Rubio rolls his eyes as a small wind starts to pick up.
-Well, this'll bring a whole load of problems
Yes, that seems likely Crypto responds.
-Now that you'll have a romantic subplot to contend with, your key quest just got a lot more complicated.
Elfbiter looks down the field in consternation and presses a finger to his temple, one of his eyes twitching, as clouds start to roll in overhead.
-The next logical branch is whether the potential love interest holds the lock or door to the key and/or knows or is being held by some nefarious villian who does
Rubio tunes out and turns to face the wind, rather admiring the look that the darkening clouds closing in are giving the field. Pale white sunlight loses ground on brush swaying in the wind. The whole scene looks like something out of a fantasy artbook. I suppose that shouldn't come as a surprise, considering where we are, he muses to himself as he takes a deep breath.
He stops mid-inhale. A phantasmal lightbulb all but sputters to life over his head, Beavis & Butthead-style. He exhales before the held breath prompts him to pass out and turns to the others
"Now, Biter, lemmie make sure I got you clearly here..."
Elfbiter turns his attention from Crypto impatiently.
"There will be problems if someone, quote: 'smells like a protagonist', right?"
"You seem to know an awful lot about what's going on here, at least enough to be making dismissive comments."
"SO! That makes you something of a sage slash mentor slash infodump source, right?"
Elfbiter falls silent, suddenly realizing the state of the weather and where this is likely heading.
"AND, isn't the protagonist getting knowledge from a mentor yet another staple of literature? Like say, explaining the rules and postulating on the effects of a recently-discovered and obviously-magical weapon?"
Nobody moves. A feeling of paranoia begins to enter the minds of the pubbers. After a moment, Elfbiter looks to be ready to respond, but Kestralyn forestalls argument by shooting her arm outward and pointing to the north.
"Guys, I'd say we definitely have problems," she growls.
A trio of dark riders appear, cresting a hill perhaps a quarter-mile away and closing with the pubbers. All wear identical black cloaks that rest gently despite their gallop, speaking of great skill in the saddle.
Worse than ringwraiths?
Cloaks at rest despite a gallop. And the wind. Great skill in the saddle or-
Rubio reaches to the lightsaber tucked at the small of his back, figuring that the chances of outrunning a rider with relatively little cover are not good. He turns a sardonic grin in Elfbiter's direction.
"Time for the dramatic battle to signal the rising action, eh? I think I'm going to take this one- and likely only- opportunity to say: 'You and your big mouth.' "
"To the right, books; to the left, a tea-cup.
In front of me, the fireplace; behind me, the post.
There is no greater happiness than this."