I have no idea how it was that one minute I was typing 90 mistakes a minute, then the next I was standing among a group of familiar strangers, all wearing really COOL medieval fantasy clothing and armor. I myself was wearing a brown leather ensemble with a light, rust-colored cape and bronze greaves and epaulettes. ((See self portrait on The Realm- shameless plug)) I hate it when people change my clothes and don't tell me!
That's when I saw this little guy in red aim a loaded finger at one of the other peole in the group, and zap! She was suddenly armed with a dangerous-looking lute. Now how the heck did he do that, and where did he come from in the first place?
And why was he looking at me like that?
"Bit of a berzerker, I'd say" he mused, and he turned his magic on me. After one bolt of lightning, I realized there was a double-edged sword haning in a scabbard off my belt. Well, that wasn't too bad, I guess. Except, he wasn't quite done. "But," he continued, "a Highland warrior through and through."
Oh, help! I tried to dodge, but my left shoulder was struck by the next bolt, and, unharmed, I stared dumbfounded at what I was now holding. It looks like I was going to be accompaniment for the minstrel, because tucked under my arm was a gorgeous, black set of bagpipes.
Next!
