57 Crystals, again. It always comes down to crystals, doesn’t it?
Naturally, Ringabel has taken the keenest interest in the local manufacture of memory crystals - idly playing with a more familiar example of the craft in the form of his Black Magi’s Asterisk, rolling it between his fingertips in one hand while updating his journal with the others. The local ‘espers,’ as the sorcerers here are called, practice a form of battle magic that he can fake with the aid of that Asterisk.
And from the hue and cries of ‘Ambush!!’ coming from outside the austrech-drawn caravansary wagon, he’ll have to. With a theatrical sigh, he closes the journal with its ornate silver “D” monogram and exits the wagon.
Brigands, it seems. Two with crystalline spears and metal armor, one adorned in pendants and fetishes and a staff. Troublesome. Ringabel hangs the Asterisk from his neck, touching his skin, and spreads his fingers so the lightning can arc between them and from them. Thunderbolts for the armored dragoons, he thinks, and as for the psion...
“Assistance would be most welcome, if it’s forthcoming,” he says to any Travellers or, indeed, capable natives.
58
Ringabel regards the green-haired, eight inch tall faerie with an appraising eye and a sinking feeling in his stomach. Still, he bows greetings, then extends a finger for her to land on.
“These fine fellows call me Ringabel,” he says. “Who have I the pleasure to behold, milady fairy?”
”Your spirit guide, o Champion of Memory,” she says, curtsying upon his fingernail. ”My name is the Lady Cognita, but you may call me Terra.”
“Of course it is,” Ringabel replies, sighing. “A pleasure to meet such a lovely vision as you, Terra... but to call me a Champion of Memory is a jest in poor taste.”
He turns to his companions. “Tell me, friends. Was this ‘Questing Country’ so steeped in irony the last time you dreamed of it?”
Ringabel // Bravely Default
Crystals, again. It always comes down to crystals, doesn’t it?
Naturally, Ringabel has taken the keenest interest in the local manufacture of memory crystals - idly playing with a more familiar example of the craft in the form of his Black Magi’s Asterisk, rolling it between his fingertips in one hand while updating his journal with the others. The local ‘espers,’ as the sorcerers here are called, practice a form of battle magic that he can fake with the aid of that Asterisk.
And from the hue and cries of ‘Ambush!!’ coming from outside the austrech-drawn caravansary wagon, he’ll have to. With a theatrical sigh, he closes the journal with its ornate silver “D” monogram and exits the wagon.
Brigands, it seems. Two with crystalline spears and metal armor, one adorned in pendants and fetishes and a staff. Troublesome. Ringabel hangs the Asterisk from his neck, touching his skin, and spreads his fingers so the lightning can arc between them and from them. Thunderbolts for the armored dragoons, he thinks, and as for the psion...
“Assistance would be most welcome, if it’s forthcoming,” he says to any Travellers or, indeed, capable natives.
58
Ringabel regards the green-haired, eight inch tall faerie with an appraising eye and a sinking feeling in his stomach. Still, he bows greetings, then extends a finger for her to land on.
“These fine fellows call me Ringabel,” he says. “Who have I the pleasure to behold, milady fairy?”
”Your spirit guide, o Champion of Memory,” she says, curtsying upon his fingernail. ”My name is the Lady Cognita, but you may call me Terra.”
“Of course it is,” Ringabel replies, sighing. “A pleasure to meet such a lovely vision as you, Terra... but to call me a Champion of Memory is a jest in poor taste.”
He turns to his companions. “Tell me, friends. Was this ‘Questing Country’ so steeped in irony the last time you dreamed of it?”