POOHEAD189

Let's Play Diplomacy As A NRP!

Not sure if I have the time, but looks neat!

Tales of Azeroth: Flames of Chaos

Khaz Modan

---

Gnomeregan, Tinkers' Court

For a city covered in -- or practically made of -- machinery, few residents complained about the noise... Partly because, for many of them, the distant sound of technology at work was an ancient evolutionary comfort from a time before they were flesh-and-bone, and in other cases, simply because those places where quiet was necessarily were thoroughly dampened against noise.

The Tinkers' Court was one such place, though dampened for necessity rather than comfort. It was, in many ways, the brain of Gnomeregan, the most important decisions in the city made around the perfectly machined dodecahedral table in its center. At one end sat the High Tinker in his lilac-purple Gnomeregan tabard, lime green goggles proudly worn atop his head despite the complete lack of need for them. To his right, Tinkmaster Overspark, replete with rigidly styled pastel pink facial hair and candy red goggles, each length of his mustache and bushy beard at least as long as his head. He, much like Gelbin, always carried a Gnomish Army Knife -- as did every Gnome worth their salt -- but he carried a veritable cornucopia of punch-cards and remotes for controlling his creations, too. Even now.

To his Left, Kelsey Steelspark -- much like Overspark, her hair was a pinkish colour, though far more tinged with red and tied into a medium ponytail, replete with bangs that swept wide to each side of her face. She still wore her black bodysuit, eccentric as any Gnome ever was -- but unlike Overspark, she had the distinctly foreign manners to remove her crimson tactical goggles -- one lens sporting a targeting system and the other an array of various sensors, compared to Overspark's far more industrial microscopic lenses and radiation sensors.

Their guest approached the far end of the table, accompanied by two mountain dwarves, each wielding a hammer and an axe in their meaty fists. They did not expect an attack here, of course. Dwarves and gnomes were about as close as two peoples could get. They weren’t merely allies, they were family. But they were ever ready. They were now on the war footing, and the light only knew they needed to be ever ready.

The Dwarf King did not deign to sit. Instead he stood tall, at least compared to the gnomes and others of his own people. At his sides were his two runic hammers, and on his brow sat the high crown of Khaz Modan, its red ruby glimmering in the light of the bits and bobs of machinery that surrounded them.

Magni appreciated the ingenuity of his cousins. The dwarves weren’t nearly as obsessed with every little facet one might gain from invention, as one could probably tell when faced with dwarven and gnomish architecture. But they had a knack for invention as well, and certainly were avid engineers, particularly of war machines and transport. Magni himself was a renowned smith, as well as warrior and statesman.

“I trust we are all here?” The King asked. “We’ve many things to discuss.”

"Ready and willing, old friend!" Gelbin replied. "We have -- as I'm sure you're aware -- completed construction of the Southshore airfield, but I believe the most pertinent matter is supplying our war-machines with fuel, yes?' Gelbin replied -- as always, he instantly launched into business.

Magni smiled at the immediate proclamation, glad for the enthusiastic support. “Aye, we’ve got plenty of fuel. The last decade we’ve been hard at work procuring it to get our energy demands back to speed. And I think the trade opportunities with a restored northland is well worth the expense.”

"Of course!" Gelbin replied, just as enthusiastically. Brotherhood was so embedded in the two species that one supporting the other was a practical guarantee -- regardless of the circumstances. "We're confident that, with Kul Tiran support, we can maintain a stable line of supply of fuel -- especially with a Thandol Span intact, and combined with our cargo airport. Not to mention, yes -- a reclaimed Lordaeron will make it much easier to establish offensive operations on Northrend, too."

The Dwarf King nodded in approval, placing two large hands on the table. “I know I can always count on you, old friend. I don’t want ye to have to commit any more of your people than necessary. Ye’ve been through much.” He said, as softly as his powerful, granite voice could muster. “While this…’Scourge’ is perhaps as dangerous as the old Horde in the second war, we’re better prepared now and we’ve learned our lessons. This time, we take the fight to them.” He emphasized the proclamation with his large fist knocking on the sturdy table twice.

"Indeed we do!" Gelbin replied, earning sharp nods from the Gnomes attending them. "There does come the military matter of moving Steam Tanks through a thickly wooded area like Silverpine, however..."

Magni grinned broadly. “Oh we’ve got that well thought out.” He said cryptically, though the solution was easy, of course. “Our mortar teams and axe men are the best on azeroth, and there might still be a few workable roads even after all of the corruption. We just need to make sure we have a steady supply line by gyrocopter the further we go in. We are not like the humans, we can take our time to tighten the noose. But we still need to make haste, because they deserve their homeland as much as we with ours.”

"Indeed they do, old friend." Gelbin nodded sagely. "...Which will make capturing ports even more crucial. Our machines will be vital -- the Scourge is slow, after all, but if we can encircle and crush them quickly..." Gelbin said, bringing his gloved hand together into a fist. "Their necromancers won't have a chance to slow us down. It's a matter of speed, and ensuring the work teams are able to keep up with the army. A careful balancing act!"

Magni gave a laugh. “Very good! We’ll send ‘em back to hell where they belong.” He proclaimed, and as everyone was in agreement, he stopped and went. “...Wait, we can’t have a meeting without drink!”

"Oh! Of course! Speaking of, there's a new blend I've been looking to try out on you..."

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Beren saw the ichor and lifeblood of the crushed spider oozing off of the remaining bits of broken corpse up in the web, a bit of the thorax sliding off to hit the ground with a wet 'squelch' a stone's throw from where they sat. Beren sat up, rubbing his head. Jocasta's beaming face was there to greet him, in his lap again.

"Well, usually when you end up on top of me it means it turned out alright." He said with a grin, though he wasn't as animated or mischievous as usual. He seemed a bit wary and off-put, even with the spider dead and the troll's rock's getting caught in the web, keeping them relatively sheltered. He lifted her up and set her down on his feet when he got on his own.

"What is it?" Jocasta asked, sensing his change in demeanor.

Beren didn't answer, at least initially. He glanced around at the huge cavern they found themselves in. He was no dwarf or elf, but he had keen eyes for a man and he had a history of being far below ground. The north was a strange, alien place to Beren, the Ero'Dai being far more used to steaming jungle, dangerous wetlands, and the deep beneath the earth.

"That big spider... that's usually a bad sign. The Dwarves call them Mukelob Spiders." He explained softly, scanning the creases and patterns of the stone. The rivulets could tell stories one might never believe. There was a main passageway he was sure Jocasta had seen, but he counted three other potential tunnels, provided they didn't end within a couple of meters. "When you find a big spider, it means one of three things. One, it means there are more, usually within a few miles from here or closer. Two, it's set there as a guard beast by someone. Or three...there's Dorcha around."

Jocasta's face twisted in panic, but she didn't go white like he might have thought. He wasn't surprised she knew Dorcha meant 'Dark Elves' considering she was a scholar, and he took comfort in the fact she didn't take a lot of things very seriously. It was probably the reason why he jumped earlier. Her calling for him in abject fear was new to him, and he went over without thinking. Though he knew if he had time to think, he'd probably do it again anyway.

"So...there's no chance that could just be a rogue creepy crawly?" She asked him in a whisper, twiddling her fingers like they were spider legs.

"You're right, we have the best luck. Nothing ever goes wrong when we show up," Beren remarked facetiously, though his small smile showed it was in good humor.

"Right," She noted.

The ground was uneven, as most rock was. If one wasn't careful they could fall down a hole or slip and break an ankle. There were a billion ways to die in caverns, and that was before you factored in the beings that lived there. So far all was quiet now, save the annoyed roars of the troll above them. Beren knelt down and grabbed a coil of rope from his pack, wrapping it around his muscled upper arm. Axe in his left hand, he reached into his top's collar and pulled out a pendant. Sliding his head through it, he wrapped the necklace that held the pendant around his right hand and whispered a small litany with the artifact close to his lips.

Slowly it began to glow like a rising sun, shining as brightly as Jocasta's spell of light. It beamed as a star would, illuminating the gloom around them at the mouth of the tunnel.

"Stay close, ok?" He told her.

"I think we're accustomed to that by now," she admitted, grabbing a bit of his shirt, her smile beaming as brightly as the pendant. "Cool necklace by the way. You're full of surprises."

"Sexy right?" He joked.

hello, hello (hello)

welcome to the site!

The Black Delta

"It's good to know your spirits are high," Captain Burnside deadpanned, Holfort helping him up off the ground. Burnside coughed for a moment, and he gladly accepted some of the rationed water, though he made sure not to take more than two small sips to wet his throat. The Captain found a broken piece of kindling on the ground, and on second look it was likely the butt end of Aldrich's pike. He placed it into the ground and steadied himself, using it as a walking stick it seemed.

"Seems they're all wanting to go through. And I say I'd take that stance myself," Holfort said to the Captain earnestly. He had the look of an honest man, as far as sailors on a privateer ship could be. Simple and hard working, but undeniably resourceful when the time came. "You think you can handle that, sir?"

The Captain cleared his throat and looked at the sun, blinking. "Looks like we have no choice."

Burnside and Holfort began to trek toward's the treeline, passing the statue as they did so, only giving it a quick glance. The way the Captain looked at it, it was hard to tell if he knew what it was or not, but he said not a word. The birds above them called out with undulating cries, but otherwise there seemed to be no life close by. The ferns and brush tickled their legs as they took their first steps into the jungle, following the Captain. He seemed to know at least the general direction they needed to travel.

As they continued, the jungle became more animated. Monkeys and strange, squirrel-like animals swung and scampered across the branches of the forest canopy above them. The shade was welcome, but it was humid and somewhat enclosed, the air heavier than on the beach. Sweat came to their skin easily, and soon the bugs came. Big mosquitos and floating beetles and large centipedes crawling along the leafy, soft ground. But that was a mere annoyance.

An hour of walking later, an obstacle appeared in the form of a beast. Firstly, there was a low growl, like a stalling dwarven steam engine. Suddenly something large appeared. Just simply appeared. The stealth was impossible, and yet it seemingly did it without purpose, for the jaguar, and it was indeed a large jaguar, languidly strolled out of the brush and lazily glanced at the assembled group. It stopped six stride away, its eyes widening at the realization of the group of what it likely perceived as large apes. It's maw peeled back to reveal thick fangs, four inches in length. The beast must have weighed four times that of a man.

Above them, a monkey watched curiously, it's mouth in an 'O' shape.

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Beren watched in rapt panic. He didn't know illusion or misdirection, much less real magic. He did know the stuff of the gods, but not these. These were younger than they, but far older than men. What they could do, he didn't know. This one seemed naught but a great shadow. But he knew not to test its limits unless he had to, for Qwarath alone was already likely too much for him. Absently he gripped his shirt over his chest, holding within the cloth his blessed necklace.

All of his contemplation happened in but a moment, however. His main focus was on Jocasta. She was a born actress, but this was a losing proposition.

He had ducked behind further stones, moving silently forward another three strides by a normal man's straight direction. Just at the cusp of the chamber, he hid behind one of the carved thanes. His staff at his back, he slowly slid his axe out for deadly use. Beren steeled himself, hand gripping the haft of his dwarven-crafted weapon. But just before he rose out of his hiding spot, he heard Jocasta's scream at being hit, and to his horror he saw her flying towards the lip of the abyss.

"No!" He cried out, unable to keep himself quiet. Not caring anymore. He stood now, and a cursory glance to his right showed him both Qwarath and the shadow-figure of its primitive deity staring at him. To his horror, the thanes were no longer such as they had been. Their visages had turned orcish or more likely trollish, and their mouths began to move, drum beats flowing from their stone lips in a rhythmic call to their god. Beren didn't care. He watched Jocasta, frozen.

She clung to the stalactite...and slipped.

"Beren!" She cried out desperately.

Qwarath charged him, reaching for him with its apeish arm and roaring a call that Beren swore he understood. As its claw scraped the rock, Beren leaped to the side and did the last thing Qwarath expected, which was to run straight toward the -archtroll. Beren didn't hit him, however. Instead he slid between the arch-troll's bowed legs and then slammed his feet onto the ground, spring boarding himself to do the craziest thing anyone watching could have seen.

Beren leaped off the side of the precipice with no rope or even hope and dived like a hawk, flying towards Jocasta's plummeting form. There was no wind underground, and yet he felt air rushing up at him as he fell, quicker and quicker. Slowly, he managed to get within arms length of a bewildered Jocasta. Beren pulled her close to him. She yelled something but he couldn't hear. Instead he pulled her close and turned in the air, making sure she was above him.

Beren was a lot of things, and while heroic was one of them, he didn't throw his life away recklessly. But he found he really had with her. At least, that's what he thought.

Instead of a stone floor that reduced them to paste, Jocasta and Beren hit something thick and viscous; sticky as well. Like cupping tentacles or strange growths from the rock. Beren and Jocasta hit it with the velocity of a cannon ball, but luckily the material gave as well as it got, bending under their weight and sending them back up a dozen feet, before wobbling back with them along with it.

Jocasta's head popped out of Beren's arms, blinking. "Did you... just try to die with me!?"

Beren blinked, looking around at the jagged walls and the strange, thick string they found themselves attached to. There was very little light down here. The room above had been gloomy but they were now a hundred feet down or further. He looked at her, not really knowing how to answer, so he gave the honest one.

"Yeah?"

Is this site still active?

Yeah, I'm RPing as much now as I did when I joined. Just depends on what you want, really.

Rise to The Top: Medieval Intrigue RP

Galt had always been a city boy. He had never worked the fields, though if he had been given the chance as a youth on one hungry night, he might have taken for the life. But the manorial system so widespread across the kingdom was not something he was overly familiar with. However, it did make sense. The lords of cities made the same money as the lords of manors and farms. People worked for them and paid for the right to. It made sense, and he supposed the only reason why he had yet to be paid was the fact that his estate still had a bit to go before it was ready for him.

Still, that was a worry he could put aside, now.

He continued to listen. It certainly would take a lot of accounting. He doubted it was as simple as a few dozen additions of X income every month. Somehow, it was always more complicated than that. That's how it always was for him, when he was given a job, illicit or not. Complications always showed up. Luckily he had this pretty girl as an aide, and still he didn't know what he did right that had the gods reward him with this current situation with the addition of Silke. Easy on the eyes, and she had an intelligence that glimmered in her gaze that he found enchanting.

"Believe me, I won't hesitate to contact you if I need anything. Or to go out for dinner," He said with a subtle wink, and then he smiled at the mischief he couldn't help but say aloud.

But then she spoke to him about their previous idea. The idea of taking a bandit group in one fell swoop. Her proclamation of a strategy caused him to raise his brow in surprise. He wasn't going to underestimate her, but this was borderline military strategy. He didn't expect her to have experience or the mind of such a thing, but he would trust her. At least until she shared her idea for him to gauge. Not that he was much of a strategist himself. And then...she delved back into finances. He opened his mouth and then closed it, and instead he leaned in and listened intently, watching her as she spoke with his hawkish gaze, switching between the paper and her distracting face.

As the numbers streamed out of her nice lips, he caught the info as best he could. Luckily this directly benefited him, so he was certainly paying more attention than he might usually, even with Silke so close. He placed his finger on the page whenever he had a question, running his hand over the parchment to follow the formula and to keep his thoughts straight.

"I think I'm understanding most of this..."

Tales of Azeroth: Flames of Chaos

Khaz Modan Dwarves

Name: The Ironforge Dwarves of Khaz Modan.

Held Territories: Khaz Modan and all its holdings.

Other Assets:
The Great Forge: The largest and most powerful forge in Azeroth, where the most legendary items can be crafted by the skilled hands of the Dwarves.

War Machines: Notable tinkerers like their Gnomish cousins, the Dwarves make guns, steam tanks, mortars, gyrocopters, and much more.

Legions of Dwarf Warriors: The Dwarves are a war-like people, purpose built for labor and warfare. Even the Orcs begrudgingly admire their strength and toughness. With axe, shield, and armor, the Ironforge Dwarves are terrible to behold on the battlefield.

Goals and Motivations: To restore the old Alliance, the help the humans retake Lordaeron, to get vengeance on Arthas for the death of Muradin, and to retake Gnomeragon. More inwardly, to rekindle the old powers of the Dwarves from their past.

Recent History (at least since PoD, if canon): The history of the Dwarves is long and storied, the oldest records going back two thousand years. However, one could perhaps argue the most recent conflicts are the most prevalent. No other time in Khaz Modan's long annals had it ever been conquered, even if only on the surface level, and yet the immense Horde of Orgrim Doomhammer managed to hold most of the unoccupied land the Ironforge Dwarves held.

Once Khaz Modan was retaken and Grim Batol was purged of the Orc and Dragon menace, the Dwarves began to reforge their Kingdom. Over the next few years, the Dwarves rebuilt their strength, and by the time of the Third Great War, the Dwarves sent their aid to Lordaeron, and had already send colonists to Norththrend for expansion and colonization. A new cultural goal had developed, prompting not just forging and warfare buit excavation and archaeology of the Dwarves storied history.

Following the Scourge's invasion, the Dwarves lost contact with their colony in Northrend and Muradin Bronzebeard, the King's brother, presumed dead. The Dwarves sent to Lordaeron were also decimated as the human population was, and a Trogg invasion of Gnomeragon has ravaged their close cousins, the Gnomes. Magni Bronzebeard and his coincil have risen in wrath, and the last four years Khaz Modan has been mobilizing for vengeance and war.

Key Players: Magni Bronzebeard (King), Brann Bronzebeard (Explorer/King's Brother) High Priest Gheradin (Priest), Thargas Anvilmar (Senator/Warrior), Khargos Gildenhalls (Senator/Merchant), Brawner Mountainrunner (Scout Captain).

King Magni

Name: Magni Bronzebeard, High Thane of Ironforge and King of Khaz Modan

Faction (if applicable): Ironforge Dwarves

Rank/Role: King/High Thane

Appearance: A heavily muscled and large dwarf, clad in a resplendent crimson cape and a magically enchanted and gilded, masterfully crafted plate armor. True to the name of his clan, his beard is reddish brown and thick, cuffed with gold and styled immaculately. Wearing a crown of gold with a red diamond at its center, his blue eyes are steeled and his hands generally grasp his two, huge, runic hammers imbued with various blessings and runes of buffing and damage.

Personality: Magni is charismatic and a fine, albeit spur-of-the-moment orator, he has a strong will and powerful opinions. He cares deeply for his people and the honor of his clan, and tries his best to balance his cares between them. He has worn the kingly mask so many years, he only really shows his dry wit and doubts in rare instances in private.

Biography (at least since PoD, if canon): Having been King of Khaz Modan since the Second War, where he led his dwarven fighters into combat personally and slew many Orcs, Magni shares in the toils of his brethren with typical dwarven stoicism. He led the defense of his homeland and kept the Orcs at bay for years, enduring orc axes and dragon flames.

With charisma, he renewed the dwarven spirit and relit the forges and reestablished trade with the outside world once the horde had been routed. For many years he played an administrative role, but the Third Great War reared its head, Magni did not hesitate.

Sending mortars and gyrocopters to Lordaeron for aid in its defense, he mobilized his forces to guard the passes and hold off the restless dead to keep the passes open for refugees. At some point during the war, Magni had to take part in the fighting himself and fought alongside Chen Stormstout, a panderan brewmaster. The two became fast friends.

Near the end of the war, he received news of his brother's death and the betrayal of Arthas, as well as the news their northern colony was decimated. He went to the council and gave an impassioned speech, prompting them to mobilize their forces not only for a defense, but a full northward assault. Unfortunately, the Troggs arriving and attacking their Gnomish allies have slowed them down far more than Magni would like, he is patient and dangerous. He already sent a charter and another group of tough dwarves with fighting experience to travel to northrend again and reestablish a base there.

His latest activity, other than the soon-to-be-enacted plan to route the Troggs, is to send twelve hundred dwarven soldiers to the aid the Scarlet Crusade under Thargas Anvilhammer, as well as three hundred priests and paladins under the watchful eyes of Gheradin, the High Priest of Ironforge.

Powers and other Abilities:

• Powerful and skilled in close combat.
• Able to throw his hammers great distances.
• Is tough and armored.
• Can break stone and cause shockwaves.
• Has the avatar state, increasing his strength, toughness, and size.

Fortune & Glory: Grimdark Pulp RP

Beren trekked down a low slope into a gully, distastefully noticing the sloshing muck at its center. Vainly he tried to keep his feet out of the soup of ice and mud, but he just thanked God he wore high boots, tightly tied. Finding a rock, he planted a foot on it and launched himself nimbly across the expanse before clambering up the next slope, grabbing a root as a hand-hold. He felt small bits of pressure upon his jacket sleeve as gnarled twigs and limbs groped at his form, leaves getting tangled in his thick mane of dark hair.

He almost laughed, at a rare moment of self awareness. Nothing he ever did seemed to turn out simply. Khardos asking a boon of him to visit a gravesight should have been easy, even with the dangers of the Marches in mind. Instead, here he was, having survived a myriad of dangers only to have pissed off a skilled mercenary company wanting his head, and to top it all off, he had to find Jocasta. He prayed she was safe, but if the tremendous roar from earlier was any indication, there was more than Dead Lions lurking the brush.

Hauling himself up, he crouched on the hard earth, momentarily cloaked by the brambles. He could have sworn he heard something, his form freezing as surely as the mountain stone, save for his searching, dark eyes. Green, brown, white, and grey filled his vision, but still a sound grew louder. Suddenly the grey began to shift and move, and he looked down the next gully to see a pale, iron colored mass of a shape ascending out of it. Vaguely man-shaped with simian proportions and a grotesque face of primitive countenance, he recognized it as a troll, and as it rose two things became evident.

It was a head taller than most of its foul kin, and to Beren's horror, Jocasta's limp form was in its grasp.

He felt a weird sense of despair and confusion. If Jocasta was dead, he knew he still had to do what he was bid. It changed his mission little, and he had lost friends before. In normal circumstances he would go after the troll and bury his friend properly or die in the attempt. But he didn't feel rage at the moment, just weakness. it felt different than losing a normal companion, but the same pain was still there. He closed his eyes and breathed in slowly through his nose, centering himself. Once he opened his eyes again, they shined like polished brass. He had never slain an Arch-Troll, but troll-slaying was a known skill amongst Dwarven-kind, and he had been taught by some of the best.

He followed Qwarath to its lair.

---

Jocasta's world would come back gradually, and save for the aching in her torso and the pins and needles of sleeping limbs, she was alive and relatively fine. Her first sensation was the hard floor of stone she lay upon, and the awkward angle of her back. She had been placed down on a cavern floor scattered with bones, some rabbit and others that could be from other trolls. A pale light shined in from above, in some carved opening that shined just on Jocasta's spot. As she looked around, she saw skaldic statues of bearded men gazing at her with judgemental visages and painted like they bore the trappings of old thanes.

The cavern was ruined and broken, rubble and stones piled as if some great calamity had passed through it. But it once certainly was made by skilled hands. Right angles teased at her vision and pillars rose to frame the rough chamber she found herself in. The floor her fingers pressed against still had the creases of tiles. The light kissing her skin wasn't warm, but the wind and cold of the outside world was somewhat buffered from the shelter.

Behind her loomed a great form, raising up from the shadows. As she felt its presence, it smiled. It's mouth was wider than a man's of similar proportions would be, and it made use of that fact to give an unsettling grin.

"You tell..."

---

Beren had tracked the beast for the good part of two hours, and as he did so he found Qwarath shielding Jocasta's limp form from anything that might kill her like jagged trees or sharp stones. The thing wouldn't do that if she were dead, and it lent strength to his limbs and gave him a hope he had nearly forgotten. At the edge of a thick expanse of trees, a great tor lifted out of the ground with an open maw large enough to accommodate a troll's bulk. The land had reclaimed what it has once been, and he might have missed it had Beren seen the location from anywhere save the face of the cavern. An old spear lay sticking out of the ground with a weathered cloth whipping in the wind just beside it. Qwarath lumbered in with its squat legs.

He counted to thirty, and then followed the arch-troll within, thankful for the lack of wind but heightened in anxiety from the tight quarters. The tunnel was low for a troll but comfortable for one of man height, gradually opening up to a wider cave with overturned tables of stone and statues of old figures of heroic legend. To his surprise, the walls still had remnants of a wooden construction, though now there was just as much stone as timber. A wash-bin reinforced with iron was shattered and overturned, now rotting from the long years.

Beren found a broken stairway at the lip of the tunnel, leading into a large chamber. He didn't trust it, and so took the slope to the left, sliding down the incline as silently as he could as the troll grunted and spoke to itself in a guttural tongue. Beren's slide was halted by a large stone he caught, and then he rolled behind an overturned table, getting to his feet and peering out to see Qwarath having placed Jocasta on a pedestal in the midst of a gloomy light from above.

His throat tightened when he saw Jocasta stirring, and he felt an elation he hadn't expected.

"You tell..." Qwarath said wickedly, a green light in its eyes. She gave a guilty smiled, and then tried to bolt a moment later. It caged Jocasta from scrambling away with its massive arm, bear-like claws hitting the ground just beyond where she crawled to, keeping her there like a cage door shutting. The only luck in that act was Jocasta glancing between the clawed fingers and seeing Beren's face in the distance, placing a finger to his lips. He gave her a wink, and slid back behind the table.