Rolled 8, 18, 6 = 32 (3d20)
>>5808408>>5808431>>5808435>>5808541>>5808558>>5808561You cursed yourself for not expecting that a goblin, of all beings, would haggle for more rather than granting a favour. In truth, you couldn’t necessarily blame Zith-Zi. She lived resplendently among this camp, by some right or another… But resplendence was relative. She dwelt in a tent, her throne a human’s footstool, her hall carpeted with sandy rug. She was… Well, fetching in a fierce sort of way, but you reminded herself than she was ten years younger than you—closer in age to Pearce or Izirina Henzler—and yet the lines upon her face and the hardness in her eyes made her look far older, even without wrinkles. You could not help but perceive her as your elder.
Maybe riches, then? Goblins were a greedy folk, ‘green with envy’ as the saying went. They always hungered for more! Or maybe simply STABILITY, a promise of a life far from this harsh world which she was born and bred in, and access to the wonders of that ‘shining city of the hill’ which you called home?
But Zith-Zi rejected the notion of selling her chimera-drake. She spat words like ‘society’ and ‘civilization’ like curses. By her implication, her mother lived elsewhere, and did not travel far—a sedentary and stable life was not beyond her means.
In your cunning, you deduced that she CHOSE this life, though you could not say why she would do so. But then, why were YOU out there, in ‘her’ Goblin Wastes? Maybe there was commonality there, you reasoned, buried deep in the dunes of your differences. And if there was commonality, then you had to think of what YOU valued, not of what some theoretical ur-goblin might value.
“Magic,” you said.
[Rolling Sociability/Sense Motive]
