- Messages
- 15
- Character Biography
- Link
Vaezhasar watched the white sheet wriggle and wheedle with the indulgent patience of a naturalist observing a curious but unlovely grub. With careful leisure he angled the horn of his staff beneath the hem, gave a deft upward flick, and hoisted the drapery like a theater curtain.
“Observe, Jack—nary a pock nor patch in sight,” he announced, the amusement in his voice as poorly veiled as Pomrick now was.
Then, with the air of a man about to puncture an overripe melon, he extended a gauntleted finger and pressed it lightly into Pomrick’s cheek—testing the texture, as though confirming that the man before him was indeed flesh, and not some errant illusion wrapped in damp laundry.
“And you, my moon-calf in motley, fair crackle with sorcerous mote—petty ones, true, but present nonetheless.”
"Now. Tell me plainly who you are and what you want. Be honest. Painfully so, if you must. If you lie, or stammer, or hedge—" here he lifted the staff a hair’s breadth higher, as if to illustrate the point, "—I’ll see to it you spend the remainder of your day, your last day, that is, hovering upside-down while my friend over there performs a hasty castration with whatever blade is closest to hand. Possibly rusty."
He paused, then added in a tone of polite detachment, "You’ll be quite surprised how quickly the body empties through such a small aperture."
“Observe, Jack—nary a pock nor patch in sight,” he announced, the amusement in his voice as poorly veiled as Pomrick now was.
Then, with the air of a man about to puncture an overripe melon, he extended a gauntleted finger and pressed it lightly into Pomrick’s cheek—testing the texture, as though confirming that the man before him was indeed flesh, and not some errant illusion wrapped in damp laundry.
“And you, my moon-calf in motley, fair crackle with sorcerous mote—petty ones, true, but present nonetheless.”
"Now. Tell me plainly who you are and what you want. Be honest. Painfully so, if you must. If you lie, or stammer, or hedge—" here he lifted the staff a hair’s breadth higher, as if to illustrate the point, "—I’ll see to it you spend the remainder of your day, your last day, that is, hovering upside-down while my friend over there performs a hasty castration with whatever blade is closest to hand. Possibly rusty."
He paused, then added in a tone of polite detachment, "You’ll be quite surprised how quickly the body empties through such a small aperture."