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Chronicles of a Cooper. (post 19, Rosedale)
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<blockquote data-quote="alsih2o" data-source="post: 2172651" data-attributes="member: 4790"><p><strong>A Sign?</strong></p><p></p><p>Porter attempted a broad smile.</p><p></p><p> Before he could force his face to react he realized his position. Kneeling, hands on his hammerhead, covered in several days of mud and filth. Porter gave his best impression of springing to his feet but the previous days had worn heavily on him. </p><p></p><p> He pulled himself up, hanging his hammer across his waist with his hands wide. His back straightened and he held his head high in preparation for whatever message came to him now from the gods. </p><p></p><p> The mud slid down Porter’s shins and into his boots in the awkward silence before the man in the green robes spoke. “I say, know where I can pick up some cat food?”</p><p></p><p> Porter stared intently at the man. He was sure he had no idea what a sign from the gods was supposed to do but he was relatively sure it had nothing to do with feeding a cat. He looked the man up and down. His robe was a nice green fabric and his face was well shaded under a broad brimmed and pointy-topped hat. </p><p></p><p> Porter stifled a laugh, the man looked just like the wizards in the dirty cartoons carved into the walls of the craphouses in every craftsmen hall on his route. As he stared at the ridiculous hat an enormously fat cat poked it head around the brim and stared at him with malevolently slitted yellow eyes.</p><p></p><p> Caught between laughter, respect and confusion Porter panicked. Even though he knew better than to speak when he could feel the blood in his face, he spoke.</p><p></p><p> His words spewed forth in a jumble both pleading and aggressive. "What is it I'm supposed to do?" he said to the robed man. "And who sent you? If'n you don't mind me asking."</p><p></p><p> Porter paused and considered odd stew of stories he had heard about the gods. “Or is it you?” he asked, looking past the mans brim to his cat.</p><p></p><p> The robed man spoke "No, no! Twas me... Greebo doesn't talk per se, and twas nobody that sent me...unless you count Master Reading...” and then laughed nervously. </p><p></p><p> The thin mans jaw worked emptily, as if he might pause but he continued “He 'sent' me in the general sense of the word, but the sending was not specific and, I assure you it has nothing to do with you or your rather large and, ahem, nice...looking...weapon...a</p><p>hammer is it?” </p><p></p><p> Porter had almost caught up what the man was saying when the cat caught his eye again. Was it possible that look was disdain? He remembered the word hammer and took a breath to speak but the robed man started again.</p><p></p><p> “Did you know that the hammer is a most ancient weapon...I read</p><p>about them in a book once...Garfang's Compendium of Weapons and Armor 3rd</p><p>edition.... or was it 4th.... anyway, it wasn't difficult reading if you catch</p><p>my meaning. I was quite surprised that a man (or woman) with the name of</p><p>Garfang could/would write a book...read it mostly out of curiosity more than</p><p>anything...why else read, I've always said..” </p><p></p><p> Porter loosed his right hand form his hammer and put his hand up to stop the man for fear of it never happening. He was growing increasingly confused.</p><p></p><p>"But it does have to do with me, or you, you know? See, I asked for something and here you are, you’re my something, see?” Porter’s head felt like it was full of bees; he decided to get to the point. “So, what are we doing?"</p><p></p><p> The robed man spoke in his usual hurry "I, well, I was on my way to Rosedale to do a little research you may join me if you wish. I am Walther Gimbleson, you may call me Walt. Read any good books lately?"</p><p></p><p> Porter finally relaxed. Now he had a direction and something to do. Research.</p><p></p><p> Research? </p><p></p><p> "Research...research it is then. Orrin "Porter" Rockwell is my name. Some folks call me Cooper. I don't read much, but if that is what you 'spect of me, I'll be doing it." Porter tried to be friendly, he wondered how to behave when confronted by a sign form a god.</p><p></p><p> While Porter was oblivious to it Walther was having a completely different experience. Porter saw a possibly confusing sign from a god. Walther saw a huge, filthy man with a hammer waiting for him. Specifically him.</p><p></p><p> Walther spoke with some hesitancy, noticing the mass of Porters hammer sinking slowly into the roadside muck. "What 'zactly...ahem, Exactly do you mean 'expect of me'?"</p><p></p><p> The jab went over Porters head and he tried again to clarify himself. "Well..I just...you see, I was here on my knees asking...you know, whoever'd listen for a reason. Well, no, akshully I asked for a sign. A sign I had a life worth living and saving. And here you are!"</p><p></p><p> Now it was Porter’s turn to ramble, “"Maybe it is research. Does that hurt? I just, I mean I am real good at making barrels, and I carry stuff well...and they say I can hit like a mule kicks. But If'n yer my sign, yer my sign. Right?"</p><p></p><p> Porter gave his biggest smile beaming out form underneath all his filth, ready for his clearly worded sign form the gods.</p><p></p><p> Walther saw his opening and took control of the conversation “Ahh! So it's employment you seek. Well, I have no need of barrels and I can carry all my own belongings, I may have use for a strong arm and you DO look handy with that hammer.... how does three silver per day sound? That's a fair wage according to this book I have here."</p><p></p><p> Porter's jaw dropped and he stared at Walther as if he had just farted a black dragon circus. </p><p></p><p> “Uh…” Porter thought he needed to run; no sign form the gods looks like this.</p><p></p><p> “I….” Porter had visions of crushing the man and running again, somewhere far away.</p><p></p><p> “Um…” Porter felt his knees weaken and felt the burn of his hunger.</p><p></p><p> “O.K” Porter tried to knock enough filth off of his person to look worth 3 silver pieces per day as the man started a steady pace down the road.</p><p></p><p> Walther spoke as he started a brisk pace down the road. "Very well then, you shall receive your payment at the days end. There we shall find lodging and pursue our research on the morrow. Tally ho? Oh, one other thing, do stay out of rang of Greebo, he's mean when he's hungry."</p><p></p><p> Porter fell in behind his new employer like a younger boy fallows his big brothers friends.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="alsih2o, post: 2172651, member: 4790"] [b]A Sign?[/b] Porter attempted a broad smile. Before he could force his face to react he realized his position. Kneeling, hands on his hammerhead, covered in several days of mud and filth. Porter gave his best impression of springing to his feet but the previous days had worn heavily on him. He pulled himself up, hanging his hammer across his waist with his hands wide. His back straightened and he held his head high in preparation for whatever message came to him now from the gods. The mud slid down Porter’s shins and into his boots in the awkward silence before the man in the green robes spoke. “I say, know where I can pick up some cat food?” Porter stared intently at the man. He was sure he had no idea what a sign from the gods was supposed to do but he was relatively sure it had nothing to do with feeding a cat. He looked the man up and down. His robe was a nice green fabric and his face was well shaded under a broad brimmed and pointy-topped hat. Porter stifled a laugh, the man looked just like the wizards in the dirty cartoons carved into the walls of the craphouses in every craftsmen hall on his route. As he stared at the ridiculous hat an enormously fat cat poked it head around the brim and stared at him with malevolently slitted yellow eyes. Caught between laughter, respect and confusion Porter panicked. Even though he knew better than to speak when he could feel the blood in his face, he spoke. His words spewed forth in a jumble both pleading and aggressive. "What is it I'm supposed to do?" he said to the robed man. "And who sent you? If'n you don't mind me asking." Porter paused and considered odd stew of stories he had heard about the gods. “Or is it you?” he asked, looking past the mans brim to his cat. The robed man spoke "No, no! Twas me... Greebo doesn't talk per se, and twas nobody that sent me...unless you count Master Reading...” and then laughed nervously. The thin mans jaw worked emptily, as if he might pause but he continued “He 'sent' me in the general sense of the word, but the sending was not specific and, I assure you it has nothing to do with you or your rather large and, ahem, nice...looking...weapon...a hammer is it?” Porter had almost caught up what the man was saying when the cat caught his eye again. Was it possible that look was disdain? He remembered the word hammer and took a breath to speak but the robed man started again. “Did you know that the hammer is a most ancient weapon...I read about them in a book once...Garfang's Compendium of Weapons and Armor 3rd edition.... or was it 4th.... anyway, it wasn't difficult reading if you catch my meaning. I was quite surprised that a man (or woman) with the name of Garfang could/would write a book...read it mostly out of curiosity more than anything...why else read, I've always said..” Porter loosed his right hand form his hammer and put his hand up to stop the man for fear of it never happening. He was growing increasingly confused. "But it does have to do with me, or you, you know? See, I asked for something and here you are, you’re my something, see?” Porter’s head felt like it was full of bees; he decided to get to the point. “So, what are we doing?" The robed man spoke in his usual hurry "I, well, I was on my way to Rosedale to do a little research you may join me if you wish. I am Walther Gimbleson, you may call me Walt. Read any good books lately?" Porter finally relaxed. Now he had a direction and something to do. Research. Research? "Research...research it is then. Orrin "Porter" Rockwell is my name. Some folks call me Cooper. I don't read much, but if that is what you 'spect of me, I'll be doing it." Porter tried to be friendly, he wondered how to behave when confronted by a sign form a god. While Porter was oblivious to it Walther was having a completely different experience. Porter saw a possibly confusing sign from a god. Walther saw a huge, filthy man with a hammer waiting for him. Specifically him. Walther spoke with some hesitancy, noticing the mass of Porters hammer sinking slowly into the roadside muck. "What 'zactly...ahem, Exactly do you mean 'expect of me'?" The jab went over Porters head and he tried again to clarify himself. "Well..I just...you see, I was here on my knees asking...you know, whoever'd listen for a reason. Well, no, akshully I asked for a sign. A sign I had a life worth living and saving. And here you are!" Now it was Porter’s turn to ramble, “"Maybe it is research. Does that hurt? I just, I mean I am real good at making barrels, and I carry stuff well...and they say I can hit like a mule kicks. But If'n yer my sign, yer my sign. Right?" Porter gave his biggest smile beaming out form underneath all his filth, ready for his clearly worded sign form the gods. Walther saw his opening and took control of the conversation “Ahh! So it's employment you seek. Well, I have no need of barrels and I can carry all my own belongings, I may have use for a strong arm and you DO look handy with that hammer.... how does three silver per day sound? That's a fair wage according to this book I have here." Porter's jaw dropped and he stared at Walther as if he had just farted a black dragon circus. “Uh…” Porter thought he needed to run; no sign form the gods looks like this. “I….” Porter had visions of crushing the man and running again, somewhere far away. “Um…” Porter felt his knees weaken and felt the burn of his hunger. “O.K” Porter tried to knock enough filth off of his person to look worth 3 silver pieces per day as the man started a steady pace down the road. Walther spoke as he started a brisk pace down the road. "Very well then, you shall receive your payment at the days end. There we shall find lodging and pursue our research on the morrow. Tally ho? Oh, one other thing, do stay out of rang of Greebo, he's mean when he's hungry." Porter fell in behind his new employer like a younger boy fallows his big brothers friends. [/QUOTE]
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