Kellindil Loreweaver
Revered Ancient
Frustration crept into his voice. "You mean, there is nothing you have to offer? No information?"
The old man slid forward in his chair, his wispy grey hair falling over his eyes. "You seek to take what is rightfully the gods. Do you think it so unbelievable that I know not how to do that? They keep what is theirs close to the chest." He cast his gaze to the floor. "They are a jealous lot."
With a growl of agitation, the elf swept a hand across the table, knocking the meager meal and watery ale, along with the plateware, to the floor. The room was empty; only he and the old codger were in attendance to the uncharacteristic display of emotion.
The weathered, old man seemed unphased by the outburst. "You have spent so much money and have come away with nothing. Take what you still have and go - live a full life."
The elf stood, wiping the now stained sleeve of his shirt with a dirty cloth napkin. He dropped the cloth. "The money is of no consequence, old man, and, with your abhorrent lack of information, you..." he said monotonously, a green-bladed sword, thin and razor sharp, appearing in his left hand, "...are of no consequence."
The old man seemed unperturbed at his looming demise; instead, toying with the food on his plate, eyes downcast. "Killing me will not bring them back."
He raised the blade up, ready to strike. "No, you are right. Killing you will not bring them back but, I will sleep better at night."
The blade fell.
The old man slid forward in his chair, his wispy grey hair falling over his eyes. "You seek to take what is rightfully the gods. Do you think it so unbelievable that I know not how to do that? They keep what is theirs close to the chest." He cast his gaze to the floor. "They are a jealous lot."
With a growl of agitation, the elf swept a hand across the table, knocking the meager meal and watery ale, along with the plateware, to the floor. The room was empty; only he and the old codger were in attendance to the uncharacteristic display of emotion.
The weathered, old man seemed unphased by the outburst. "You have spent so much money and have come away with nothing. Take what you still have and go - live a full life."
The elf stood, wiping the now stained sleeve of his shirt with a dirty cloth napkin. He dropped the cloth. "The money is of no consequence, old man, and, with your abhorrent lack of information, you..." he said monotonously, a green-bladed sword, thin and razor sharp, appearing in his left hand, "...are of no consequence."
The old man seemed unperturbed at his looming demise; instead, toying with the food on his plate, eyes downcast. "Killing me will not bring them back."
He raised the blade up, ready to strike. "No, you are right. Killing you will not bring them back but, I will sleep better at night."
The blade fell.