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Snippet #959171

located in Cordelia, a part of Quest: The Dragon of the Dungeon, one of the many universes on RPG.




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Drew understood the being in front of him just fine. If one can't understand another language, one could hardly hope to speak it. "I can understand you very well, no speed to speak slowly. If I can speak the language, I can sure as Sharad understand it." Hearing the person's reply, he nodded, seeming to understand it. "Aye, dark elves are renowned for their temper. They are second only to dwarfs in their abrasiveness, or so I've heard. I've never met a dark elf before, but from the name they must either all be evil, or all be brooding. Depends on which kind they are. As to myself, why, my name is Drew, and I believe I'm the only talking horse in all of Cordelia. I'm not only rare, I'm unique as well."

"If you want to know more about me, you'll have to spend some money so I can get some new horseshoes. These ones are worn out from all the traveling and I need new ones. Follow me to the local blacksmith, and I'll tell you about myself." Finishing off the food in the small cloth sack, he got up and beckoned the man to follow him before continuing on his own. Not seeing if the man was there or not, (truly, he didn't really care; Drew loved to talk), he began to speak about his history, starting from the beginning.

"Originally, I was born on a farm in the country far to the east of here, probably farther than you've ever been. I grew up, raised by a loving father and a mother who constantly stopped me from going to the hayfield (though I went anyway). It was fine, until I was set to be auctioned off to someone else. It seemed no one wanted to buy me, and I stood in the dusty barn for years. You would not believe how dusty that thing was; it was as if a giant dust monster from the underground kingdom of Dustopolis decided to pay particular attention to that barn. It was disgraceful. Anyway, a mage eventually bought me and decided to practice his spells around me. Now when you're a clumsy mage, practicing around anything alive is usually a bad idea, but he did it anyway. One day, he tried doing an animation spell on a log, hit me instead, and then the rest is history. Ah, here we are."

It had taken him a little while to get to the blacksmith, but most people learned fast to get out of the way of a horse tha didn't rightly care if it trampled someone. The blacksmith looked pretty nice, with an outdoor entrance and sign showing the stereotypical hammer hitting an anvil. In fact, it seemed almost every blacksmith had that sign. Telling them apart was going to become rather difficult. He noticed the blacksmith, apparently working while a dwarf and some other fellow engaged in conversation. Turning around, he tried to find the man "Hey, where are you?" The crowd was particularly thick and it was hard to find a specific person.