Re: Part 59b - Unicorn's Wrath
Aaron squeezes into the confines of the narrow space between the stacks of crates, where more crates and boxes serve as a table and crude seats. Peyt sits on his left, the mute, Dovan, on his right, and the smaller man, Lenn, is positioned directly opposite.
"So, Aaron, yer say yer not from roun' 'ere, then?" Peyt drags a pack of cards from his pocket, placing them on the makeshift table, where a candle a lantern already sits, along with some cheese, half a loaf, and a bottle of... something clear.
"So... d'yer know 'ow ter play Blind Pig? If'n yer don't, we can teach yer, it's easy enuff."
And so the game begins...
While Aaron enjoys the simple comforts provided by the hiding place of some of the dock workers, Tahirah is hard at work. Energies writhe and slither through the air, flickering out from her oustretched hand to describe evanescent forms forms in the air, burning with an odd, eldritch light, which seems to drip from the runes and sigils, to boil away as it touches the surface of the dock.
The display is spectacular enough that Jer and Will step out of their, admittedly scant, shelter, so that they can get a closer look. They lean into the howling gale, their heavy cloaks fluttering like the wings of frantic moths as they watch, open mouthed.
They aren't even complaining any more.
Along the dock, something has changed. There seems to be a space where the wind has dropped, even as it still screams everywhere else. Wood bends and flexes, as canvas rips under the weight of water it holds. Cables seem to move like serpents, and the mast is pulled, slowly but surely, back into position...
Jagged wood knots itself, interlacing tighter and tighter, binding the halves of the mast together...