03-27-2016, 08:34 PM
To say that the situation had 'escalated quickly' was an understatement. More accurately, the situation had turned from lively to perilous in under a second. Before he could even get the chance to properly respond, he had been surrounded by a mob, all of whom were pointing whatever they had in their hands at him. As he looked around, he noticed the murderous glares on their faces. He could just hear them muttering under their breath for him to just give them an excuse. Just one excuse.
“What ar' ya doin' her', ya crazy maniac?” Their leader said, his tone quiet and monotone.
The virescent inventor glanced towards the dwarven chief, seeing his normal smiling, cheerful expressions replaced by a piercing glare. His blue eyes were like daggers peering into his soul, his head lowered so that a small shadow hung over his eyes. His arms were crossed, and he was impatiently tapping his index finger against his armor.
“Allow me to elucidate-”
“Better be good, else I'll let my people cut ya up into fine meat,” Dane interrupted, smirking, “probably have ya cooked afterwards; some of us are curious to see what troll meat tastes like.”
Oh not him too.. thought Ballad as laughter erupted from all around him, venomous and malicious. He didn't want to know if the Nierhin leader was serious about the threat though given what he knew about dwarf and troll relations (or at least what SPB knew,) it would be reasonable to assume the hypocritical, prideful species would resort to comparable levels of barbarism.
All the more reason to end the war as quickly as possible and, more importantly, try not to get them on his bad side during his mission.
“Firstly, despite my complexion indicating the contrary, I am not, nor have I ever intended on being, associated with these 'trolls,'” he began, looking at the people around him, his hands in the air “secondly, allow me to be the first to acknowledge that I have indeed committed misdeeds against several factions and peoples of note, including Camelot and the Empire. However, none of them were witting.”
“Explain how.”
“In the case of the empire, I was being assailed by the likes of a five-man squad of soldiers. I knew they would kill me or at the very least imprison me, given their shady behavior. So, I did the logical thing: I attacked first,” the gunner replied, lying through his teeth, “as for Camelot, that was an unfortunate accident and one I regret wholeheartedly. It was the result of my attempts to dispatch and eliminate a group of assassins that I later extinguished entirely.”
The armored dwarf nodded, obviously impressed at that moment, “I heard about that little skirmish. Ya took out an entire bandit group all by yerself.”
“Which brings me to my final point: I am not here to cause distress, or to damage any of you or your property. I have only one aspiration, and that is to support you in your war against the trolls.” The green sharpshooter proclaimed, the patrons around him murmuring.
Dane, the leader of Nierhin, raised his left hand, silencing the public, “So, let me get this straight. After killin' a som' stormtroopers, losin' the Colosseum Tournament, blamin' Camelot for all their problems, and then getting' yerself in trouble with some bandits that you then slaughter, ya now want to help us... kill the trolls.”
His tone said it all. The virescent gunsmith closed his eyes, preventing the people around him from noticing his eyes briefly turn a pale white. He moved his hands to his face, pinching his nose lightly as a small amount of smoke billowed out of his sleeve. He felt like he was going to burst at any moment. He knew doing so would lead to their plan failing entirely, but the urge to just start shouting and cursing and flinging tables around in a blind rage was.... a very attractive prospect.
But his more rational half wouldn't allow it. Letting out his frustrations on the dwarves would guarantee his demise. He would never succeed in the Fields if that happened. He would never bring back peace anywhere if he did that. But it was just so damn inviting not having to stand their stupidity. He felt his hands contort into fists for a second before relaxing. He could feel a piece of iron jab into his back, warning him. He imagined backhanding whoever pricked him.
But he knew otherwise. He just had to deal with their petty excuses. Their stupid prejudices.
He had to calm down.
He took in a deep breath, smoke flowing through his nostrils.
He opened his eyes, now bright yellow.
“Yes. I understand my reputation is not... clean, but you must believe me that I genuinely wish for peace here in the fields,” He said, his voice cracking, much to the surprise of some of the customers around him, “and besides, why would I risk my life knowing my very appearance puts all of you on edge if I wasn't sincere in my belief? I only wish to help you. All I want is to help you.”
The green gunsmith closed his mouth, his words echoing around the room. It was quiet, with only the swinging chandeliers above providing any source of noise. The dwarven leader looked around, seeing his people keeping the man at bay with the tools at their disposal. After a few seconds, he looked back towards the gunner, still silent. Someone coughed. Another murmured. Ballad felt like he would burst at any moment if he did not get a response. Did they think he was joking around with them? That he was playing some kind of game? Was their racism so deep that they wouldn't trust ANY MAN OF GREEN SKIN?!
Just as his hands became enveloped by smoke and his eyes turned snow-white, the silence was broken.
“Follow me.”
“What ar' ya doin' her', ya crazy maniac?” Their leader said, his tone quiet and monotone.
The virescent inventor glanced towards the dwarven chief, seeing his normal smiling, cheerful expressions replaced by a piercing glare. His blue eyes were like daggers peering into his soul, his head lowered so that a small shadow hung over his eyes. His arms were crossed, and he was impatiently tapping his index finger against his armor.
“Allow me to elucidate-”
“Better be good, else I'll let my people cut ya up into fine meat,” Dane interrupted, smirking, “probably have ya cooked afterwards; some of us are curious to see what troll meat tastes like.”
Oh not him too.. thought Ballad as laughter erupted from all around him, venomous and malicious. He didn't want to know if the Nierhin leader was serious about the threat though given what he knew about dwarf and troll relations (or at least what SPB knew,) it would be reasonable to assume the hypocritical, prideful species would resort to comparable levels of barbarism.
All the more reason to end the war as quickly as possible and, more importantly, try not to get them on his bad side during his mission.
“Firstly, despite my complexion indicating the contrary, I am not, nor have I ever intended on being, associated with these 'trolls,'” he began, looking at the people around him, his hands in the air “secondly, allow me to be the first to acknowledge that I have indeed committed misdeeds against several factions and peoples of note, including Camelot and the Empire. However, none of them were witting.”
“Explain how.”
“In the case of the empire, I was being assailed by the likes of a five-man squad of soldiers. I knew they would kill me or at the very least imprison me, given their shady behavior. So, I did the logical thing: I attacked first,” the gunner replied, lying through his teeth, “as for Camelot, that was an unfortunate accident and one I regret wholeheartedly. It was the result of my attempts to dispatch and eliminate a group of assassins that I later extinguished entirely.”
The armored dwarf nodded, obviously impressed at that moment, “I heard about that little skirmish. Ya took out an entire bandit group all by yerself.”
“Which brings me to my final point: I am not here to cause distress, or to damage any of you or your property. I have only one aspiration, and that is to support you in your war against the trolls.” The green sharpshooter proclaimed, the patrons around him murmuring.
Dane, the leader of Nierhin, raised his left hand, silencing the public, “So, let me get this straight. After killin' a som' stormtroopers, losin' the Colosseum Tournament, blamin' Camelot for all their problems, and then getting' yerself in trouble with some bandits that you then slaughter, ya now want to help us... kill the trolls.”
His tone said it all. The virescent gunsmith closed his eyes, preventing the people around him from noticing his eyes briefly turn a pale white. He moved his hands to his face, pinching his nose lightly as a small amount of smoke billowed out of his sleeve. He felt like he was going to burst at any moment. He knew doing so would lead to their plan failing entirely, but the urge to just start shouting and cursing and flinging tables around in a blind rage was.... a very attractive prospect.
But his more rational half wouldn't allow it. Letting out his frustrations on the dwarves would guarantee his demise. He would never succeed in the Fields if that happened. He would never bring back peace anywhere if he did that. But it was just so damn inviting not having to stand their stupidity. He felt his hands contort into fists for a second before relaxing. He could feel a piece of iron jab into his back, warning him. He imagined backhanding whoever pricked him.
But he knew otherwise. He just had to deal with their petty excuses. Their stupid prejudices.
He had to calm down.
He took in a deep breath, smoke flowing through his nostrils.
He opened his eyes, now bright yellow.
“Yes. I understand my reputation is not... clean, but you must believe me that I genuinely wish for peace here in the fields,” He said, his voice cracking, much to the surprise of some of the customers around him, “and besides, why would I risk my life knowing my very appearance puts all of you on edge if I wasn't sincere in my belief? I only wish to help you. All I want is to help you.”
The green gunsmith closed his mouth, his words echoing around the room. It was quiet, with only the swinging chandeliers above providing any source of noise. The dwarven leader looked around, seeing his people keeping the man at bay with the tools at their disposal. After a few seconds, he looked back towards the gunner, still silent. Someone coughed. Another murmured. Ballad felt like he would burst at any moment if he did not get a response. Did they think he was joking around with them? That he was playing some kind of game? Was their racism so deep that they wouldn't trust ANY MAN OF GREEN SKIN?!
Just as his hands became enveloped by smoke and his eyes turned snow-white, the silence was broken.
“Follow me.”
Quote:Quest: Into the Halls
Word Count: 997
Amount Left: 2,453
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