Bonding with Cleaver

Carnan sat crosslegged, meditating, in the small room on the first floor of Hung Rabbit. To be fair, the eight-feet-high firbolg found most rooms somewhat on the small side. But it would do. The bonsai tree on his shoulder exuded autumn, with leaves of every hue from lemon curd to burgundy appearing, rustling, and falling away into the ether. It gave the air in the room the crispness and transparency of the early forest morning after the storm on the last summer night. He breathed in deep and opened his eyes.

With an expression of peace and universal love, Carnan surveyed the walls of the room, covered in haphazard axe gashes and square cracks where the warhammer impacted with the plaster and won.

'It will be fine,' he thought with a smile.

His gaze then drifted upward, towards the ceiling, which was covered in smaller gashes, as if somebody with tiny claws used the ceiling as a spring board. Carnan broke off a piece of chocolate cake he had in his lap, and crumbled it into a large copper pot next to him, where a large electric eel devoured the crumbs hungrily.

'I have a really good feeling about this time!' The druid said with a kind smile.

He looked away from the pot, at the bamboo rug in front of him. Surprisingly, the rug was the least damaged part of the room, and was only covered with a thin dusting of grey fur.

'Please, sit down,' he said with another radiant smile, gesturing towards the spaces on either side of the rug.

Varga huffed, but plopped herself down rather ungracefully, glaring at her opponent who sat to Carnan's left. They have been at it for quite a while, and she was not about to give up. She had rarely found her match in resilience. The large half-orc, her face covered in scratches, narrowed her eyes, anticipating another attack, ready to move into a battle stance at a moment's notice.

A little grey chinchilla blinked twice and sneezed.

Carnan made a silent adoring 'aw', and waved his hand gracefully, casting a spell that allowed him to communicate with animals.

'Well, what does the dust bunny say?' Varga grumbled.

'The… ah… the dust bunny,' Carnan started placatingly, listening to the chinchilla with the expression of utmost respect. 'He'd like you to know he appreciates you decided to call him Cleaver, for it is his real name.'

'Don't try to flatter me, I'm onto you!' Varga frowned and pointed an accusing finger at chinchilla.

Carnan brought up his hand in a heavy gauntlet and gently pushed Varga's finger away.

'Now, there's no need to be so harsh. We're making great progress here!' He said encouragingly, and turned back to Cleaver. 'He would also like you to follow the rules he outlined last time we spoke,' he turned back to the half-orc and asked, with an expression every kindergarten teacher has readily prepared for asking their student to count to six: 'Do you remember what those rules are?'

Varga rolled her eyes.

'Don't put him in a bright light, don't get him wet, and don't feed him after midnight,' she recited with undisguised annoyance.

'Well done!' Carnan said with the expression of the same teacher giving out a gold star. 'Now, what happened yesterday?'

'I tried to give him a bath,' Varga grumbled, averting her eyes. 'He looked dirty, ok? I have standards! I can't have my pet look poorly as I crack the skulls of my enemies! What will the songs be about? And there she stood, in blood and gore, with an unsightly dust bunny on her shoulder?' She sing-sang mockingly.

'Yes, this is a… valid concern,' Carnan nodded, looking genuinely concerned albeit for a slightly different reason. He shook his head once, and turned to Cleaver with an encouraging expression. 'Now, Cleaver, how did that make you feel?'

Varga glared as the critter expressed himself to the blue-haired druid.

'I see,' he nodded seriously, engaging the chinchilla in a conversation. 'Why, yes, that does make sense. Ehm… no, pets are not the same as supreme overlords… well, when you put it that way… Anyway, let's go back to yesterday… Aha… Yes, I'm sure this is doable,' he turned back to Varga. 'He prefers his baths to be made of the fine-grained grey dust that the wind blows off the tops of the Sunset Spines. I'm sure you can accommodate?'

'What, to climb the mountains every time he gets dirty?' Varga asked defensively, and turned to Cleaver. 'Forget it, mate. You're homesick? Well, boo-hoo, deal with it! We all like it home, snug by the cliff side with our parents, but at some point you have to step off that cliff and fly the nest, so to speak. That's just life!'

'Chinchillas don't fly…' Carnan attempted gently.

'Neither do orcs,' she shrugged.

Cleaver grumbled dangerously.

'Alright, I think we've made a good progress today, maybe we should all take a short break before we continue?' Carnan suggested rather more quickly than the gentle giant usually spoke, and every inanimate object still left standing in the room thanked him in a silent unison.

'Fine, whatever!' Varga huffed, turned around and left the room.

Cleaver huffed, turned around and jumped on the window sill.

Carnan sighed. He of course heard that opposites attract, but would never have guessed how much similarities repelled each other. Two creatures so similar, at least in blood thirst, and, well, if he was being completely honest, in intelligence, should not have that much trouble getting along. He threw a somewhat desperate look at Ulfr, who was lying quietly in the furthest corner of the room. The large wolf whimpered, pinned his ears and wagged his tail with the guilty expression of every dog who inexplicably failed to save the world with the power of dog kisses and fetching the ball.

'Yes, I believe we will be here for quite some time,' Carnan nodded, settling for another meditation session.



Thank you to the wonderful Charlie for his help in the DT, and I hope I haven't butchered your characters