Half-elf Ranger

"It's really a pity, the saddest thing in the world is to watch your home be destroyed and you can't do anything. I hope you can stay strong as always, stand in the light of the light, and live what you want appearance."

After a brief silence, Gilt, who was straightening the dome hat, took the initiative to walk in front of the witch, pretending to be sore and comforting, then bowed slightly, stretched out his right hand, and introduced himself with a smile:

"Hello, Miss Cecil, I'm Geert, a poet from the Falls, a real artist."

"Artist?" The witch did not stretch out her hand. Instead, she smiled lightly, and met her clear eyes on Gilt, who seemed a bit stinky to Thorne, and looked at him with interest.

"That's right!" Seeing the other party's interest, Gilt nodded seriously, and then calmly said to her:

"Don't underestimate art. Art may not surpass the essence of the world, but it can beautify the world. Maybe it is far less important than life, but our life will become very poor without art. It is like a dolphin fountain outside the window, Always a steady stream of sprays of wisdom and joy..."

"Many thanks to Master Gilt for clarifying my doubts in person." The witch reached out and shook Gilt and said with a smile, "I am honored to know you too."

However, what Milt didn't expect was the moment when he touched the witch's palm.

An icy and biting icy breath instantly spread from his palm toward his arm at a very fast speed, and suddenly his entire arm seemed to be not his own, and he lost consciousness.

If you roll up your sleeves, you can even see a thin layer of frost that condenses.

Cold Touch?

Thorne, who noticed something was wrong with Gilt, raised his eyebrows slightly, and reached out and patted his shoulder.

An imperceptible pale orange fire quickly spread from his shoulder to the entire arm.

Gilt immediately felt that the cold and bone-chilling breath was dispelled by a warm air from Thorne's palm, and the entire arm regained consciousness with the rising mist.

The poet shook his conscious arm and gave the ranger a grateful glance.

Thorne looked at the mischievous witch, Cecil, indifferently, so that her eyes shrank back suddenly, only then did she withdraw her eyes, and said unexpectedly: "I didn't expect you to choose to master the spells of the Necronomicon."

In fact, when he shook hands with the other party just now, he also noticed the gloomy aura coming from his palm.

However, he has Mofeng Sect's fire-type moves and powerful flame resistance, and this kind of damage is naturally insignificant to him. He originally thought that the opponent's physique was special.

Now, through Gilt's reaction, he realized that this should be the "Cold Touch" in the first-level spell.

Although this first-level spell can be cast at will by any wizard who has mastered it.

But Thorne noticed that when the other party was in contact with Gilt, he did not sing the syllables of the spell, nor did he mobilize the magic in the air. The spell she cast was more like an instinct.

It was as if her hand had been permanently affected by the "Cold Touch" spell.

Thorne believes that the other party must have mastered some special magic talent or expertise after specializing in the magic of the necromancy school.

Spell talents and some extremely special spell specialties are not something that their player group can casually master through their own efforts.

These special abilities require arcane knowledge related to them. There is no instructor to teach training skills, and even the leftovers cannot be touched.

Just like the two specialties of "Whirlwind Attack" and "Integrating Defense and Attacking" that he learned through three years of practice.

The reason why he was able to master it successfully is mainly due to the fact that in the abandoned half-plane of the Insights, all the knowledge and skills were instilled in his mind by the plane managers.

Otherwise, even with his continuous hard practice, the efficiency is definitely not as high as he imagined.

After all, these two feats can be said to be one of the most difficult feats to learn among all common feats. There is no occupational feature attached, and if you want to master it, you can only complete it by your own talent, perseverance and hard work like the original residents.

Even so, another special feat "spell-like instant cast" acquired in the demi-plane, he has not yet fully mastered it.

This is why he directly chose the dual-wielding style when he chose the ranger genre, because the "dual-weapon combat" feat is even more difficult to master than these two feats.

Therefore, Thorne suspected that the reason why the witch who once lived in the small village of the Desolate Skull Mountains was able to become a wizard was definitely because there was an expert behind her.

However, what surprised him was that, as a woman, the other party chose the necromancy school, which is the most harmful to the body, and chose to deal with negative energy, which he never expected.

"That's right." Sorceress Cecil looked hesitant and nodded, "I'm a disciple of Astral Insighter Winster."

"No wonder that's the case." Thorne looked surprised.

"You are Winster's disciple!" Geert, who was beside him, cried out in surprise, and asked quickly:

"So, you have met Wenster himself, so you must know that there is an elf love legend about Wenster circulating on the mainland."

The bard finished speaking in one breath, looking at the witch expectantly.

The purpose of his coming to Twin Towers Town is to find the truth of this legend. He always feels that there is an unknown secret behind this poignant love story from Dawning Town.

"It can be said that I have seen it, or it can be considered that I have not seen it." Cecil was silent for a while, nodded to him, and shook her head slightly.

Then, as if touched by something, she sighed softly and said in a pathetic tone: "The Astral Insighter Winster I've seen is just an old man who is dying.

And in the elven legends in your poetry, Winster is a mad lich. So, you may be disappointed because I don't have the truth you want here. "

"That's such a pity." Gilt said regretfully.

"Master Gilt." Cecil looked at the disappointed poet, obviously not wanting to discuss this topic too much, so she turned her attention:

"I heard your ballads in the tavern. The one that impressed me the most was the "Myth of Sadness". A paladin escorted the king's concubine, and finally fell in love. This...you can think of the plot."

Thorne and the female lord Alvie on the other side knew very well what the witch meant, and they looked at his wonderful facial expressions subconsciously.

Gilt's expression was obviously embarrassed, but his face was very thick. Instead, he forcibly defended:

"Although this story is not my original, the lyrics were translated by me, and I also specially embellished it with the elf sheet music, which made it successfully become the favorite song of the ladies. Do you think so? , Honorable Lord of the Twin Towers, Ms. Alvi, I think you must be very interested in the paladin and want him to climb..."

"Did the darkness of the sewers create your shallowness of etiquette?" The female lord Alvie glared back at him and smiled meaningfully: "If you talk to me like this again, I'll slap you directly."

Hearing this, Gilt's eyes narrowed, and he grinned at her again. He then distanced himself from Alvea and kept his mouth shut.

The witch beside Alvey looked at this scene, smiled with a smile, her eyes flickered, as if she had remembered something, and kindly suggested to Gilt:

"Since you are so keen on poetry creation, why don't you compose a moving ballad about the battle of conferring gods that decided the fate of our compatriots three years ago.

Let those who died heroically live forever in the memory of the world, let them understand how noble the battle to defend their homeland is, and understand that this free country is closely linked by loyalty and **** fighting, let Their ultimate sacrifice turned into an honorable end to their lives, spreading their legends around the world in song..."

After listening to Thorne, he instantly understood what the other party wanted to express.

If Gilt can really write a poem about their struggle against hobgoblins in the Emerald Fields and spread it around the world, it might attract a lot of players to gather here.

After all, what the Emerald Wilderness lacks the most is the population, especially the players who master the BUG-level black technology of the system. If they can really gather all the players together, this is definitely the entire main material plane. No force dares to underestimate it. the power of.

But the problem is that the flow of news in this world is very poor, and the quickest way is to say, after all, the stories that the bards sing orally.

Unfortunately, those shoddy stories are not destined to be widely circulated, only the kind of swan song that makes people feel empathy at the first listen can sweep across the world at the fastest speed like a storm.

Thinking of Thorne here, he was a little moved, so he said to Gilt: "I think her proposal is very good. You can think about it. If it costs anything, I will fully support you."

Although this guy has not been serious all day, since he heard a very bland love poem from the other party and successfully loosened his mood. He realized that this Gilt, who had been devoting all his energy to poetry, regardless of his own rank, definitely had two brushes.

Just like what the other party always said: An artist must be sincere and naive before he can create, because art itself is sincere and naive. But the world is generally too far from these two qualities, so high art is farther from the life of ordinary people than religion.

He also complained about the circle of poets in this world: whoever is the most hypocritical, whoever is the most popular, some people have their eyes fixed on money, but they have no knowledge. There are also some so-called artists, who only care about expressing themselves in the play and taking revenge on others. An artist is not an artist, what is it? Who cares about other people's opinions all day long, and gets angry at the slightest criticism, what kind of artist is he?

Hearing this, Gilt glanced at the ranger who didn't understand the rhythm beside him in surprise and surprise. He obviously didn't expect the other party to support him so much.

Then he praised the witch Cecil: "As expected of a smart witch, just like your beauty, you can think of this problem."

After speaking, Geert looked at the three of them and said proudly: "Actually, I have been thinking about this issue three years ago, when the war in the Serenity Forest ended, and will soon put it into action. among.

As the saying goes, hard work pays off, and after three years of hard work, I finally completed the composition with the art of high elves, and named this song "Song of Dawn".

It is precisely because of the word 'Dawning' that I am reminded of the former name of the Twin Towers Town: Dawning Town, which is why I am interested in tracing the truth. "

Looking at the stinky poet, for some reason, Thorne actually looked forward to listening to the other party's new song.

However, before he could speak, another witch who was obviously more interested in poetry took the lead and said, "Really? That's great. I wonder if Master Gilt would like to let the three of us listen in advance. "

Everyone originally thought that the other party would be like a child showing off his toys, holding his harp and agreeing happily.

Who would have thought that even Thorne didn't expect that this guy Geert refused cleanly.

"How can I sing this kind of ballad that I worked so hard to sing to the three of you casually. You must know that a great artist's feelings belong to the times, not to individuals."

"Then what you mean is, let me set up a big stage for you in Twin Towers Town and hold a concert for you." Looking at Gilt's awkward expression, the female lord Alvey said playfully.

"That's not necessary." Gilt waved his hand and continued: "Have you heard of the sacred oak 'Meru Robus' at the edge of the Black Pearl Forest?

The glade beneath the Sacred Oak is known by the world as a resting place for travelers, a home for wanderers, and a place for racial friendship.

This glade is known for its neutrality, openness and tolerance. Although the Druids of the Emerald Garden are very protective of this sacred tree, they are happy to welcome every visitor of any camp, even the murderous ones. Demons, evil fallen ones..."

"If you don't want to, then stop talking so much nonsense." Thorne stopped the other party's plan to continue talking, looked at Gilt, and said with a smile: "Then I expect your "Song of Dawn" to spread someday in the world."

The other party's meaning is very clear, nothing more than wanting to sing under the sacred oak tree.

After all, that kind of place gathers travelers, businessmen and other messy people from all over the world every day to rest here and spread it under the oak tree, which can naturally achieve a multiplier effect with half the effort.

Although this guy doesn't look serious on the surface, but he loves poetry, but he has set a principle for himself that has never been crossed.

That is, every time he creates a new poem, he will find the most suitable position to sing to the audience.

This kind of location is as small as an ordinary house, under a big tree with no one, to the most lively tavern and hotel with special services in Sept City, and even someone runs to the execution ground as a madman.

As for the sacred oak, he had never heard of it.

It can be seen from this that Geert attaches great importance to this poem that he spent three years creating.

After Thorne finished speaking, he glanced at the scorching sun outside the window, and unknowingly, several people had been chatting for so long, and none of the business had been discussed.

So he stopped wasting time, turned and sat on a chair in the middle of the hall, looked at the female lord Alvey, and said calmly: "The chat time is over, then let's start our next question."