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((Replacement Post No.20 to No.19, *Smooch*))


*Someday, somebody gives Borgate a smoochie to his cheek for several important informations.
To the knowing onlooker it might seem that little has changed.*

((Post No.28, Dunked))



Instead of preparing the flower decorations for the
Wine Festival, a Galmair Financier takes a deep dive
in the sewers.

Half an hour later she can be seen wandering
into the Nameless Mountains only wearing underpants,
carrying her bundle of soaken clothes.

No one sees nor hears the secret knocking sign to the
entrance of the burrows.

The whole night she is scrubbed by her orc kitchenmaid
with different soaps and alternating showers of vinegar.
Her hands are clutching an imaginary throat the whole time,
as she mutters:

„This is the last time...the last time…
this indecent… the last time…
eh cows an`en this...
this impertinent… the last time…
this… this… this…
the last time…
first`eh cows an`en this…
this...this...this..“

The orcish kitchenmaid smirks the whole night.
The daughters giggle in the main hall,
making flower sketches,
playing dice,
smoking.
The whole night.

The youngest son washes her robes with a frown.
The whole night.

((No.94, Thready_Grey_Robe))

The fresh seams holding the skin and muscle were pounding hot in pain.
They yet had managed to stitch her up in the kitchen and give her an inblow,
before the attack started and they had to hide.
She thought of her eldest one in the dark, beeing scheduled to messenging,
the cold, streaming sewer waters passing by, trying to carry more of the warmth away with it.
Some of the younger ones clung to her, all silent until one whispered.
„The black snake must proove now.“
„Yes, he will proove now.“

~~~* ~~~* ~~~* ~~~* ~~~* ~~~* ~~~* ~~~* ~~*~~ *~~~ *~~~ *~~~ *~~~ *~~~ *~~~ *~~~ *~~~

Die neuen Nähte, welche die Haut und Muskeln hielten, pochten heiß in Schmerz.
Sie hatten es doch geschafft sie in der Küche zusammenzuflicken, und ihr eine Einblasung zu geben,
vor dem Beginn des Angriffes, und bevor sie sich verstecken mussten.
Sie dachte an ihre Älteste, in der Dunkelheit, welche auf Botendienst eingeteilt war,
das kalte, strömende Wasser, vorbeiströmend, in dem Versuch mehr von der Wärme mit sich zu nehmen.
Einige der Jüngeren hingen an ihr, ganz stumm, bis eine flüsterte.
„Die schwarze Schlange muss sich jetzt bewähren.“
„Ja, er wird sich jetzt bewähren.“







((No.94, Thready_Grey_Robe_2;))

Finally the sun rises again for those above.
Griefing sounds may be heard echoing in the sewers.
The same small one whispers again.
„And in the end he will betray us?“
„Yes, he is going to betray us.“
„Because it is in his nature? Like newt and scorpion?“
„Yes, like newt and scorpion.“
„And can there be resistance to the voice? Like newt is immune?“
„No, unless it is in the magic.“


~~~* ~~~* ~~~* ~~~* ~~~* ~~~* ~~~* ~~~* ~~*~~ *~~~ *~~~ *~~~ *~~~ *~~~ *~~~ *~~~ *~~~

Letzlich geht wieder die Sonne auf, für jene an der Oberfläche.
Das Echo klangender Töne kann in den Kanälen gehört werden.
Die selbe Kleine flüstert wieder.
„Und am Ende wird er uns verraten?“
„Ja, er wird uns verraten.“
„Weil es in seiner Natur liegt? So wie Molch und Skorpion?“
„Ja, wie Molch und Skorpion.“
„Und kann es Widerstand gegen die Stimme geben? So wie Molch immun ist?“
„Nein, es sei denn es ist in der Magie.“