Just Dessert - A Trip to the Desert Writeup + Extras - 08/10
Oct 22, 2019 11:35:17 GMT
Stedd and Ian (Menace) like this
Post by Imp (Dan L) on Oct 22, 2019 11:35:17 GMT
Gegrun meandered through the Feythorn Forest, hacking away at spindly twigs and thick saplings with cheerful abandon, falling branches making way for shafts of afternoon sunlight. After the trek back from the desert, his legs dragged underneath him, and his attempts against the encroaching vegetation grew laborious. He found himself wishing the air would be a little less sticky. He had tramped down much of the undergrowth on his last journey, but some had grown back, and other flora had crept in to fill the space. It never felt suffocating to Gegrun, who had grown up in the mines, but it was a constant reminder of his duty here. Besides, his previous travels along the way had cleared some kind of path, but this time he had to make room for Keith.
Camels generally flit between disinterested spite and casual malice with each flutter of their elegant eyelashes. After a few close encounters of the dental-digit kind - and a few casts of Cure Wounds - Gegrun had learned to keep his hands away from Keith’s mouth. Eventually they crested the rise of the crater. The temple was in the same state he’d left it in, although a passing shower had given the stones a slick, black shine. Gegrun thought they looked a little bit more sinister when they’d been darkened.
Gegrun wasn’t sure what camels ate. The only thing he knew for certain that Keith had a taste for, were fingers. It was only up until a few days ago Gegrun had’d stopped calling him a ‘lumpy horse’, which was an improvement on his base knowledge, but he was certainly no druid. So he was quite relieved when the tall camel eventually drifted over to one of the boughs questing over the edge of the temple’s divot and began to tug at the leaves there with all the malicious glee it could muster. Keith could muster a lot of malice. Gegrun tied Keith to the bough and gave him a quick pat on the neck, before stepping out of reach and getting to his knees and closing his eyes. The silence of thought settled on his head like a blanket of snowfall, whispers of the canopy susurrus lost among the frozen flakes of calm reflection.
“Hey ma, hey sky-voice,” he said, grunting against the exhaustion of travel as he clambered to his feet, “I don’t got long here. I went to a big desert. Sandy, ‘s far as the eye can see. Think you woulda liked it, ma - you always said the mountain cold weren’t that kind to your joints. I got one of them cay-mehls.” Gegruns jammed his finger toward Keith, who was trying to snap at a bird’s nest that was just out of reach of his long neck.
“I hope he don’t mind it here,” Gegrun said, transferring his handaxe between his hands with concern, “he might be cold. He’s a bit snappy, but he’s a real softy.” A glob of spit sailed unheeded past Gegrun’s shoulder as he turned and set about chopping down some of the more wiry saplings and driving them into soft loam a short distance from the temple entrance with the butt of the axe. Within a few hours, as the sun began to slink below the horizon and cast an orange haze over the misty forest, Gegrun had constructed a very wide pen for Keith, off into the forest a short distance from the temple entrance. There would be plenty of grass and undergrowth for him to enjoy. Gegrun just hoped the lumbering beast wouldn’t scare too many of the animals who made the forest their home.
A snap of a twig nearby turned Gegrun’s head from his work. A shadow was moving between the trees with lumbering efficiency. After a few tense seconds, the shadow resolved itself into the form of Stedd, pushing his way through the thick undergrowth. There were twigs and leaves sticking out of his plate armour at odd angles.
“Hey!” Gegrun waved a big hand, “Stedd!”
“Hey Gegrun,” Stedd said, weapons shifting on his back and a bundle carried under one arm, “can’t stay long. I remembered you wear chainmail, right?” Stedd asked, clasping Gegrun’s outstretched hand. Gegrun nodded in response, smile creasing his face.
“I’m ‘bout as mobile as rock. The chain helps keep me in good sorts,” he said, gesturing to where the chainmail was draped over a nearby bough that was creaking under the weight, “but it’s nowhere near as impressive as yours! Gosh.” Stedd’s plate armour gleamed where the sun fought through the dense canopy.
“That’s why I’m here, Gegrun! I’ve got no need for this now,” Stedd said, and placed the bundle on a nearby rock. A splinted vambrace wriggled loose of the bundle and clanged onto the loamy floor. Stedd bent, picked it up, and handed it to Gegrun,”and I remembered you were about my size.” Gegrun’s smile widened. He could hardly believe his luck - a free vambrace!
“Wow!” Gegrun exclaimed with a smile, “this is for me?” A few seconds passed, and a subtle look settled on Stedd’s hard features. In the quiet background din of the Feythorn, there was the unerringly visceral and unmistakable sound of Keith trying to spit at a nearby badger. Stedd’s features moved into comprehension.
“No, Gegrun. The whole set of armour is for you,” Stedd said, gesturing at the bundle.
“Wait, really?”
“Yup.”
“Thanks, Stedd. You want this snake staff? Wil gave it to me - I can’t figure it out. It came from this temple.” Gegrun said, foisting the staff aloft. His offer was, however, to the back of Stedd as he climbed to the top of the divot, waved a hand to Gegrun without looking back, and set out along the beaten path. What a nice man, Gegrun thought.
Gegrun turned back to the bundle. Childish enthusiasm brewed and bubbled inside him. A gift! This was the first time Gegrun had been given anything since… Well, this was the first time Gegrun had been given anything. He held up the armour, letting it catch the dying light. He’d always liked the pretty glint of the chain armour, but the long strips of metal on this armour had a way of sending the light bouncing toward his surroundings in a very pleasing way, he thought. I should keep the chain armour, Gegrun said to himself, I should put it somewhere.
So Gegrun headed down the temple steps with both sets of armour, and a few hours, several saplings and a dozen nails later the chainmail armour was hanging on a makeshift armour stand in one of the temple rooms, and his new armour was standing next to it on a similar stand. There was even a place to rest his glaive. Happy, he rolled out his bedroll and fell asleep.
Gegrun hurried back to Daring Heights the next day, resplendent in his new armour, a babbling brook of optimism roiling under his skin. He greeted everyone he knew with a happy wave, and anyone he didn’t with a tusky smile. No notices, yet, so he pushed his way into the Three Headed Ettin with the hope of seeing some familiar faces. The musky smell of the Ettin was familiar, but none of his acquaintances were forthcoming - instead, Coll the bartender waved him over.
“Gegrun, right? This arrived for you,” he said, placing a sealed letter on the counter. “If you need help on reading it, I’m sure one of the others’d be more’n willing.” Gegrun nodded, brow furrowed. He’d never got a letter before.
“I think I’ll be okay, thanks Coll,” Gegrun said, and slid over a silver absentmindedly. The barman nodded thanks and left Gegrun to his own devices, as he picked at the wax seal with a fingernail and found an undisturbed corner of the tavern to sound out the letter. He cleared his throat.
“‘My dear friend Gegrun,’” he echoed, concentration plastered on his features. “Oh, that’s nice. Dear friend. ‘I hope you are well.’ Awh. I hope you’re well too, mister letter person. ‘Please come visit me in Port Ffirst when you can. It is a town by the great water. Bad people here need smashing.” Gegrun nodded. He was good at that.
“‘See you soon, your friend Mace.’” Gegrun finished the letter, his features relaxing a tad. He’d head over to Port Ffirst as soon as possible. The joy under his skin was now tempered with expectation and a hint of curiosity. He hefted his pack onto his shoulders, secured his glaive across his back and waved goodbye to Coll.
“I wonder what he’s after,” Gegrun said to himself as he wandered off into the darkness, following the big road that led to Port Ffirst. “He didn’t say it was urgent or nothin’.”
Camels generally flit between disinterested spite and casual malice with each flutter of their elegant eyelashes. After a few close encounters of the dental-digit kind - and a few casts of Cure Wounds - Gegrun had learned to keep his hands away from Keith’s mouth. Eventually they crested the rise of the crater. The temple was in the same state he’d left it in, although a passing shower had given the stones a slick, black shine. Gegrun thought they looked a little bit more sinister when they’d been darkened.
Gegrun wasn’t sure what camels ate. The only thing he knew for certain that Keith had a taste for, were fingers. It was only up until a few days ago Gegrun had’d stopped calling him a ‘lumpy horse’, which was an improvement on his base knowledge, but he was certainly no druid. So he was quite relieved when the tall camel eventually drifted over to one of the boughs questing over the edge of the temple’s divot and began to tug at the leaves there with all the malicious glee it could muster. Keith could muster a lot of malice. Gegrun tied Keith to the bough and gave him a quick pat on the neck, before stepping out of reach and getting to his knees and closing his eyes. The silence of thought settled on his head like a blanket of snowfall, whispers of the canopy susurrus lost among the frozen flakes of calm reflection.
“Hey ma, hey sky-voice,” he said, grunting against the exhaustion of travel as he clambered to his feet, “I don’t got long here. I went to a big desert. Sandy, ‘s far as the eye can see. Think you woulda liked it, ma - you always said the mountain cold weren’t that kind to your joints. I got one of them cay-mehls.” Gegruns jammed his finger toward Keith, who was trying to snap at a bird’s nest that was just out of reach of his long neck.
“I hope he don’t mind it here,” Gegrun said, transferring his handaxe between his hands with concern, “he might be cold. He’s a bit snappy, but he’s a real softy.” A glob of spit sailed unheeded past Gegrun’s shoulder as he turned and set about chopping down some of the more wiry saplings and driving them into soft loam a short distance from the temple entrance with the butt of the axe. Within a few hours, as the sun began to slink below the horizon and cast an orange haze over the misty forest, Gegrun had constructed a very wide pen for Keith, off into the forest a short distance from the temple entrance. There would be plenty of grass and undergrowth for him to enjoy. Gegrun just hoped the lumbering beast wouldn’t scare too many of the animals who made the forest their home.
A snap of a twig nearby turned Gegrun’s head from his work. A shadow was moving between the trees with lumbering efficiency. After a few tense seconds, the shadow resolved itself into the form of Stedd, pushing his way through the thick undergrowth. There were twigs and leaves sticking out of his plate armour at odd angles.
“Hey!” Gegrun waved a big hand, “Stedd!”
“Hey Gegrun,” Stedd said, weapons shifting on his back and a bundle carried under one arm, “can’t stay long. I remembered you wear chainmail, right?” Stedd asked, clasping Gegrun’s outstretched hand. Gegrun nodded in response, smile creasing his face.
“I’m ‘bout as mobile as rock. The chain helps keep me in good sorts,” he said, gesturing to where the chainmail was draped over a nearby bough that was creaking under the weight, “but it’s nowhere near as impressive as yours! Gosh.” Stedd’s plate armour gleamed where the sun fought through the dense canopy.
“That’s why I’m here, Gegrun! I’ve got no need for this now,” Stedd said, and placed the bundle on a nearby rock. A splinted vambrace wriggled loose of the bundle and clanged onto the loamy floor. Stedd bent, picked it up, and handed it to Gegrun,”and I remembered you were about my size.” Gegrun’s smile widened. He could hardly believe his luck - a free vambrace!
“Wow!” Gegrun exclaimed with a smile, “this is for me?” A few seconds passed, and a subtle look settled on Stedd’s hard features. In the quiet background din of the Feythorn, there was the unerringly visceral and unmistakable sound of Keith trying to spit at a nearby badger. Stedd’s features moved into comprehension.
“No, Gegrun. The whole set of armour is for you,” Stedd said, gesturing at the bundle.
“Wait, really?”
“Yup.”
“Thanks, Stedd. You want this snake staff? Wil gave it to me - I can’t figure it out. It came from this temple.” Gegrun said, foisting the staff aloft. His offer was, however, to the back of Stedd as he climbed to the top of the divot, waved a hand to Gegrun without looking back, and set out along the beaten path. What a nice man, Gegrun thought.
Gegrun turned back to the bundle. Childish enthusiasm brewed and bubbled inside him. A gift! This was the first time Gegrun had been given anything since… Well, this was the first time Gegrun had been given anything. He held up the armour, letting it catch the dying light. He’d always liked the pretty glint of the chain armour, but the long strips of metal on this armour had a way of sending the light bouncing toward his surroundings in a very pleasing way, he thought. I should keep the chain armour, Gegrun said to himself, I should put it somewhere.
So Gegrun headed down the temple steps with both sets of armour, and a few hours, several saplings and a dozen nails later the chainmail armour was hanging on a makeshift armour stand in one of the temple rooms, and his new armour was standing next to it on a similar stand. There was even a place to rest his glaive. Happy, he rolled out his bedroll and fell asleep.
Gegrun hurried back to Daring Heights the next day, resplendent in his new armour, a babbling brook of optimism roiling under his skin. He greeted everyone he knew with a happy wave, and anyone he didn’t with a tusky smile. No notices, yet, so he pushed his way into the Three Headed Ettin with the hope of seeing some familiar faces. The musky smell of the Ettin was familiar, but none of his acquaintances were forthcoming - instead, Coll the bartender waved him over.
“Gegrun, right? This arrived for you,” he said, placing a sealed letter on the counter. “If you need help on reading it, I’m sure one of the others’d be more’n willing.” Gegrun nodded, brow furrowed. He’d never got a letter before.
“I think I’ll be okay, thanks Coll,” Gegrun said, and slid over a silver absentmindedly. The barman nodded thanks and left Gegrun to his own devices, as he picked at the wax seal with a fingernail and found an undisturbed corner of the tavern to sound out the letter. He cleared his throat.
“‘My dear friend Gegrun,’” he echoed, concentration plastered on his features. “Oh, that’s nice. Dear friend. ‘I hope you are well.’ Awh. I hope you’re well too, mister letter person. ‘Please come visit me in Port Ffirst when you can. It is a town by the great water. Bad people here need smashing.” Gegrun nodded. He was good at that.
“‘See you soon, your friend Mace.’” Gegrun finished the letter, his features relaxing a tad. He’d head over to Port Ffirst as soon as possible. The joy under his skin was now tempered with expectation and a hint of curiosity. He hefted his pack onto his shoulders, secured his glaive across his back and waved goodbye to Coll.
“I wonder what he’s after,” Gegrun said to himself as he wandered off into the darkness, following the big road that led to Port Ffirst. “He didn’t say it was urgent or nothin’.”
