sport and news: Phat Loot Phriday: Grips of Unerring Precision

Sunday, 22 May 2011

Phat Loot Phriday: Grips of Unerring Precision

"These gloves are pretty good," Lolegolas said. He flexed his fist, watching as the mail armor stretched across his knuckles. "I need to see how I shoot while wearing them, though. Good armor is meaningless if I can't shoot. But I suppose they call them the Grips of Unerring Precision for a reason."

Throgg stood from the table and walked over to the corkboard. Using a steel nail, he affixed the paper against the wall. The orc's shoulders slumped in despair as he read the paper. Even the worgen noticed and closed his book to pay attention.

"Throgg, what is it? What's wrong?" Lolegolas asked.

"It's a summons," Throgg said, tapping the paper once for emphasis before walking toward the inn's door. "From Warchief Hellscream. I must go. And I must go alone, though I may bring mounts and pets."

Lolegolas dropped his hands to his side. "Now? Are you ..."

"It's the new Warchief," Throgg interrupted, already standing in the hallway. "He's not a reasonable orc. If I delay ... well. I'll be back as quickly as I can. I'm ... sorry, little elf. I have to go. Do not follow, or Hellscream may well kill us for disobedience."

Lolegolas watched the door shut, unblinking.

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