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!b0vpMZLBb6 02/04/12(Sat)01:11 No.17798244 File1328335912.jpg-(37 KB, 500x707, 1328159509999.jpg)
>My name is Westing. West for short.
"I see. And...?"
>No preference.
"Very well. My scribe will carry you and care for you until we find a suitable applicant." he says, walking out of the room with the Paladin, who is carrying the corpse. A young woman approaches, clothed in red. Her eyes are very striking. Her figure is modest, hidden in her voluminous robes. The hood is up.
"Professor, are you insane? You could have been killed!"
"But I was not, scribe Ceran."
"But, even so-"
"The weapon will join us. You are to see to him during this time. Please make certain he is happy and comfortable."
"Yes, sir. How long until we find a proper applicant?"
"It could be days, scribe. but first, I must let the College know of this success. The notes?"
"Yes sir." she says, handing the proffessor a set of notations. Meanwhile, you end up in her hands - small, delicate, and soft, nothing like the professor's time-worn, callused hands. He wanders off. "I swear, that old fool will get himself killed..." she mutters. "Well then, uh... Mister, er, Musket-thing. Any requests before we head home? You fellows are always so curious, so you might want to ask all your questions before you end up in the hands of an army type." |