My charge is my bond

[angelmadeflesh]

Shy anon hands you an eevee

"Thank you?" Fin answers as he takes the strange fox-like creature. He's pretty sure he's never seen anything like it before, hopefully it'll eat what he has on hand until he can leave the city to set it free in a forest.

[angelmadeflesh]

halflingdeath​:

fenny58​:

Scorto blinks, looked towards Tomi, glanced back at the man who Tomi had hit with the snowball. And frowned unsure what was going on exactly. At least Tomi sounds happy, that’s good.

“Sorry” He said again, he glanced back at Tomi. Blinking more.

“My ears are not sharp….but don’t touch them.” He said after a second. And he’s not being serious he just didn’t want Tomi getting in trouble.

Scorto after a moment tried to smile looking at the man again.

“Would you like to play with us?” He asked softly a bit hopefully.

He’s confused by the man’s comment.

“Quick folk?” He asked, before glancing back at Tomi…wondering if Tomi understood what was being said. Was it another word for halfling?

This was about the point that Tomi stood once more, still clutching the icy missile in his fingers.

Tomi looked at the man. Then he looked at Scorto. Then the man again. A devious smile began to grow on the wily halfling’s face as he tossed the ball up and down in his right palm.

“Yeah! Come play and see how light these feet really are. Last one to deck the drow with a snowball is an owlbear’s uncle?” He wiggled his eyebrows at Scorto playfully, then sent his gaze back over to the stranger. “What say you, m'lord?”

Still wearing his neutral expression, Fin brings a hand to his chin, appearing to rub it pensively, then turns his head so as to appear to study the halfling, but in reality using the opportunity to wink the eye that only the drow can see. 

In the same even tones, he continues, “...the imprudence of challenging someone to a sport where having bigger hands--”

Fin drops into a crouch as the impassivity drops from his voice. He brings both hands together, scooping up a mound of snow between them, then in the same motion compacting it to a ball of approximately the size of the halfling’s head. The not at all compact improvised missile is already shedding when he shifts it into one hand.

“--grants a clear advantage!” Fin declares as he sends the big but loose snowball at the halfling.

[angelmadeflesh]

halflingdeath​:

fenny58​:

Scorto quietly watched for a minute, bitting his bottom lip nervously before stepping from his hiding spot. Moving to stand between the stranger and where he thought Tomi was.

“Sorry, it’s just a game….Tomi was trying to hit me again.”

At least he’s pretty sure Tomi had ment to hit him again. Not that he wanted to be hit again, but he didn’t want Tomi in trouble either.

“Sorry” He said softly, curling his toes in his boots.

“Bahahahahahh!” Tomi could not hold in his amusement any more than he could contain his mischievous spirit. He fell once more behind the bush and kicked his legs while in the throes of mirth. “I– you just– hahahahhhahah!” He rocked on his back and pointed with unrestrained glee at the stranger.

“You saw the look on his face, Scorto? And he–” the halfling snorted loudly and wiped away a tear, grinning from ear to ear.

“Er. Sorry bout that, eh m'lord? All in good fun!” Beaming still, he shifted to lay on his side and began to pat a clump of snow between his palms. “Come on, have a li'l giggle!”

Then he jerked his chin in Scorto’s direction and called, “You too, sharp-ears! C'maaaahn! Don’t look so serious now!”

The man’s gaze shifts between the two shorter individuals. 

“You know...,” he begins in even tones, his expression unreadable, “I would think that a member of the quick folk, with wits rumored to be as quick as their feet, would appreciate...”

[halflingdeath]

@fenny58

Tomi pitches a snowball at Scorto.

[fenny58-deactivated20240927]

Scorto scrambled back for a second, hands going for his knives before realizing it was a snowball that hit him.

Scorto shivers not liking the snow already on the ground, and definitely not on him....he looked up and blinks at Tomi.

He glanced down at the snow frowning slightly. He moved picking some up, he frowned more before making it into a ball. He glanced at Tomi again before throwing the snowball at him and moving to hide behind the closet tree he could find. He picked out, the snow wouldn't hurt Tomi if he'd hit him right?

[halflingdeath]

"Wuhp!!" yelped Tomi, ducking suddenly behind his hidey-hole bush. While his reflexes were quite fast, the snowball brushed the tips of his unruly hair as he dropped down to a squat. "That all you got?" he called back with all the bravado of a fool soon to have a face full of ice.

Idly sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, he hastily worked to scoop up a handful of snow and packed it into a firm ball. Like a gopher popping from a burrow he shot up, and slung his arm way back...

...Before tossing the ball high into the air...

...Directly into a passing stranger.

"Ah, shite."

@angelmadeflesh

[angelmadeflesh]

The snowball strikes with a muted “thump” against a heavy cloak. 

“I thought it was called ‘Neverwinter’,” Fin comments dryly as he shakes his cloak. Most of the snow falls off, but a smattering of white remains on the thick red fabric embroidered with soaring cranes. 

@fenny58

[fenny58-deactivated20240927]

Scorto hummed softly as he moved around the kitchen in the tavern. It's early, he's busy cooking breakfast, roasted ham over the fireplace he's been slowly turning it, along with stuffed mushrooms. And pie he's not sure what fruits in it exactly but it smells good cooking. And he'd made tea.

Scorto settled into a chair by the small table that serves as a brack room for the staff. And sips his cup of tea he'd made himself. The food smelled good. He wondered if anyone would be woken up by it, he looked at the door as he drank more tea.

[angelmadeflesh]

He’d risen when the sky began to lighten, and he’d watched it change from the sole east-facing window of his room. The splash of color on the horizon had pulled at his limbs like a puppet master pulling at strings, but all he’d offered was a twitch in response. To his mind had come unbidden the ancient lyrics with the first sliver of blinding light that broke the horizon, and he his body had begun to a choreography that had been long ago burnt into his very being.

He allows the motion until the well-worn hilt falls into his hand. The protruding bits of the fraying wrapping jolts as the weapon is suddenly secured at its owner’s hip. More items join the saber in garbing and adorning the long-haired man. The creak of the old inn’s door is followed by a final gaze into the room, one that is not cast into corners where possessions might’ve fallen, or over surfaces where garments might’ve laid. His arm is tense as he pulls the door shut, his steps rigid as he moves down the hall and then the stairs.

The entirety of the common area opens before him, and he nods slightly, his solemn expression softening at the cleanliness. He can hear the sounds of oil sizzling as it falls into flame, as well as smell the sweet juices of fruits mingling with enticing spices. He follows the scents and sounds to the kitchen, but stops politely at the door, tapping twice on the frame. A single eyebrow quirks when he sees the white hair, ebony skin and pointed ears, but he knows that he’s hardly one to judge about exotic characters in the city. Standing but two inches over five and a half feet, Fin is barely as tall as the average height of the northmen of the western continent. Although clad in attire befitting the average Faerûnian adventurer, one look at his face, more specifically at his thin, hooded eyes that look as though the sun was wherever he gazed and it would be immediately clear that this man belongs to a group of people who did not contribute much to the average of the region. Nonetheless, Shou enclaves are not exactly unheard of, but something about this man suggests that his origins are still elsewhere. Perhaps it’s his slightly pointed ears, or the hint of blue in his downcast eyes, or perhaps even the unusual scar on his left cheek. Far from being demure however, his lithe form is relaxed, with an easy air of confidence about his balanced posture as he patiently awaits the other individual to take notice of him.