Boudicca wraps herself tightly in her bed roll, under a pile of new blankets she has bought herself, not stolen, she clutches her new ’ magic bug that does nothing ’ and dreams.
As The Chosen One drifts in and out of sleep, she tries very hard to avoid the searing rays of the Priest’s god rising ever higher in the sky, she thinks of her killing the Rat King. So many horrid foes she has faced of late, from evil spirits to animated statues, things one would normally run from. Bravery and a commitment to her new family has driven her forward, forward to a destiny hinted at by her ability and the visions from a magic pool now so far away in a grand, forgotten city.
The massive pile of blankets shifts ever so slightly as the sun light through the cracks in her lair creeps across the floor towards her. A small hourglass on the floor casting a long shadow falls victim and the brass finish is ablaze with even more light. But, under the covers, the Hobgoblin is safe.
Throughout the lair reside a variety of per spiders, lurking in the rafters and other unseen places. Up in the tower structure, from which the great water wheel and axil are housed a slight but regular Squeak every few seconds as Boudicca’s repairs bear fruit. While away, the rains came and the water flow has increased, an the decapitated wheel still has enough structure left to turn. The turning of the Axil causes some of the spiders great alarm and they avoid it.
In one corner of this tower is laid out an ancient, antique climbing kit, engraved with worn images of a forgotten age. The set clean and ready for her next adventure. Piles of coins, from gold to the mysterious platinum, are arranged ever so precisely next to a burnt dire rat skull ( 30 Hit Points! ) and other trophies of her victories. Her adventuring garb, looking more like a vagabonds clothes than anything else have been cleaned and laud out. Her armor and pointy, war hat all cleaned and maintained have a very special place on the floor, ever protected from the sun by extreme angles of the architecture. A bag of bobbles and trinkets lies half poured out near her bed, spiders getting too close are warned away by her growling from under the covers.
Soon, she will need to brave the brilliant sun and meet her friends for another descent into the dungeon, yes, since she is on a quest, yes, and that is the way of a chosen one, yes. But that is later, now she sleeps and dreams.
Yes, the Goblin thinks that death herself shadows about that one, ready to take him at any time. Until then his disease riden body will claim victum after victum until his clock sounds it’s last, fitful chime!
Boudicca wraps herself tightly in her bed roll, under a pile of new blankets she has bought herself, not stolen, she clutches her new ’ magic bug that does nothing ’ and dreams.
As The Chosen One drifts in and out of sleep, she tries very hard to avoid the searing rays of the Priest’s god rising ever higher in the sky, she thinks of her killing the Rat King. So many horrid foes she has faced of late, from evil spirits to animated statues, things one would normally run from. Bravery and a commitment to her new family has driven her forward, forward to a destiny hinted at by her ability and the visions from a magic pool now so far away in a grand, forgotten city.
The massive pile of blankets shifts ever so slightly as the sun light through the cracks in her lair creeps across the floor towards her. A small hourglass on the floor casting a long shadow falls victim and the brass finish is ablaze with even more light. But, under the covers, the Hobgoblin is safe.
Throughout the lair reside a variety of per spiders, lurking in the rafters and other unseen places. Up in the tower structure, from which the great water wheel and axil are housed a slight but regular Squeak every few seconds as Boudicca’s repairs bear fruit. While away, the rains came and the water flow has increased, an the decapitated wheel still has enough structure left to turn. The turning of the Axil causes some of the spiders great alarm and they avoid it.
In one corner of this tower is laid out an ancient, antique climbing kit, engraved with worn images of a forgotten age. The set clean and ready for her next adventure. Piles of coins, from gold to the mysterious platinum, are arranged ever so precisely next to a burnt dire rat skull ( 30 Hit Points! ) and other trophies of her victories. Her adventuring garb, looking more like a vagabonds clothes than anything else have been cleaned and laud out. Her armor and pointy, war hat all cleaned and maintained have a very special place on the floor, ever protected from the sun by extreme angles of the architecture. A bag of bobbles and trinkets lies half poured out near her bed, spiders getting too close are warned away by her growling from under the covers.
Soon, she will need to brave the brilliant sun and meet her friends for another descent into the dungeon, yes, since she is on a quest, yes, and that is the way of a chosen one, yes. But that is later, now she sleeps and dreams.
Charles has the Plague!
Yes, the Goblin thinks that death herself shadows about that one, ready to take him at any time. Until then his disease riden body will claim victum after victum until his clock sounds it’s last, fitful chime!