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| Rosemarri
Rosemarri
♀️
[1500238]
[2005-03-17 15:17:08 +0000 UTC]
"Ame-chan"
(United States)
# Statistics
Favourites: 1312; Deviations: 151; Watchers: 33
Watching: 41; Pageviews: 11389; Comments Made: 2412; Friends: 41
# Interests
Favorite movies: Lord of the Rings, all threeFavorite bands / musical artists: Too many, but right now favoring Breaking Benjamin
Favorite writers: Way too many. At the moment, favoring David Eddings, Brandon Sanderson
Favorite games: At the moment: Portal, Amnesia: the Dark Descent, Dragon Age Origins
Tools of the Trade: Good old-fashioned mechanical pencil.
Other Interests: Writing and Drawing
# About me
RAWR.Current Residence: Chocolate City, Utah
Favourite genre of music: All exept rap
Personal Quote: The epicness!
# Comments
Comments: 710
Ooh ooh a leprechaun! Ok. Now I have something to kind of go off of. Now I just need to pick a good counterpart to practice with...
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[link] be what he look like. [link] and [link] are examples of his work.
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Hokay! M is awesome. Love the relatively huge sword and the pipes. 
A lone figure scuttled through the scattered rainfall, following a faint path running across the plain, headed for the woods. Grass rustled in the wind; the light illuminated the long strands of grass lying across the little path, trampled in the half-dry mud. He was shrouded in an enveloping cloak and bog hood, and carried with him a large, clinking satchel. The figure was apparently trying to move stealthily, with unpracticed, clumsy steps. His heavy bag giving off tempting clinking noises with every step really wasn't helping.
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A light set of footfalls danced against the ground and smoke like a signal fire billowed through the grass- or like a miniature locomotive. It steadily approached the sneak.
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The heavily shrouded figure spotted the smoke and immediatly became alarmed, unsure as to what was causing the strange anomaly. After a moments frozen hesitation, he was off and running, clutching the clunking and clanking back to his chest. He kept turning to look back, jerking back his hood to see better.
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The oversized barrel of an ancient and archaic pistol visibly cleared the grass and fired at him.
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The sound of the shot froze the runner in fear just long enough for him to get hit by the bullet. Releasing a rather high pitched scream of pain, he tumbled into the grass to the dull tinkling sound of shiny metal trinkets and coins spilling onto the earth. Blood pumped from the wound high on his left shoulder, but his shaking hands scrabbled for the scattered treasures, his hard, fast breathing tinged with a high, whistling note of panic.
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The pistol vanished into the brush again, a blur of green and orange dashing briefly into view at the edge of his peripherals, then resolving into a long metal blade resting against his neck. "Ye can't be runnin' now, laddie. Oi got questions for ee."
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No no no! Bad send button, bad! Ignore that, please.
The man froze, quivering under the blade. One hand was still outstretched over the gold and silver baubles, and it visibly trembled. Trying and failing to swallow, he turned his head ever so slightly to face the one with the heavy accent. As he did, the long hood he wore slipped back to reveal his face, drawn with fear and pain. He was a young man, looking not a day over eighteen. A mess of thick, dark hair that looked like it had previously been neatly brushed back before his tumble, now hung over his eyes. Eyes of a peculiar color, looking almost luminous in the moonlight. They were a pale, pale lavender, like the shade of the first petals a lilac flower ever grew, interrupted by violet flecks.
To anyone who knew the traditions and customs of his home world, the boy's light eye color would be like a birth certificate, proclaiming his high birth. Such a light and rare color signified that he was very high-born indeed.
"Q-questions?" The lad asked tremulously. "What questions?"
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"Fer starters- where th' bluddy blue blazes be oi?" the little man in green asked, "An' why would ye be runnin, hm?"
deviantART muro drawing
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OOC:I can't quite figure out what that drawing is...
"Y-you're in the countryside surrounding the great city Elithasadir," he said, as if that was answer enough. "And I was running because you were chasing me."
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And that is why I don't draw. 👍: 0 ⏩: 1
Oooh, I though it was like a map or something. Sorry.
The young man shifted to put a protective arm over the glittering pile. "They're mine," he said.
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Still shivering under the ice cold touch of the small man's steel, the youth swallowed as his eyes darted about. "I took them from my house," he said. "They all belong to me." During the last sentence he spoke, his voice took on a whining quality that grated the nerves. Blood still slowly leaked from the hole in his shoulder.
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"That's better. What're ye runnin' from, an' if oi stop to patchee soes ye don' run dry afore oi'm done wit th' askin's, ye taint to run, eh? Y'know oi'd getcha."
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The young man didn't even think it over. "I know you'd get me," he agreed, mollified slightly by the strangers offer to patch him. "I'm running from my father."
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The Leprechaun withdrew the lethal objects and started pouring salted alcohol into the wound, then healing potions when the odd stinging mix had cleaned them. he finally tied a strip of cloth. "Bullet went roight through, so yer lucky there. Don' likes home life, then, young noble?"
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The youth winced and ouched and moaned through the whole process, sitting crosslegged in the long grass. With his good arm, he reached out and picked up the spilled objects, carefully placing them back in his bag. "My home life is fine. It's just that my father wants to marry me off to Yessinia, eldest daughter of the Lohrna family. A family of powerful merchants, selling rich clothing." His face screwed up as his wound, and memories, stung.
"My family, the De'Lisles, are the most successful cloth merchants in Elithasadir. Our workers make the fabric, their workers make clothing and things out of it. A merging between our families would be very profitable. But..." he trailed off, rubbing his thumb over a small golden spoon before tossing it in his bag. "Yessinia is beautiful. But ugly. I don't want her as my wife."
He suddenly twisted slightly to get a better look at the Leprechaun. "And you? What are you doing out here?"
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The Leprechaun cleaned his tools and loaded his gun. "T' be truthful? Oi been wishin oi knew that meself. Got sent t deal wit a gang of forty thieves inna desert, donchaknow, but then there were a flash and oi was in a branchy-borough forest wit tall grass and only one. No offense."
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The noble's slight glare indicated that there was indeed, some offense. But his curiosity - and skeptisism - over the Leprechauns story stayed his coarse remark. His pale eyes wandered over the green clothing, the red hair, the pipes. He briefly wondered how the little man could speak around so many smoking stems. He smoothed back his hair with his good hand, the other held limply in his lap. "What are you called?" he asked. "And where are you from? And what is a... desert?"
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M took a moment to dexterously switch the three about and puff, then doffed his hat. "M' home be the Lands of Ire, though oi've kin in King Scott's Land. He be a peacemakin Leprechaun- my kin taint that fond o him. Wars 're our business. As fer a desert," he answered, "Tis a barren stretch o land- no greens, or few enou'. And little rain. Could be an ice field, could be a loch drie, could be th' hills of sand in blazin' heat."
He replaced his hat and eyed one of the pipes, then removed it, dumped the contents, refilled, and lit it carefully before reinserting it. "M' title's Masque- M."
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The youth's look of confusion grew with every word. "Masque M? Lands of Ire? Scott's Land? Ice field? I've never heard of such places. There is supposed to be nothing beyond this valley." He pointed up at the far peak that loomed over them, casting it's shadow across the trees. "Beyond those mountains is nothing, a 'desert', like you say. We call it the Wasteland, the Forbidden. Nothing, as far as the eye can see. Are you from beyond...? Or are you just pulling my leg, Masque M?" His eyes took on a suspicious cast, and he held his bag of precious things closer to his chest.
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"Nothin' beyond this valley, hm? 'n wher'ed ye be runnin to, then? An' oi am, methinks."
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The boy pointed to the mountain. "There's a village at the base of that mountain. Small, secluded. Very few people know about it. I'm going to hide there until my father sees sense."
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M was struck with an odd thought. "Beggin yer pardon, but wot world be this?"
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*snicker* Apparently poor M has landed himself on a world not part of his Worlds.
The youth stood up, his expression angry. "World? This is the only world! This is the world!" He threw his good arm out, taking in the whole valley. "This is the only place anyone has ever known. Now I know you're pulling my leg. There are no other worlds! You're crazy!"
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The leprechaun slipped his hand into the bag of valuables. "Boyo, ye ever seen a crazy do this?"
He removed the pipes, bit the gold coin retrieved, and chewed it like soft tobacco. He stared unblinkingly the whole time, then swallowed the metal morass and reinserted his pipes carefully. "Oi taint from round these parts."
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The young noble's mouth dropped open into an 'o' of surprise and disbelief. "You... you ate..." he stuttered, seeming to have trouble breathing. Suddenly, a dark purple light flushed his face. He turned to look at the large, second moon that was rising over the mountain, larger than the white one already shining. "Vis is rising," he muttered to himself, raising a hand to his wound. "I can't believe you ate my gold!" he said indignantly.
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"Oi can't believe hoo quick yer switch from claimin 'can't be done' to blamin' 'did it', all a ye tall folk," M retorted back, "show ye somethin' ye n'er seen before an ye get all huffed and violentlike! 'ope ye didn't act that way findin what was under a skirt, me lad."
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After a blink of shock, the young man's face turned bright scarlet as he gaped for some kind of retort. The reaction was enough to know that he had not yet found what was under a skirt at all.
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M slowly removed his hat and put out his pipe, humming a funeral tone. "Ye aint lived, boyo. Ye aint lived."
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After making a strangled noise in reply, the lad sat back, gently touching his shoulder, and holding his bag of gold close. His face was still flushed as he tried to get to his feet without using his arms, muttering to himself about women and strange little lecherous men.
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M briskly replaced his items and started heading the other way. "Th' mountains be WHICH way?"
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The boy frowned. "Why do you want to go to the mountains?"
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"Because," M explained patiently, "Whar there's mountains, there's caves. And where there's caves, there's Drow. An' where there's Drow, there's Portals..."
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The young man blinked, reaching up to swipe back some strands of hair that had fallen in his eyes. "Drow? What are Drow?"
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"Evil Elfies," M said grimly, "Ne'er ye MIND them. M' problem, gettin' home."
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The noble threw his arms up in the air in frustration, then winced and grabbed his injured shoulder. "What are you talking about?" he asked in a flinty tone, trying to make up for how silly he must look, hurting himself. "There are no such things."
OOC: Just a note... there could be Drow in the caves. The people in the city he comes from are a pigheaded bunch, utterly convinced that their city and valley is the center of the world, that there is nothing but it. They have never bothered with official exploring. People who leave never return... for one reason or another.
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M raised an eyebrow slowly and continued.
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The boy watched him go, and looked around the dark clearing. Several unpleasant sounding noises issued from the crooked trees, and the brighter light from the violet moon Vis threw even darker shadows than there were before it rose. He shifted uncomfortably, and his feet began following M without thinking, his pack clanking with every step.
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The Leprechaun snickered, then reached into a satchel and tossed the young man a torch and a cigar, adjusting his own pipes. "Loight anna loight, mhm. Scare up a way to cease the jinglin though iffen yer can, though- makes'ee an easier target."
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He didn't catch the torch or cigar, having dismal reflexes and both arms occupied. He grumbled and bent to pick up the torch, dropping his bag with a loud clatter. The cigar was lost in the darkness, and he shuffled about, cursing under his breath and making lots of noise.
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The Leprechaun swore under his breath and twirled one of the pipes, dropping a brazing heap of smokestuffs into the grass. It blazed like a bonfire not two seconds later. "Th' noise'll kill ye if this be anyplace loik home. Fire'll help. Find th' cigar, loight the torch, n MOVE!"
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The boy's face flushed as he scrambled to find the cigar and light the torch by the light of the brushfire.
A few agonizing minutes later, after much clanking and cursing, the lad had the strap of his bag over his uninjured shoulder, the torch lit and held in his good hand, the cigar in his other. That arm was being gingerly held close to his side, and his disconcertingly pale eyes watched the Leprechaun for a sign of approval.
Over all the noise he had been making, it wasn't easy to hear the noises of the night. But in that moment of silence just after he had settled himself, they heard an exhalation of breath. It had a slight 'wuff' sound to it, a breathy, low growl, like a dogs breath. The boy found himself hoping he had imagined it, that it was just the crackle and whoosh of the fire; but half and instant after that thought, his eyes settled on the tall grass beyond M, where he saw two glowing points of light the color of dragonfly wings. His own eyes widened marginally. Something was out there, waiting for the fire to dim.
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M waved the boy to his side. "Yer not suich a bad sort, boyo. Little clumsy, naive, brainwashed, bit stupid. But yer brave enou'. An' ye'll learn."
He lit the cigar, drew the pistol, aimed carefully one handed, handed the cigar back to the boy, blew a smoke ring series with the two pipes still lit... and fired dead between the eyes. "Yer gon' be wurth the toime to try to teach, oi'll warrent. Ye got any weapons, laddie?"
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He wasn't quite sure how to react to this.
Finally, after wrestling with himself, he decided to just go with it and answer the Leprechauns question.
"No," he muttered.
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M reloaded his pistol and carefully selected a pair of knives off his belt, then handed them over. "Ye do now. Be good t' those- special, they be."
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He took the knives in one hand, after moving the cigar to the hand holding the torch too. He held them gingerly, not sure of what to do with them. "Uhm..."
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