In Places Deep - Whistler 24.09.20
Sept 24, 2020 23:09:48 GMT
Jacinta Montajay, Igrainne (RETIRED), and 3 more like this
Post by Whistler (Retired) on Sept 24, 2020 23:09:48 GMT
Without a sound, Whistler materializes from the shadows and drops down on a bench across the table from Grits. The mess is quiet and dark, the fire almost burned down in the large hearth. The quartermaster is poking absentmindedly at a plate of bread and meats with one hand, his eyes focused on the book in his other.
Without lifting his gaze, Grits pushes the plate across the table to the younger man and turns a page.
“You came back.”
A month ago Whistler would have taken the food and hidden it, saved for later. Now, he doesn’t hesitate before digging in.
“Yes.”
Grits keeps reading. Whistler eats. The dying fire crackles.
“Where did you go?”
“Vorsthold.”
Grits blinks once, twice, before closing the book and setting it aside. He turns his full attention to Whistler with the resigned air of someone whose patience is being thoroughly tested.
“And why, pray tell, did you go there?”
“There were undead. They needed help fighting them. I’m really good at it. I’ve fought them before.”
At Grits’ unimpressed face, Whistler’s tone becomes just a touch defiant.
“The big half-orc went, twice even. He brought back the sleeping lady.”
“What that big idiot does on his own time is his idiot business. And he may be an idiot, but he can fight better than few men I’ve seen in my time.”
“I can fight too!”
Grits clenches his jaw.
“I know you can. But adventurers don’t have a code. They don’t look after the soldier at their side if there’s gold in front of them. They are letting you come with them either because they don’t know how old you are or because they don’t care-”
It’s an old argument. They’ve had it so many times they could go in circles in their sleep.
“Jacinta was there! She’s really nice and she gives me food. And Igrainne, and Wren-”
“I don’t care if you had every single paying customer of the bloody Ettin running around with you, a job in Vorsthold isn’t something to be taken lightly!”
Grits realizes he’s raised his voice to the point of shouting. He shakes his head and gets to his feet, walking over the hearth. He adds a couple of logs onto the glowing embers and leans against the mantlepiece, watching the flames grow. After a long moment he lets out a heavy sigh.
“Well. Report then. What did you find? What happened down there?”
Whistler turns around on the bench and clambers up on the table sideways, facing the fire and the back of this man who, inexplicably, seems to worry about what happens to him.
“We teleported there. From the plaza. We came to a place called The Sunfast, I think. They used magic on us before they let us go in, and then we had to wear blindfolds as they led us down to the city.”
Grits nods, familiar with the proceedings.
“And then we met the mayor, but she wasn’t who had sent for help. It was someone named Triss. As soon as she turned up, we got attacked. All the lights started flickering, and then they went out. And the shadows were solid. As if they were real beings, but made of shadow. They came crashing down and we got thrown about, and then they took off. And Triss cast a spell, and suddenly we were-”
He cuts off abruptly, closing his mouth with a click. Grits looks over his shoulder at him with a raised eyebrow. Whistler tilts his head slightly.
“We were somewhere else. Another plane I think. The shadows were different, the light was strange. We were running to chase the shadows that had attacked us and I- I was moving faster than I ever have. I could climb on the shadows around me, use them to move, more than I ever could here. It was easy. It felt familiar.”
Grits walks over and takes a seat next to him on the table. He nods again, seemingly unsurprised and familiar with this as well.
“And then what happened?”
“We caught up with the shadows. We destroyed all but one, and we followed that one through another rift. It took us to a place closer to this plane, but not exactly, I think. And then we fought.”
His purple eyes go distant and his head tilts again, as he remembers.
“There were more of them. Undead. Ghosts, spirits. Different kinds. They made us attack each other. They scared some of us. One of them possessed Wren. I had to get the spirit out of them so I fought Wren as well.”
Grits looks at the younger man with alarm, with concern, but finds nothing on his ashen face to indicate upset or remorse - there is only calm, predatory fascination at the recollection.
“There was a lich. He talked funny. He took Triss and shut himself off from us in a room, behind shadows. Jacinta went in and didn’t come back out. And then he came.”
“Who?”
“The dwarf with the red hair. He screamed and the shadow door disappeared. He moved so fast, faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. He picked up Jacinta and gathered us all up, and took us away from there. Took us to a beach. He freed Wren from the spirit. He’s been staying in Vortshold to fight the lich, I think he said.”
“A dwarf with red hair? What was his name?”
“Kanarax. He’s a dragon.”
Grits gives him a pained look.
“There’s a dragon. In Vorsthold.”
Whistler nods.
“He was really big. Bronze, with a little bit of green.”
The older elf’s eyes shoot heavenward in a silent prayer of thanks.
“I asked him where we went, what that place was. Where the shadows felt like home. He said I should ask someone about where my people come from.”
He turns his large, violet eyes to Grits, waiting. The quartermaster nods and claps a hand on his shoulder.
“Tomorrow. Right now, I need to go tell the boss about this dragon you found.”
He stands up and gives Whistler a pointed look, gesturing to the door.
“Unless you’d like to do the honours?”
Whistler narrows his eyes at him, highly skeptical.
“Yeah, okay, I see we’re still avoiding him. This is his house, you know? His Order? You can’t not speak to him if you’re gonna stay here.”
Whistler’s only response is to slide off the table, backpedal towards the dark kitchen and disappear into the shadows.
Grits looks into the empty darkness and smiles, a little sadly.
“He’s not going to kick you out, you know that right?”
The darkness doesn’t answer him.
He nods to himself and makes for the door to the training yard.
“Goodnight, lad.”
Without lifting his gaze, Grits pushes the plate across the table to the younger man and turns a page.
“You came back.”
A month ago Whistler would have taken the food and hidden it, saved for later. Now, he doesn’t hesitate before digging in.
“Yes.”
Grits keeps reading. Whistler eats. The dying fire crackles.
“Where did you go?”
“Vorsthold.”
Grits blinks once, twice, before closing the book and setting it aside. He turns his full attention to Whistler with the resigned air of someone whose patience is being thoroughly tested.
“And why, pray tell, did you go there?”
“There were undead. They needed help fighting them. I’m really good at it. I’ve fought them before.”
At Grits’ unimpressed face, Whistler’s tone becomes just a touch defiant.
“The big half-orc went, twice even. He brought back the sleeping lady.”
“What that big idiot does on his own time is his idiot business. And he may be an idiot, but he can fight better than few men I’ve seen in my time.”
“I can fight too!”
Grits clenches his jaw.
“I know you can. But adventurers don’t have a code. They don’t look after the soldier at their side if there’s gold in front of them. They are letting you come with them either because they don’t know how old you are or because they don’t care-”
It’s an old argument. They’ve had it so many times they could go in circles in their sleep.
“Jacinta was there! She’s really nice and she gives me food. And Igrainne, and Wren-”
“I don’t care if you had every single paying customer of the bloody Ettin running around with you, a job in Vorsthold isn’t something to be taken lightly!”
Grits realizes he’s raised his voice to the point of shouting. He shakes his head and gets to his feet, walking over the hearth. He adds a couple of logs onto the glowing embers and leans against the mantlepiece, watching the flames grow. After a long moment he lets out a heavy sigh.
“Well. Report then. What did you find? What happened down there?”
Whistler turns around on the bench and clambers up on the table sideways, facing the fire and the back of this man who, inexplicably, seems to worry about what happens to him.
“We teleported there. From the plaza. We came to a place called The Sunfast, I think. They used magic on us before they let us go in, and then we had to wear blindfolds as they led us down to the city.”
Grits nods, familiar with the proceedings.
“And then we met the mayor, but she wasn’t who had sent for help. It was someone named Triss. As soon as she turned up, we got attacked. All the lights started flickering, and then they went out. And the shadows were solid. As if they were real beings, but made of shadow. They came crashing down and we got thrown about, and then they took off. And Triss cast a spell, and suddenly we were-”
He cuts off abruptly, closing his mouth with a click. Grits looks over his shoulder at him with a raised eyebrow. Whistler tilts his head slightly.
“We were somewhere else. Another plane I think. The shadows were different, the light was strange. We were running to chase the shadows that had attacked us and I- I was moving faster than I ever have. I could climb on the shadows around me, use them to move, more than I ever could here. It was easy. It felt familiar.”
Grits walks over and takes a seat next to him on the table. He nods again, seemingly unsurprised and familiar with this as well.
“And then what happened?”
“We caught up with the shadows. We destroyed all but one, and we followed that one through another rift. It took us to a place closer to this plane, but not exactly, I think. And then we fought.”
His purple eyes go distant and his head tilts again, as he remembers.
“There were more of them. Undead. Ghosts, spirits. Different kinds. They made us attack each other. They scared some of us. One of them possessed Wren. I had to get the spirit out of them so I fought Wren as well.”
Grits looks at the younger man with alarm, with concern, but finds nothing on his ashen face to indicate upset or remorse - there is only calm, predatory fascination at the recollection.
“There was a lich. He talked funny. He took Triss and shut himself off from us in a room, behind shadows. Jacinta went in and didn’t come back out. And then he came.”
“Who?”
“The dwarf with the red hair. He screamed and the shadow door disappeared. He moved so fast, faster than anyone I’ve ever seen. He picked up Jacinta and gathered us all up, and took us away from there. Took us to a beach. He freed Wren from the spirit. He’s been staying in Vortshold to fight the lich, I think he said.”
“A dwarf with red hair? What was his name?”
“Kanarax. He’s a dragon.”
Grits gives him a pained look.
“There’s a dragon. In Vorsthold.”
Whistler nods.
“He was really big. Bronze, with a little bit of green.”
The older elf’s eyes shoot heavenward in a silent prayer of thanks.
“I asked him where we went, what that place was. Where the shadows felt like home. He said I should ask someone about where my people come from.”
He turns his large, violet eyes to Grits, waiting. The quartermaster nods and claps a hand on his shoulder.
“Tomorrow. Right now, I need to go tell the boss about this dragon you found.”
He stands up and gives Whistler a pointed look, gesturing to the door.
“Unless you’d like to do the honours?”
Whistler narrows his eyes at him, highly skeptical.
“Yeah, okay, I see we’re still avoiding him. This is his house, you know? His Order? You can’t not speak to him if you’re gonna stay here.”
Whistler’s only response is to slide off the table, backpedal towards the dark kitchen and disappear into the shadows.
Grits looks into the empty darkness and smiles, a little sadly.
“He’s not going to kick you out, you know that right?”
The darkness doesn’t answer him.
He nods to himself and makes for the door to the training yard.
“Goodnight, lad.”
