“You have indeed, again, demonstrated quite the feat of agility,” the teacher began, before Asoka cut him off. He had risen from sitting with a tumbling roll while the master was speaking, unfolding to a standing position, drinking his tea from his tail and holding up a furred hand to pause his speech.
It turned its head towards them, and they met a gaze like the colorless face of a barn owl, sharp beak and terrible eyes black as night staring back at them.
Another branch crashes loudly through the canopy to the earth, a wake of birds already fleeing startled. The runner makes no pretense of stealth, which Asoka has given up on as well. The half-elf, running at top speed, fires another arrow up into the trees, and again misses his quarry. That damn protection from arrows spell! He curses in his head, not wasting the breath as he maintains pursuit. The other half-elf, running, jumps from branch to branch, satchel swinging from his body as he darts overhead.
Asoka is the skill-based hero in my fantasy stories, like a rogue, monk, or ranger.
The plan was simple: sneak aboard Captain Kem’s airship where she is keeping the philosopher’s stone, steal it from the cargo hold, blast a way out of the ship’s hull with alchemist’s bombs, and parachute back safely to the ground. Naturally, things never go according to plan.
“Remember, we need to reach the bottom of the underground lake,” Len told her companions. “I need to put the catalyst there: it’s the only way it will restore everyone’s water supply, and have us be rid of the acid.” Asoka nodded and led them on into the tunnels, carrying a torch. Bosu, Lohuan and Fabia followed behind with Len, who would periodically prod at puddles on the ground with the butt of her spear. The cavern walls were wet, and in some places slick with a film of slime. It was not long into their descent into the darkness that their progress was paused by a pool of water that reeked with a sour, biting stench.