[h3][color=bedded][b][center] Thomas Richard Harrison [/center][/b][/color][/h3]
[center][indent][color=bedded][i]Location:[/i][/color] On the merry path to Mordor?
[color=bedded][i]Interacting with:[/i][/color] Cyneburg, & the Boys (Ntaj & Keystone). [/indent][/center]

From the Primal tongue,
Language of the ancient ones,
Supernal the voice of the gods,
Mother of all that is spoken,
common, elvish, dwarven, dragon,
goblin, ork, giant, and gnome,
There the tower lies sundered,
and so the word is broken.

Ntaj's use of elvish was... Surprising. And surprisingly well spoken compared to his common. Although the bar wasn't set too high on that, then again, Thomas' use of Dwarven was akin to Ntaj's common. The dwarven tongue was not quite the most pleasant of languages to the untrained ear. Compared to elven which flowed a bit better than the guttural runes of the bearded folk.

[color=bedded] {"You surprise me Ntaj, Then there is not much I can offer as your elven may surpass mine!"} [/color] A joyous exclamation, as a joke shared between two companions may in their secret tongue. Not barring that the others did not know elven, but if such was the case, perhaps they could all speak elven through the entirety of their three days. Turning to Cyneburg who had chimed in [color=bedded] "I would also be grateful for it, two teachers are better than one, who knows, maybe I'll be able to hold a conversation between the three of us yet."[/color] A smiling hopeful Thomas beamed like the radiant sun, his cosmic self projecting outwards to illuminate the warmth he felt compared to the coldness earlier. And yet the comeuppance of a scholar in a lot of pragmatics came.

In the form of something uncouth.
So very uncouth.

In drunken stupor, that just happened. So immaculately portrayed that nothing more could be said. For what more could be spoken of an inebriated belch that made Altas himself shrug? Or at the very least Thomas nearly fall back down in the glorious minutes of Keystone's symphony. Although had Thomas known of Keystone's musicality, he should be more than pleased to experience the burp from the man's mouth, than to appreciate what could come out from the other end of his rather boisterous trumpet. Better to take 1d8 Sonic damage than to take a critical. Or something like that in the roleplaying games Thomas used to play with his friends back home, until he found out he was an actually wizard, or rather a sorcerer.

[color=bedded]"Yes, but I didn't quite catch that."[/color] A good sport about it and fixing his hair. The sorcerer was obviously dancing on the ice of not being murdered by one of three people left in this six persons party. It was going to be some pretty tense travelling. It was best to just keep in the company of Cyneburg and Ntaj for as much as possible. Maybe Thomas should leave the group at their destination.

---

Well, here they were. A tavern, the start and end of any classical adventure. And sometimes the continuation of them, as the tenders were a awfully good source of information. They seemed to have an excessive memory, often remembering every last person that went in and out of their place and town. Offering such details as if in some guard's fantasy. Else they would be completely and utterly useless in the means of information. But since Kyra and Keystone seem to be leading this thing, for now it was just best to shuffle along and head on in.