Half Elf Ranger

Chapter 489 The Song of Dawn
"It's really regrettable. The saddest thing in the world is to watch your homeland being destroyed and helpless. I hope you can be as strong as ever, stand in the place facing the light, and live what you want appearance."

After a brief silence, Gilt, who straightened his bowler hat, took the initiative to walk in front of the female wizard, pretending to comfort him with a sad expression, then bowed slightly, stretched out his right hand, and introduced himself with a smile:
"Hello, Miss Cecil, let me meet you. I am Gilt, a poet from Upper Falls, a real artist."

"Artist?" The witch didn't reach out, but smiled slightly, and turned her clear eyes to Gilt, who Thorne thought was a bit of a fart, and looked at him with interest.

"That's right!" Seeing that the other party was interested, 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 the dolphin fountain outside the window, always spewing forth wisdom and joy..."

"Thank you, Master Gilt, for clarifying my doubts." The female wizard reached out to shake hands with Gilt, and said with a smile, "It's an honor to know you, too."

However, what Gilt didn't expect was the moment he made contact with the witch's palm.

A piercing icy breath spread from his palm to his arms at an extremely fast speed, and suddenly his entire arm seemed to be not his own, and he lost consciousness.

If you roll up your sleeves, you will even see a thin layer of frost.

Cold touch?

Sensing that something was wrong with Gilt, Thorne raised his eyebrows lightly and reached out to pat him on the shoulder.

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

Gilt immediately felt that the chilly breath was dispelled by the warm air from Thorne's palm, and the whole arm regained consciousness with the rising mist.

The poet flicked his regained arm, and gave the ranger a grateful look.

Thorne looked at the mischievous witch Cecil indifferently, and she shrank her eyes suddenly in fright. Then she retracted her eyes and said unexpectedly: "I didn't expect you to choose to be proficient in the necromancy school of magic."

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

However, he possessed the fire-type moves of the Desert Wind School and powerful fire resistance, so this kind of damage was naturally insignificant to him. He thought it was just the other party's special physique.

Now, through Gilt's reaction, he realized that this should be the "cold touch" in a ring spell.

Although this one-ring spell can be cast by any wizard who has mastered it.

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

It was as if her hand had been cast with the "cold touch" spell.

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

Spell talent and some extremely special spell expertise are not something that their player groups can casually master through their own efforts.

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

Just like the two specialties of "whirlwind attack" and "defensive in attack" that he learned through three years of practice.

The reason why he was able to master it successfully was mainly due to the instillation of all the knowledge and skills in his mind by the manager of the plane in the abandoned demi-plane of the Inspectors.

If not, even if he practiced continuously, his efficiency would definitely not be as high as he imagined.

After all, these two specialties can be said to be one of the most difficult specialties to learn among all ordinary specialties.If you want to master it without professional characteristics, you can only rely on your own talent, perseverance and hard work like the original residents.

Even so, he still hasn't fully mastered another special specialty "Instant Spell-like Casting" acquired in the demiplane.

That's why when he chose the ranger genre, he would directly choose the dual-wielding style, because the "two-weapon combat" specialty is even more difficult to master than these two specialties.

Therefore, Thorne suspected that the reason why this sorceress who used to live in a small village in the Blighthead Mountains was able to become a wizard was definitely because of the guidance of an expert behind her.

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

"That's right." The female wizard Cécile hesitated for a moment, then nodded and said, "I am a disciple of Winster, the Astral Insighter."

"No wonder it's like this." Thorne's expression revealed a sudden look.

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

"So, since you have met Winster himself, then you must know that there is an elf love legend about Winster circulating in the mainland."

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

The purpose of his coming to Shuangta Town was to find the truth of this legend. He always felt that there was an unknown secret hidden behind this poignant love story from Shuguang 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 she had touched something, she sighed softly, and said in a mournful tone: "The astral clairvoyant Winster I have seen is just an old man in his dying years.

And in the elven legends in your poems, Winster is a crazy lich.So, I may disappoint you, because I don't have the truth you want here. "

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

"Master Gilt." Cecil looked at the disappointed poet, obviously not wanting to discuss this topic too much, so she diverted her attention and said:
"I heard your ballad in the tavern, and the one that impressed me the most was the song "Sorrowful Myth". A paladin escorted the king's concubine, and finally fell in love. This...you can think of the plot."

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

Gilt looked visibly embarrassed, but his face was very thick, and instead he forcefully argued:
"Although this story is not original by me, I translated the lyrics, and I specially polished it with elf music, which made it a favorite ballad of ladies. Don't you think so? , Honorable lord of Twin Towers Town, Ms. Alvi, I think you must be very interested in paladins too, and want him to climb..."

"Is it the darkness of the sewer that made you so shallow?" The female lord Alvy glanced back at him and smiled meaningfully: "If you talk to me like that again, I'll just slap you."

When Gilt heard this, his eyes narrowed, he grinned at her again, and then distanced himself from Alvy, obediently keeping his mouth shut.

The female wizard beside Alvie looked at this scene, pretending to be relaxed and smiled, her eyes flickered, as if she remembered something, she kindly suggested to Gilt:
"Since you are so keen on poetry creation, why don't you write a moving ballad about the battle of the gods that decided the fate of our compatriots three years ago.

Let those who died in battle live forever in the memory of the world, and let them know how noble it was to fight to defend their homeland, and to know that a free country is bound together by loyalty and blood, and let Their ultimate sacrifice became a venerable end, and their legends were told in ballads all over the world..."

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

If Gilt can really create a poem about their fight against hobgoblins in the Emerald Fields and spread it around the world, maybe it will really attract many players to gather here.

After all, what the current Emerald Field lacks most is population, especially players who have mastered the BUG-level black technology of the system. If it is really possible to gather all players together, this is definitely the entire main material plane that no force dare to underestimate. the power of.

But the problem is that the circulation of news in this world is very poor, and the fastest way is to tell the stories sung by the bards.

It's a pity that those shoddy stories are destined not to spread widely. Only the kind of swan song that makes people feel sympathetic when they hear it can sweep across the world at the fastest speed like a storm.

Thinking of this, Thorne was slightly moved, so he said to Gilt: "I think her proposal is very good. You can think about it. If you need any expenses, I will fully support you."

Although this guy was not serious all day long, since he heard a very plain love poem from the other party and managed to loosen 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 the other party often said: An artist must be sincere and innocent before he can create, because art itself is sincere and innocent.But people in the world are generally too far away from these two qualities, so high art is farther away from the lives of ordinary people than religion.

He also made complaints about the poet circle in this world: whoever is the most hypocritical will be the most popular, some people have their eyes on money, but they have no knowledge, they don’t know what to ask, and they are fake all day long.There are also some so-called artists who only care about expressing themselves in the play and retaliate against others. If an artist is not an artist, what is it?Caring about other people's opinions all day long, and getting angry at the slightest criticism, what kind of artist is he?

When Gilt heard the words, he glanced at the ranger who didn't know the rhythm beside him in surprise and surprise. He obviously didn't expect that the other party would support him so much.

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

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

As the so-called hard work pays off, three years of hard work finally allowed me to combine the art of the high elves to complete the creation, and named this song "Song of Dawn".

It is precisely because of the word "Dawn" that I think of the former name of Shuangta Town: Shuguang Town, so I became interested in tracing the truth. "

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

However, before he could speak, another sorceress, who was obviously more interested in poetry, spoke first: "Really? That's really great. I wonder if Master Gilt would let the three of us listen in advance. "

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

Who would have thought that even Thorne didn't expect that Gilt would reject it cleanly.

"This kind of ballad that I have painstakingly created, how could it be sung to the three of you casually. You must know that a great artist's feelings belong to the era, not to the individual."

"Then what do you mean, let me set up a big stage for you in Shuangta Town and hold a concert for you." Looking at Gilt's expression of beating, the female lord Alvy said playfully.

"That's not necessary." Gilt waved his hand and continued: "Have you heard of the sacred oak 'Meru Robus' on the edge of the Black Pearl Forest?
The glade under the sacred oak is called by the world: the traveler's rest place, the wanderer's home, the place of racial friendship.

This glade is famous for its neutrality, openness, and tolerance. Although the druids of Emerald Garden protect this sacred tree, they welcome every visitor of any camp, even the murderous ones. Demons, evil degenerates..."

"Since you don't want to, then don't talk so much nonsense." Thorne stopped the other party's plan to continue, looked at Gilt, and said with a smile: "Then I look forward to your "Song of the Dawn" spreading one day in the world."

The meaning of the other party 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 to rest here every day and spread it under the oak tree, so it can naturally get twice the result with half the effort.

Although this guy seems to be neither serious on the surface, but he loves poetry, but he has set a principle for himself that has never been surpassed.

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

This kind of location is as small as an ordinary house, under an uninhabited tree, as large as the busiest tavern and hotel with special services in Sept City, or even run to the execution ground as a psychopath.

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

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

After Thorn finished speaking, he glanced at the scorching sun outside the window, unknowingly, the few people had been chatting for so long, and they hadn't talked about any serious matters.

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

(End of this chapter)