Xorn
First Post
As Percy peeked out of the cave entrance just north of the waterfall, he smiled at the serene valley the rising sun was caressing. The grass was bent down with the morning dew, each blade twinkling with drops of water along the vibrant green they cast across the ground. The stream leading away from the falls was gurgling happily away to the southwest, splashing nonchalantly through the tumbled stones of the creek bed. As the sun’s rays crept over the valley, the warming splash of light tugged at a soft mist that was rising from the cool ground and water, urging the moisture into the air.
Nature was oblivious to the surreal carnage scattered about the clearing, as the mist tugged gently over the kobold corpses in the gentle morning flutters of wind. A pair of squirrels was stuffing their cheeks rampantly with odorous foodstuffs from one of the kobolds’ belt pouches, when they suddenly looked up in alarm and scrambled for the safety of the foliage deeper into the trees. Looking up Percy saw a hawk circling overhead, looking for a meal, preferably one that was still moving.
Not seeing any threats outside, Percy returned to the chamber they had camped in, deeper in the caves. “It’s a beautiful morning, actually. Should be a nice trip ba—wooooah!” Percy was stunned as he looked at Omar.
“Ye like it? Fits me perfectly!” The dwarf had just finished donning a suit of plate armor that had been in Irontooth’s chest of presumed belongings. The fighter said it was infused with dwarven magic, and as the armor gleamed across his blocky torso, it looked immaculate. “Musta been too tight fer that Irontooth fella ta where, but I feel like it was made fer me!” Omar was beaming quite proudly as he tested the fit by waving his arms and hoisting his legs up by the knees to feel out the joints.
“I gotta admit,” said the rogue, “that looks pretty good on you!” Percy continued to study the dwarf as he stuffed his helmet on proudly, and something caught his attention. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Daichot, standing behind Omar, trying to stop Percy from making his next observation.
“Except… the… uh… the helmet, I think. It looks…”
“Me ‘ead’s crooked, ya bastard half-wit halfling!” bellowed Omar with a tone of irritation before shouldering his pack abruptly and picking up his maul-turned-warhammer easily and waved it at the halfling. “Not another word about it, neither!”
Daichot shook his head silently at the pair and walked over to Oleaf. The warlord had cleaned the terrible puncture wound as best he could, but it looked infected now, and the bandage had been changed several times, sticky with pus and blood each time he removed it. Their last bandage put on that morning, Daichot helped her dress and wrapped her up in there blankets again, much to her protest.
“I will walk, I have held up our progress enough as it is.” She said weakly.
“Nonsense,” he half-scolded her. “How you even fought with this injury is a testament to your ability, but you need to move as little as possible. You need to rest, and a lot of it. I will carry you back to the town.”
Oleaf’s protest was interrupted by the tiefling, “You will only make yourself worse, if you exert yourself. The threat is gone, thanks in no small part to you—now just rest, we’ll carry you.”
Omar was testing the weight of one of the kobold’s dragon scale shields. The weight was more than it appeared, and the dwarf seemed pleased with the sturdiness of it. As he worked his off-hand into the straps he had retooled during the night, he spoke sternly to the elf.
“Dinnae think ye held us ta this cave, lass.” Omar finished mounting the shield onto his arm and pulled a leather strap tight with his teeth before continuing. “Tha letter we found in tha chest was proof enough; a spy waits fer us in Winterhaven, an’ we’ll be safer if we return by day. Yer wound only cinched what woulda been our choice anyway.”
She thought about what the dwarf had said, and nodded reluctantly. She would not be able to walk back to the town on her own, even if she had wanted to, realistically. Daichot picked her up easily, one arm cradling her legs beneath the knees, and the other carefully placed around her torso, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and neck. Her face flinched a little, but she made no sound.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded, but wasn’t ready to test her voice. Fire was racing from her side down the length of her right leg, but Daichot was doing a good job of holding her still as he started to walk out of the chamber. The muscles in his neck and shoulders felt like steel cords as he easily carried her, and the tieflings arms were relaxed. “See,” he said as she settled into his arms, “I could carry three or four of you, it will be fine.”
“Percy, grab her weapons, it’s time to get out of here.” Omar called back to the halfling as he walked out of the chamber.
Percy blinked in astonishment. “What? Why do I have to carry her crap?”
“If you prefer, you can carry her, and I’ll carry her things. Omar already has her pack, so you carry her weapons. Let’s go.”
“Her bow is bigger than me! This is a pretty bum deal, if you ask me.” Percy was reluctantly picking up her longbow, her short swords, sheathed in their back harness of leather straps, and the bulky pack of quivers which were woven together and normally rested across her back. They weren’t terribly heavy, but remained completely awkward for the short halfling to manage while walking. “Would you look at me? I look like a stupid porter! Do you really expect me to walk all the way back to Winterhaven like this?”
Percy was greeted only by the echo of his own voice, as he realized he was the only person still in the cave.
Nature was oblivious to the surreal carnage scattered about the clearing, as the mist tugged gently over the kobold corpses in the gentle morning flutters of wind. A pair of squirrels was stuffing their cheeks rampantly with odorous foodstuffs from one of the kobolds’ belt pouches, when they suddenly looked up in alarm and scrambled for the safety of the foliage deeper into the trees. Looking up Percy saw a hawk circling overhead, looking for a meal, preferably one that was still moving.
Not seeing any threats outside, Percy returned to the chamber they had camped in, deeper in the caves. “It’s a beautiful morning, actually. Should be a nice trip ba—wooooah!” Percy was stunned as he looked at Omar.
“Ye like it? Fits me perfectly!” The dwarf had just finished donning a suit of plate armor that had been in Irontooth’s chest of presumed belongings. The fighter said it was infused with dwarven magic, and as the armor gleamed across his blocky torso, it looked immaculate. “Musta been too tight fer that Irontooth fella ta where, but I feel like it was made fer me!” Omar was beaming quite proudly as he tested the fit by waving his arms and hoisting his legs up by the knees to feel out the joints.
“I gotta admit,” said the rogue, “that looks pretty good on you!” Percy continued to study the dwarf as he stuffed his helmet on proudly, and something caught his attention. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Daichot, standing behind Omar, trying to stop Percy from making his next observation.
“Except… the… uh… the helmet, I think. It looks…”
“Me ‘ead’s crooked, ya bastard half-wit halfling!” bellowed Omar with a tone of irritation before shouldering his pack abruptly and picking up his maul-turned-warhammer easily and waved it at the halfling. “Not another word about it, neither!”
Daichot shook his head silently at the pair and walked over to Oleaf. The warlord had cleaned the terrible puncture wound as best he could, but it looked infected now, and the bandage had been changed several times, sticky with pus and blood each time he removed it. Their last bandage put on that morning, Daichot helped her dress and wrapped her up in there blankets again, much to her protest.
“I will walk, I have held up our progress enough as it is.” She said weakly.
“Nonsense,” he half-scolded her. “How you even fought with this injury is a testament to your ability, but you need to move as little as possible. You need to rest, and a lot of it. I will carry you back to the town.”
Oleaf’s protest was interrupted by the tiefling, “You will only make yourself worse, if you exert yourself. The threat is gone, thanks in no small part to you—now just rest, we’ll carry you.”
Omar was testing the weight of one of the kobold’s dragon scale shields. The weight was more than it appeared, and the dwarf seemed pleased with the sturdiness of it. As he worked his off-hand into the straps he had retooled during the night, he spoke sternly to the elf.
“Dinnae think ye held us ta this cave, lass.” Omar finished mounting the shield onto his arm and pulled a leather strap tight with his teeth before continuing. “Tha letter we found in tha chest was proof enough; a spy waits fer us in Winterhaven, an’ we’ll be safer if we return by day. Yer wound only cinched what woulda been our choice anyway.”
She thought about what the dwarf had said, and nodded reluctantly. She would not be able to walk back to the town on her own, even if she had wanted to, realistically. Daichot picked her up easily, one arm cradling her legs beneath the knees, and the other carefully placed around her torso, and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and neck. Her face flinched a little, but she made no sound.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded, but wasn’t ready to test her voice. Fire was racing from her side down the length of her right leg, but Daichot was doing a good job of holding her still as he started to walk out of the chamber. The muscles in his neck and shoulders felt like steel cords as he easily carried her, and the tieflings arms were relaxed. “See,” he said as she settled into his arms, “I could carry three or four of you, it will be fine.”
“Percy, grab her weapons, it’s time to get out of here.” Omar called back to the halfling as he walked out of the chamber.
Percy blinked in astonishment. “What? Why do I have to carry her crap?”
“If you prefer, you can carry her, and I’ll carry her things. Omar already has her pack, so you carry her weapons. Let’s go.”
“Her bow is bigger than me! This is a pretty bum deal, if you ask me.” Percy was reluctantly picking up her longbow, her short swords, sheathed in their back harness of leather straps, and the bulky pack of quivers which were woven together and normally rested across her back. They weren’t terribly heavy, but remained completely awkward for the short halfling to manage while walking. “Would you look at me? I look like a stupid porter! Do you really expect me to walk all the way back to Winterhaven like this?”
Percy was greeted only by the echo of his own voice, as he realized he was the only person still in the cave.