his blade. "Fool! You open a portal to hell and then toss away our only means of closing it?"
Alacritas slashed his sword against the gazebo floor with a frustrated grunt. He stepped nearer to the old man, making to snatch the clockwork contraption from him.
Alacritas time travelled back from the last post he made to collect that ruby amulet and pay. Or maybe that post was a time travel forward? But really, isn't all time, whether traversed commonly or in reverse, a linear experience?
"Of course, 'slaughter of proportions yet unimaginable'. That must be the flavor of the week." A figure appeared near the gazebo, almost but not quite leaning against a beam. His left hand was feeling at the hilt of the sword at his hip, its pommel the imagery bird's tail feathers. "Has anyone smelled his breath? I will wager 5 gold that the man is intoxicated."
Roshem gave time to each of the remaining blades, a dissatisfied smile hanging from his lips. What good was a base blade when one can summon a weapon of any shape or form at will? He had no need for any such thing. In the end he settled on Attilensis. His mode of combat has proven its merit against mortals, but against gods? Could his stone khopesh crush the bones of an immortal with the same ease it does the bones of the living? Nothing suggested it could not, and with news of elven gods walking the land, Roshem knows better than to be caught unprepared.
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