Chapter Eight: At Felendren’s Pad
“Could you pass that? No, not the blue—yeah, the green one. Thanks.”
Felendren didn’t seem so bad; at least Helvetica didn’t think so. It wasn’t like he had any fight in him, certainly not while he was toking on the huge bloodthistle bong. Except that it didn’t look like any bong she’d ever seen in her life. For one, it appeared to be made out of a Burning Crystal—the shard truly took offense to this and continuously shook with rage, producing a strange humming noise. The bong itself burbled constantly with a green-orange fume, and a pair of red eyes glared lazily at nothing. They also seemed to have bloodshot lines running through them.
“Dude, I wish that I had asked that Shara Sunwing chick for extra crispy spider legs,” the wretched blood elf said for the umpteenth time. Apparently he had run out a few days after he’d been banished, something about having a tremendous case of the munchies.
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