Monday 12 September 2011 photo 8/9
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“And what keeps us from turning around, with our wagons, and sending back a couple divisions of Ebonhawke’s finest to clear the road?"
The jotun nodded enthusiastically, jiggling its entire body. “Think of that. Brother and his band on other end of valley."
Flummox did not turn around, so honest was the jotun’s statement. Obviously the Norn campaigns against the creatures were weeding out all the stupider ones.
“We’ll give you a wagon," he said simply. “The refugees will have to ride with the boots."
“All," said the jotun.
“Two," said Flummox, “and we’ll throw in a cargo of boots as well. You can have two wagons."
“All," said the jotun, stronger, “or all die."
Without the wagons we all die anyway thought Flummox. “It will take me a while to convince the others," he said, trying to looking nervous. “Humans are a persnickety lot. I can’t expect them to cave in without a long night of talking."
The jotun made a jiggling nod, “You give us wagons tomorrow morning. Or all die." And with that, the great beast turned and disappeared among the snow-shrouded mounds that concealed other jotun.
Flummox let his breath out slowly and turned back to the caravan. The nervous human in charge touched the tips of his fingers together nervously and said, “Well?"
“It wants us to give up the wagons. All of them," said the asura.
“We can’t do that," wailed the human.
“I know," said Flummox, “but I told him it would take all night for me to convince you to go along with the deal."
The human got a slack-jawed look that afflicted so many of his race when dealing with asura. “You mean you surrendered?" he finally managed to spit out.
“No," said Flummox, irritated, “I bought us time from now until daybreak. Sareb! You gather up the material?"
Sareb manifested at Flummox’s side. “Leather from the shoes was easy. Some chemicals from the caravan’s medicine stores, human blood from the wounded accountant’s bandages, an iron pot from the refugees, grave dirt— How did you know the rare-goods dealer had grave dirt?"
“The rare-goods dealer screams ’necromancer.’ He is moving a crypt out of Ascalon, likely purchased from charr tomb raiders. I’d be surprised if he didn’t have a couple asura skeletons and shrunken sylvari heads packed away somewhere on that wagon."
Sareb visibly shuddered, and Flummox added, “Not that we need them for this." But the addition did not seem to make the sylvari feel better. “And the last item?" Flummox asked.
“There is a…problem," said Sareb.
Flummox cocked his head, “Another problem?"
“She is unwilling to give it up," said Sareb.
“And you said?" Flummox raised an eyebrow.
“I was stern and forceful, as you have suggested in the past," said Sareb proudly. Then he shrugged, “No luck."
Flummox let out a sigh that seemed larger than himself. “Oh, for Vekk’s sake," he said, and padded off toward the refugees.
The refugee in question was young—at least Flummox assumed she was young because of her slender form and smooth skin. Within the Eternal Alchemy, humans had the greatest range of variations on the basic theme. It was as if their gods had not settled on their final form, and kept changing their minds. Shows what happens when you do things by committee. It was hard to believe that the sweating caravan leader and this frail, almost sylvari-looking thing were members of the same species.
She was seated at the back of her wagon, lost in thought. Held against her, tight in her hand, was a bag hanging from a tether around her graceful throat. Flummox moved into her field of vision (had she been looking at anything) and began without preamble.
“I understand you want to kill us all," he said.
The human blinked in the way humans do when their brains start functioning again. “Pardon?" she said.
“In case you have not noticed," said Flummox, “we are not moving. We are not moving because we have been set upon by jotun bandits who want to take everything we have, including your wagon, and leave us stranded in the snow. I know of a way by which we can defeat these giants, but I need certain key materials from the others of this caravan. That includes the item you are carrying around in that bag. You don’t want to provide it, so I must assume you want me and everyone else dead. So, tell me: What did we do to earn your eternal ire?"
The human blinked again, and said, “You know about the cameo?"
“Everyone in the caravan knows about it, since you take it out every night by the campfire and sigh over it for five minutes, seven at most, before putting it back in its bag," said Flummox, holding out a hand. “I need it, give it here."
“Why?" she asked, the muscles in her hand tightening around the bag.
Flummox used his talking-to-humans voice. “You no give me, jotun smash us. Understand?"
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Annons
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