Ulin’s self-doubt turned to annoyance, which again brought forth reluctant anger. The Wayfarer directed them like pawns on the khas board. Did he even care about Sir Daevan’s sacrifice? Did he care that new players shuffled in and out of his control like dice in a thieves den? That was it, a last straw. And now two more players to the game, much like he, snatched out of time and space. A temper known only to a Majere assailed the sorcerer.
“And so, is that it,” he asked, lips curled in a sneer. “Just like that, life and death is juggled about for some plan that seems to elude even me.”
“Yes, he is indeed powerful,” Ulin quipped, looking toward the gryphon rider. “A master of magic, altering the course of the River of Time in simplicity, as if drinking Tarbean tea. Easy enough, right?”
“I say no, Wayfarer! No more missions until we know the truth of this whole affair!”
Hurt and feeling alone, lost from any semblance of familiarity, Ulin needed assurance.
Last edited by rogue; 05-16-2013 at 09:12 PM.
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