Domi Posted April 23, 2005 Share Posted April 23, 2005 With many thanks to Merja and Laura for edwinizing and editing: Edwin (At Rest, Random) E: What is this stench? What is this...substance you are brewing, in complete disregard for my rest? Did you finally decide to replace the rotten mash in your head that <CHARNAME>, in a fit of unsightly altruism has taken for a sentient creature's brain, with something not quite so disgusting? K: This is glue, Edwin, made of fish bones and resin. I need to fletch some arrows. E: I see. One should expect, I suppose, that when people of inferior capabilities attempt to replicate the most meager of spells, such as magic missiles, they end up producing nothing but a miasma. Kivan: A spell could only be used once or thrice a day, while my arrows have no such limitation. E: Have not we bought enough of this feathered kindling to plant a small field with them already? (Now, I will not be surprised if he actually did plant them in hopes of harvest. These nature types are exhaustingly incompetent in their naivetÃƒÂ©). K: I trust my own workmanship best. E: Oh? How queer. But perhaps if I had to depend on such imperfect weaponry instead of my mighty spell craft I would do the same. Luckily, my powers are great indeed and I do not have to lower myself to peasantsÃ¢â‚¬â„¢ handiwork (or should I call it folk-art?) K: PeasantsÃ¢â‚¬â„¢? E: Judging by its stench. Plebes ever gravitate toward the occupations that have maximum potential to sustain the emission of foul aromas. The more widespread a miasma is, the more content they appear with the results of their daily labors. As do you, apparently. Away with you! (Edwin presses a perfumed handkerchief to his nose) Link to comment
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