At the very back of the observation ‘mouth’ near the top of Dulcetta’s ‘singing’ tower, Rifkin continues to rub his sorcererly deafened, slightly pointed ears and wonders, ‘How long will this damnable deafness last?!’. To distract himself from his growing concern, he inspects the spread-out contents of his emptied haversack. Specifically, he examines the two newly acquired magical items.
He hadn’t managed to do much beyond ‘Detecting magic’ on these objects but he can feel their hidden enchantments. The strangely cut emerald, that had somehow powered Hetzabah’s spinning prison cage and the old leather dog-collar that Henshaw had pulled off the broken metal automaton.
Staring deeply into the cuboid, walnut sized emerald, Rifkin finds himself reminded of two other gems; The brittler, sandy-yellow ‘diamond’ from the Wizard Moody’s turban and the Hag’s heart shaped, heart sized ruby, that Arowe and Liga Bur had discussed in length. It had been worn by the Hag who’d tormented his Halfling friend during his dreams. Now though, the semi-Elven Bard had seen it himself. The beautiful young woman had been wearing it while battling Doberman and Fortu at the edge of the ledge. Rifkin hadn’t gotten close, and been distracted by her large, bouncing and exposed breasts either side of it, but he could have sworn he saw something trapped within the ruby. Something white and round, preserved forever, like a fly in amber.
Picking up the thick, leather collar, it seems oddly old and worn but tough. It’d obviously been designed for a very large dog and the round, bronze tag reads ‘Belvedere’. Could Liga Bur’s companion hound; Mir Hundur have a use for this? Rubbing his thumb across the tag though, causes the engraved name to shimmer for a fraction of a second. What could its power be?
Putting that unsolvable concern out of his mind for the moment, Rifkin turns his attention to the other enchanted but unclaimed items that he’d been carrying around over hundreds of miles under the multiple hot suns of Calcienta.
Perhaps Henshaw had been right? Surely it’s best to divvy up the magic items unwanted by Arowe, Fortu and Liga Bur?
Picking up Egrow’s magical dagger, he marvels at the blemish-free gleam of its Cold-iron blade, despite the gloom within the cave-like mouth and the hazy grey sky.
The semi-Elven Bard hums uncharacteristically tunelessly to himself, as he considers his current complete lack of weaponry. His mind also drifts back to the time when Fortu chastised him for his apparent cowardice. Accidentally speaking aloud, Rifkin murmurs…
“Could I actually bring myself to use this, if desperate need arose?”
Rifkin knows he’s battling against his own natural instincts though and, after a moment’s hesitation, re-wraps the dagger and moves to place it carefully back into his bag. Before he’s able to however, he feels an involuntary shudder run through him, as a shadow falls across his back.
It’s Barbella’s voice that breaks the silence for everyone other than Rifkin.
“What exactly is all that stuff you got there?”.
No comments:
Post a Comment