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You can practically <span class="mu-i">hear</span> Tzah-Tzie dying to open her mouth, but you give the girl a reassuring pat on the head before giving the craftsman an answer.
Without giving away too much, you begin in a measured tone, a close associate of yours is going after someone powerful… and dangerous. Obber’s eyes bore into you–the white globes searching for a crack in your airtight composure!
<span class="mu-i">Very</span> dangerous. The Gnok twitches in his metal trap.
“This…. ‘<span class="mu-i">someone</span>’... they aren’t your run of the mill mage, are they?”
You answer with a stare. He weathers it pretty well for a time, but it only takes a minute or two for him to fold like a cheap tunic.
“Y’know,” Obber grunts as his ample weight shifts next to his workbench, “There are much, <span class="mu-i">MUCH</span> easier ways ta’ kill yerselves, y’know. Hells, I’m just about finished makin’ one–quick. Clean.”
“He won’t fail!”
You and Obber share a look of surprise as you turn to face your sister! Volka-
“ He <span class="mu-i">WON’T!</span>” She repeats as she and Tzah-Tzie firmly shake their heads in unison! “I don’t got any magical spells or divining orbs or anything like that, but I know he’ll do it! I can feel it right here!”
The Skog gives her chest a good pat, the sound bouncing around the workshop like the Crossroads Belltower at noon! Bending over to let TT whisper into her ear, Rezalith sends a determined glare Obber’s way!
“The Snack says our guy’s capable of anything: that he can move mountains. Part seas.” Her brow furrows. “But <span class="mu-i">I</span> know for a fact he <span class="mu-i">can’t</span>. He’s pitifully weak and cries a lot even when I barely even hurt him, so–”
The devil’s explanation is cut short when the Spinner <span class="mu-i">VIOLENTLY</span> yanks her back down to whispering level!
“... Oh. She meant he’s unstoppable and really good at not dying.” She shrugs. “I guess I’d agree with that… but my point still stands: he’s <span class="mu-i">really</span> pathetic.”
“Hmmm…” Obber muses as he weighs your collective words like bells on a scale, “And what’s stopping this ‘He’ from squealing like a Niiski if he <span class="mu-i">DOES</span> fail, ey? Lotsa’ folks here can make dead men tell tales, y’know.”
True, you remark as you give your chitin a thoughtful scratch, but how?
The Boilersmith answers with a derisive snort! “Magic, ya’ hooplehead! We’re in Umberal!”
Right, right, you nod, the same magic one of those bombs would deal with?
The Gnok opens his mouth to protest, but all that comes out is a weak, strangled sound that dies about halfway out! Gears turn behind the machinist’s wild eyes…
“... You aren’t messing about, are ya? You really believe the shit yer’ sayin…”
>CONTD.
