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On dit plus par ce qu’on fait que par ce qu’on dit. Les actes sont probants. Tout le monde peut dire des choses magnifiques. Suzanne Pasteau

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All your dice

All your dice are belong to us.

Mardi 17 juillet 2007
Rasp does say a lot of things that make little sense. Mainly, he produces some Kislevite gibberish about a stack of gold that ought to be his and isn't. We just learn to go daddy-ya-cool whenever he has one of those fits.
But Rasp is also the man with the look in the eye, with last man standing - or hiding painted all across his face in odd scars and sullen stares. Many a time has he left the battlefield alone.
When he opened the door of the inn, three months ago, he just caught a glimpse of the scene inside before he closed it.
"Remember this time in Nuln when we discussed about when best to fight and best to run? Today I think it would be a great day to run."
And just because Rasp is so secretive, we didn't ask and just ran our way out of those woods. Then we got attacked by goblins, and Jakob had an affair with this halfling maiden, and we got so thoroughly preoccupied by our short-term survival that we just did not find the occasion to press the issue.
The answer came today, when we met our charming new boss and Rasp had a fit of stealth.
"I know this guy, fellows. I have seen him in this inn we didn't sleep at a few months ago.
- Well, spit it out.
- I'd rather not."
What the hell happened in this damn inn?
par Cyril Pasteau publié dans : Poésie
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