This blog is a narrative outline (a literary embelishemnt if you will) of a campaign and setting that I created for 2E when I was in college. I adapted to 4E and am currently playing out with my son, who has followed in his father's love of the game.
IV- A Freak Encounter
Posted 13th December 2008 at 05:35 PM by H.M.Gimlord
Updated 13th February 2009 at 01:49 AM by H.M.Gimlord
Updated 13th February 2009 at 01:49 AM by H.M.Gimlord
After sliding his chest under the table, Firebyrne hunched with his back to the corner and contemplated his mug. Instead of trying not to draw attention to himself, which was, of course, impossible, he settled for just staying quiet. Staring down at the white head of his drink, he searched his insight for why The Oracle had sent him here. Where was he going to go? He couldn’t hide his face forever, and it would take a long time to establish himself as a familiar citizen of this town.
“wux re ti de zahae tenpiswo. re wux?” The sound of his native language jarred Firebyrne from his reverie. He raised his eyes above the amber foam at the top of his mug just high enough to see a short squat dwarf with a singed, gray beard extending a leathery hand toward him. Firebyrne was so stunned that he immediately accepted the handshake, though, for him, it was an awkward form of greeting. He had seen it done among humans and dwarves before, but until now, he had never done it himself.
Firebyrne met the dwarf’s gaze once more, “It would appear that you’re quite a foreigner here as well.” Firebyrne nodded sideways toward the others in the common room, calling attention to the demographic majority in the room, though he never took his eyes off of the dwarf.
“Ah. You are wrong there, my scaled companion. I have lived in Rioc Alair all fifty-six years of my life, though, until now, I have never seen one of the dragonborn. My father would tell me stories aplenty, but I never believed them. He even carved them out of stone to show me. It certainly is good to see a face more different than mine in this city. Blasting fires! How legends come to life!” The dwarf pulled back the stool opposite Firebyrne and invited himself to have a seat.
“As long as you’re talking, you might as well have something to drink.” Firebyrne signaled the innkeeper. “A mug for the dwarf! A reward for being the only other freak in the city!” The common room erupted in laughter, and the innkeeper quickly placed a mug on their table.
“Found y’self a friend now have ya Mr. Mast?” The mug was quickly followed by an outstretched hand toward Firebyrne. This one did not want to be shaken. Firebyrne deposited two coppers in the innkeepers hand and turned his attention back to the dwarf.
“Mast?” he mused, “That’s an odd name for a dwarf. “
“His father came in sailin’ a boat” interrupted the innkeeper. “Jus’ he an’ his wife. Bard was his name.” The innkeeper pocketed the coppers in his apron, “None ever got a sir-name outa him, just called himself th’Man o’the Mast on accounta his means of transport, bein’ odd for his type, that is.”
“So tell me Mr. Mast“, Firebyrne continued, looking around as the innkeeper resumed his place at the bar, “Is everyone here human? And if so, where can a monster such as me find work in a place like this.”
“Please. Call me Hankel.” The dwarf waved his hand as if to parry the blow of formality. “It just so happens that you and I, different as we are, are two of a kind, and since this is the case, your prospects are slim for employment. That is, of course, unless you’d be willing to work for me.”
“I love the sea, but I’m not much of a sailor, if that’s what you mean.”
“Not at all. I’ve pursued the true dwarven art. I am the Master Armorer for Rioc Alair and, in my spare time, I’m a mender of fences.” Hankel chuckled to himself, musing as if the statement was some kind of inside joke.
“If you’re offering me a job at the forge, I accept, though I will require training.”
“Fair enough. You can mend the fences” replied Hankel. “And may I call you Scorch?”
“How did you arrive at that?” Firebyrne was surprised and slightly offended.
“It’s written on your trunk.” Hankel tapped the trunk under the table with the tip of his boot right under the groves that formed Firebyrne’s name. “I just figured it’s easier for me than saying Ixenvalignat.”
“I prefer ‘Firebyrne’ when my name is used in the common tongue.”
“Firebyrne it is! I’ll give you until six bells from the temple to find the forge in town. I’ll see you then. If you are late, you will be given twice as much work to do.” The dwarf turned toward the door, “Thank you kindly for the drink Firebyrne” he called back as he strode out into the street.
Firebyrne’s eyes followed him out the door until he was gone from sight. So much for questions about the future. You’ve got work to do in the morning.
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Comments
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nice give and take between the characters. nit-picking, the comment at the start about watching the bubbles rise to the foam was distracting for me because of the assumption that mugs/steins are either metal or wood.Posted 15th December 2008 at 09:07 PM by BradfordFerguson
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Bradford Furguson,
I'm happy to see that someone is actively interested in the thread. Feel free to read through the other entries as this is a continuing story with three previous installments.
Thanks for the input. You and I may well find sevral more anachronisms as we read and reread these stories. Sometimes I'm oblivious to my own 21st century point of view.Posted 18th December 2008 at 12:41 AM by H.M.Gimlord 
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