Curvaceous Counter Measures

The beautiful and nearly naked Hetzabah returns astride her flying mount, after her third failed ethereal assault on the Halfling tracker; Liga Bur.

On her arrival and on his second attempt (due to his heavy armour interfering with his somatic gestures) Sir Briefadel manages to conjure up ‘Leomund’s tiny hut’ as a resting place and defence from the unrelenting suns. His sour expression rigid, as he chides his bizarrely younger-than-him Mother.

“We’ve been travelling for four days now and we’re almost at the oasis portal but those adventurers are still alive and still on our trail”

Hetzabah rubs her precious ruby-heart talisman in annoyance, before responding to her son’s partially unspoken barb.

“They’ve prepared and defended the Dark Star Halfling tracker well. Too well, thanks to that annoying ghost guard and the sleepless Elf, for me to easily circumvent their tactics. I’ll need to do something different next time. Something more direct; more … physical.”

Sir Briefadel smiles.

“You plan to actually kill them this time? Count me in!”

His Mother surprises him with her sharp response though.

“Well count yourself right out again boy. While the pretty Elf has selected you as his Oathbow target, you’re simply too vulnerable to his arrows. He very nearly succeeded in killing you last time you met and you’re not even fully healed up from those wounds yet!”

The armoured aristocrat’s smile immediately reverses into a scowl.

“This won’t do! There has to be something that can protect me from that accursed Elven bow!”

The outrageously curvy; Hetzabah runs her long fingernails through her even longer, glossy, black hair and giggles.

“Don’t you see? If you don’t come with us this time, the Elf will effectively have completely hamstrung himself. In the seven days after he’s selected you as his Oathbow target, unless he has cold-iron tipped arrows, his effectively disenchanted, disinterested bow won’t be able to harm me at all!”

Sir Briefadel’s smile returns.

“Won’t the Elf realise, once his arrows fail to injure you?”

Hetzabah laughs manically and keeps on laughing.

“Foolish man-child; you’ve got much to learn! Mortals see me how I choose them to see me. Surely the thousand tiny, false flesh wounds I carried when we battled the adventurers at the zenith of the tower would have taught you that? I’ll alter my form to convince him that each arrow he fires, although perhaps a fraction diminished, does indeed hurt me. He’ll be wasting his time with each arrow he shoots but won’t even suspect it!”