"Should've known." It's a not-that-clever joke that just makes itself. At least Stratos isn't looking smug about the telling of it. Makes it easier for Jim not to roll his eyes. Easier to grab hold of the Tribune's hand and breathe in one last damp lungful of air--
Into a third altogether different climate than anything Jim's encountered on Nirn before. Stratos knows what he needs for his spells which is all well and good because Jim can't stop gaping at the vastly changed scenery all around them. In the back of his head something niggles at him that this makes a certain amount of sense. That the Khajiit are large cats and this sort of environment would be well suited to their ancestors if not to themselves exactly. That the architecture he's seeing in this distant city isn't altogether alien either. If Lartia is to be found there, what kinds of sights would they run across?
But deep evolutionary thought has to take a backseat for prodding and poking at the scrub (stuffing a few leaves from the haggard bush into a pouch to study later), to turning round in a slow circle like he had in Valenwood to get his bearings. Except this time they're not so alone as they would like. Jim's quiet swearing draws Stratos out of his concentration on his spell but by the time he's reaching up to grab for the Tribune's boot Jim has to falter when Stratos no longer looks like himself. And further when he spies the Wrongness in his own hand and arm reaching out.
He doesn't register Stratos grabbing hold of his outstretched hand or their leaving. It takes them splashing into the Marsh for Jim to snap out of it, jerking around and very nearly falling right on his ass into the murky water. He manages to catch his balance as he drags himself up the muddy shoreline. The forest looks darker than it is while his eyes are still adjusting but Jim's would be wide either way. Thankfully the illusion seems to have vanished with their position. Jim's own hands are his own. No tail, no fur.
"Do...we have to turn ourselves into lizard folk now too? They don't talk like we do. If someone sees us it's not going to be easy to slip past."
no subject
Into a third altogether different climate than anything Jim's encountered on Nirn before. Stratos knows what he needs for his spells which is all well and good because Jim can't stop gaping at the vastly changed scenery all around them. In the back of his head something niggles at him that this makes a certain amount of sense. That the Khajiit are large cats and this sort of environment would be well suited to their ancestors if not to themselves exactly. That the architecture he's seeing in this distant city isn't altogether alien either. If Lartia is to be found there, what kinds of sights would they run across?
But deep evolutionary thought has to take a backseat for prodding and poking at the scrub (stuffing a few leaves from the haggard bush into a pouch to study later), to turning round in a slow circle like he had in Valenwood to get his bearings. Except this time they're not so alone as they would like. Jim's quiet swearing draws Stratos out of his concentration on his spell but by the time he's reaching up to grab for the Tribune's boot Jim has to falter when Stratos no longer looks like himself. And further when he spies the Wrongness in his own hand and arm reaching out.
He doesn't register Stratos grabbing hold of his outstretched hand or their leaving. It takes them splashing into the Marsh for Jim to snap out of it, jerking around and very nearly falling right on his ass into the murky water. He manages to catch his balance as he drags himself up the muddy shoreline. The forest looks darker than it is while his eyes are still adjusting but Jim's would be wide either way. Thankfully the illusion seems to have vanished with their position. Jim's own hands are his own. No tail, no fur.
"Do...we have to turn ourselves into lizard folk now too? They don't talk like we do. If someone sees us it's not going to be easy to slip past."