The elves understandably don’t worship the Twenty. They believe that their god, Corellon, sang the world into being. He thought up elves, and sang a song about them, and they were there. And so on for everything else. To them, to sing and recite poetry is to give life to the world around them. I like that, a little bit. It’s all very neatly arranged and pretty to hear.
I head to the spot that my nexus told me the job port was. The entrance to the Low Roads. Dwarven country. I sigh and push the button on the device holding me to the Tether, and I am suddenly elsewhere, deep within the world. The world spins, and I hear arguing. My ears ring. I check my nose for blood and find nothing, then sigh with relief. I flex my biotech hand, putting it through its paces as the world comes back into focus. Fist, check. Point, check. Rude gesture, check.
The first things that come into focus are an elf and a dwarf arguing. My brain makes a joke to itself and I almost laugh. The elf is a bard, as evidenced by the harpsisword on her back -a harp with a handle and a blade at the other end, played to cast spells- and her ornamental chainmail armor. She’s shouting something about being late to the dwarf, who I recognize immediately. He’s wearing a helmet with built-in mining goggles, plate armor, and carries what appears to be a mining pick with a drill on it. We go way back.
“Ohldyrr? Damn you got fat,” I joke, as my head catches up with the tunnels around us. We’re deep down.
“Tha’s Ohldyrr th’ Bastard t’ye, Ulah. ‘Bout time ye showed up, Handyman. Ah told ye he would show up, y’blatherin’ witch!” He speaks to me first, then adjusts his braided beard and turns his attention to the elf.
I had gotten her name from the application. Veldranna. She sneers at him, adjusts her silver hair, and retorts, “Indeed. Now if only your other contact would arrive. You will note that mine already has.” She gestures over to a tiefling.
I hadn’t seen a tiefling in ages. He was tall, taller than me by far, and covered from head to biotech hoof in magiweave and biotech enhancements. Tieflings start out human, but they don’t end up that way. His horns, grafted on when he was young no doubt, curved out like his smile, mocking me. Mocking the Twenty.
I clench my good hand around the hilt of my sword, sneering at him as a halfling appears.
“Oh, lovely. Glad I accepted your invite, Ohldyrr. They always get right to the bloodshed.”