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<blockquote data-quote="Xorn" data-source="post: 4368384" data-attributes="member: 61231"><p>“Me father’s father’s father forged this hammer.” Explained the dwarf to the others.</p><p></p><p>They were gathered around a small fire that Percy had built in one of the deeper chambers of the cave, where Irontooth looked to have laired, judging by the amount of loot that was located in the corner. Percy was the only one that was really listening very intently; Daichot was half-asleep, laying against his pack, which was leaned up against the dank walls of the room. Oleaf was asleep on the far side of the fire, fighting off a terrible chill that had come over her in the few hours they had made camp in the cave. Omar had been too distracted to sleep yet, and Percy was busy making jokes about the fighter’s family weapon after he caught on that Omar wasn’t going to kill himself over the matter.</p><p></p><p>“So would you say that it was just too much weapon for you?”</p><p></p><p>Omar looked at the halfling, who half expected to see the dwarf scowling at him for the remark, but he wasn’t; he was actually holding a little grin from the side of his lips, making his wild beard look more lopsided than normal.</p><p></p><p>“Aye, ye know laddie,” Omar said, “I cinnae argue with that.” Omar leaned forward from his work on the handle of his broken weapon as if he were sharing a secret. “I never much cared fer tha’ blasted heavy thing, to tell truth on the subject.” He winked at Percy, who looked as though he had heard a priest break wind in temple. “Aye, I cin seeya weren’ ready fer that, was ya?”</p><p></p><p>“I loved me father,” he continued, “and I loved that he handed down me weapon when he felt I was ready ta take up my duty to me clan.” Omar held up his index finger to interrupt himself, “But—there was always somethin’ that felt off, fer me. I never knew what it was till today; not till I bashed ‘at chest open witha remains o’ me family legacy.” He held up the top half of the maul, a heavy, angular block of metal that interlocked with the metal handle inside the great hunk of steel. At the base of the now shorter handle, he was wrapping a long strip of leather around the shaft to make a woven grip. “The weight was off! This be a warhammer I been carryin’ all these years!”</p><p></p><p>“Wow,” added Percy, “because it looks like a maul with a short handle on it. But if that helps ya sleep at night.”</p><p></p><p>“Well, I would nay expec’ a flimsy armed halfling to understand the balance o’ dwarven weapons.”</p><p></p><p>Percy smiled, enjoying the banter, “Probably not. After all if you have to keep the weapon lighter than your head, us Halflings have a lot less material to work with!”</p><p></p><p>Omar laughed loudly at that remark, and Oleaf stirred restlessly. The hides she wore for armor and the clothes she wore under them were all spread out in front of the fire, drying, while she huddled in her bedroll for warmth. All of them had been embarrassed as they caught themselves staring at her more supple curves when she nonchalantly tore off her armor to inspect the wound in her side. With only drenched silks to cover her breasts, the cascading light coming through the waterfall had left very little to the imagination.</p><p></p><p>As she slumped to the floor pressing her hand over the puncture wound in her side, the slippery blood seeping between her slender fingers had snapped them out of their trance as they realized she was much more badly injured than she had shown during the fighting. Daichot had carried her into the back chamber while Omar and Percy inspected the caves for any other hostiles.</p><p></p><p>The warlord applied what care he had learned from the temple, using herbs that Percy located outside the falls. “I know herbs—not for healing,” he had admitted, “but I know them.” The more sinister reason was left unspoken as they collectively worried about the young elf. At that thought, Omar found himself perplexed.</p><p></p><p>“How old do you think she is?”</p><p></p><p>Percy took in the dwarf’s question like he’d almost nodded off, snapping his head up in realization. “You know… I… I have no idea. I don’t really know any elves. In human terms she doesn’t look to be in her twenties, but you’re right, she might be older than us!”</p><p></p><p>Omar nodded in agreement to that, and the rogue continued, “I mean, you’re what? Eighty? Eight-five?”</p><p></p><p>Omar ruffled for the first time since outside the falls. “I’m forty years young, thank you!”</p><p></p><p>Percy held up his hands in surrender, laughing. “I know you’re not eighty, I’m just making light of the situation.” He frowned then, “You sure you’re not fifty? You’ve got some grey…” he brushed his hands through his own brown curls at his temple, to show Omar where he was talking about.</p><p></p><p>Omar felt his blood rise, but caught himself before he reacted and smiled. He didn’t have any grey hair, and Percy laughed when Omar stopped himself from retorting. “Ye do that a lot, don’tcha lad?”</p><p></p><p>It was Percy’s turn to be confused. “Do what?”</p><p></p><p>“Make light o’ things.”</p><p></p><p>Percy shrugged, “If you can’t laugh at life, what’s the point? No sense in being an old sourpuss all the time—“</p><p></p><p>“Easy lad,” interrupted the dwarf, “I’m not judgin’ ya. At least, I’m not judgin’ ya anymore. When there’s fightin’ ta be done, I kin count on ye. I know that. Thanks fer savin’ me life tidday.”</p><p></p><p>Percy waved a dismissing hand, a tone of seriousness in his voice. “I didn’t do anything that you wouldn’t do for anyone around his fire.” Omar started to object to Percy dismissing his thanks, but the halfing talked louder to finish what he was saying. “You’re welcome, Omar—but I’m not much for keepin’ track of who saved who last—you’re becoming my friend, and just thank me for that once, if you want. I rely on you and you rely on me. Savin’ one another is a big part of being friends, where I grew up.”</p><p></p><p>Omar thought about what he had heard, and nodded. He stood up and offered a solemn thanks to the halfling, “Thanks for bein’ me friend then, Percy.”</p><p></p><p>Percy dipped his head in solemn acknowledgement, then took a swig from his wineskin and passed it to Omar.</p><p></p><p>“Ye know,” Omar belched quietly after taking a long draw, “fer a poor, stupid, bastard of a halfling—yer pretty good in a fight.”</p><p></p><p>“Thanks!” The halfling took the statement as a complete compliment.</p><p></p><p>“What did ya do ‘afore ye came ta Fallcrest? Ye said ye’s on vacation?”</p><p></p><p>“Visiting relatives,” he corrected. “I took a riverboat up from the southlands, came up to catch up with some old contacts, maybe find some work.”</p><p></p><p>“Mmm-hmmm.” Omar replied.</p><p></p><p>“What?” said the halfling.</p><p></p><p>“One thing I noticed, laddie, is ye ne’er shuddup. But ask about yer past, an’ you clam up. I ain’t ginna pry, but is jus’ somethin’ I noticed.”</p><p></p><p>Percy nodded in acceptance of the observation. “I’ve wondered about yer story too, of course. Not many dwarves leave Hammerfast that I know of, and fewer still shave their beard off. Did you sleep with another man’s wife or something?”</p><p></p><p>Omar chuckled at the suggestion. “No lad. Nothin’ like that.”</p><p></p><p>“What brought you to Fallcrest, then? If you show me yours then I’ll show you mine.”</p><p></p><p>Daichot moved over and knelt over the elf to inspect the dressing on her wound, lifting up the edge of the bedroll. From their side they could see the curve of her bare shoulder and a wild fount of silky hair matted to her back. Her lips were quivering with chill, but Daichot shook his head as he touched her flesh beneath the coverings. “She’s burning up; fever hasn’t broken.”</p><p></p><p>“What do we do then?”</p><p></p><p>Oleaf weakly spoke. “Keep talking, it helps me sleep.”</p><p></p><p>They were all looking at Omar.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Xorn, post: 4368384, member: 61231"] “Me father’s father’s father forged this hammer.” Explained the dwarf to the others. They were gathered around a small fire that Percy had built in one of the deeper chambers of the cave, where Irontooth looked to have laired, judging by the amount of loot that was located in the corner. Percy was the only one that was really listening very intently; Daichot was half-asleep, laying against his pack, which was leaned up against the dank walls of the room. Oleaf was asleep on the far side of the fire, fighting off a terrible chill that had come over her in the few hours they had made camp in the cave. Omar had been too distracted to sleep yet, and Percy was busy making jokes about the fighter’s family weapon after he caught on that Omar wasn’t going to kill himself over the matter. “So would you say that it was just too much weapon for you?” Omar looked at the halfling, who half expected to see the dwarf scowling at him for the remark, but he wasn’t; he was actually holding a little grin from the side of his lips, making his wild beard look more lopsided than normal. “Aye, ye know laddie,” Omar said, “I cinnae argue with that.” Omar leaned forward from his work on the handle of his broken weapon as if he were sharing a secret. “I never much cared fer tha’ blasted heavy thing, to tell truth on the subject.” He winked at Percy, who looked as though he had heard a priest break wind in temple. “Aye, I cin seeya weren’ ready fer that, was ya?” “I loved me father,” he continued, “and I loved that he handed down me weapon when he felt I was ready ta take up my duty to me clan.” Omar held up his index finger to interrupt himself, “But—there was always somethin’ that felt off, fer me. I never knew what it was till today; not till I bashed ‘at chest open witha remains o’ me family legacy.” He held up the top half of the maul, a heavy, angular block of metal that interlocked with the metal handle inside the great hunk of steel. At the base of the now shorter handle, he was wrapping a long strip of leather around the shaft to make a woven grip. “The weight was off! This be a warhammer I been carryin’ all these years!” “Wow,” added Percy, “because it looks like a maul with a short handle on it. But if that helps ya sleep at night.” “Well, I would nay expec’ a flimsy armed halfling to understand the balance o’ dwarven weapons.” Percy smiled, enjoying the banter, “Probably not. After all if you have to keep the weapon lighter than your head, us Halflings have a lot less material to work with!” Omar laughed loudly at that remark, and Oleaf stirred restlessly. The hides she wore for armor and the clothes she wore under them were all spread out in front of the fire, drying, while she huddled in her bedroll for warmth. All of them had been embarrassed as they caught themselves staring at her more supple curves when she nonchalantly tore off her armor to inspect the wound in her side. With only drenched silks to cover her breasts, the cascading light coming through the waterfall had left very little to the imagination. As she slumped to the floor pressing her hand over the puncture wound in her side, the slippery blood seeping between her slender fingers had snapped them out of their trance as they realized she was much more badly injured than she had shown during the fighting. Daichot had carried her into the back chamber while Omar and Percy inspected the caves for any other hostiles. The warlord applied what care he had learned from the temple, using herbs that Percy located outside the falls. “I know herbs—not for healing,” he had admitted, “but I know them.” The more sinister reason was left unspoken as they collectively worried about the young elf. At that thought, Omar found himself perplexed. “How old do you think she is?” Percy took in the dwarf’s question like he’d almost nodded off, snapping his head up in realization. “You know… I… I have no idea. I don’t really know any elves. In human terms she doesn’t look to be in her twenties, but you’re right, she might be older than us!” Omar nodded in agreement to that, and the rogue continued, “I mean, you’re what? Eighty? Eight-five?” Omar ruffled for the first time since outside the falls. “I’m forty years young, thank you!” Percy held up his hands in surrender, laughing. “I know you’re not eighty, I’m just making light of the situation.” He frowned then, “You sure you’re not fifty? You’ve got some grey…” he brushed his hands through his own brown curls at his temple, to show Omar where he was talking about. Omar felt his blood rise, but caught himself before he reacted and smiled. He didn’t have any grey hair, and Percy laughed when Omar stopped himself from retorting. “Ye do that a lot, don’tcha lad?” It was Percy’s turn to be confused. “Do what?” “Make light o’ things.” Percy shrugged, “If you can’t laugh at life, what’s the point? No sense in being an old sourpuss all the time—“ “Easy lad,” interrupted the dwarf, “I’m not judgin’ ya. At least, I’m not judgin’ ya anymore. When there’s fightin’ ta be done, I kin count on ye. I know that. Thanks fer savin’ me life tidday.” Percy waved a dismissing hand, a tone of seriousness in his voice. “I didn’t do anything that you wouldn’t do for anyone around his fire.” Omar started to object to Percy dismissing his thanks, but the halfing talked louder to finish what he was saying. “You’re welcome, Omar—but I’m not much for keepin’ track of who saved who last—you’re becoming my friend, and just thank me for that once, if you want. I rely on you and you rely on me. Savin’ one another is a big part of being friends, where I grew up.” Omar thought about what he had heard, and nodded. He stood up and offered a solemn thanks to the halfling, “Thanks for bein’ me friend then, Percy.” Percy dipped his head in solemn acknowledgement, then took a swig from his wineskin and passed it to Omar. “Ye know,” Omar belched quietly after taking a long draw, “fer a poor, stupid, bastard of a halfling—yer pretty good in a fight.” “Thanks!” The halfling took the statement as a complete compliment. “What did ya do ‘afore ye came ta Fallcrest? Ye said ye’s on vacation?” “Visiting relatives,” he corrected. “I took a riverboat up from the southlands, came up to catch up with some old contacts, maybe find some work.” “Mmm-hmmm.” Omar replied. “What?” said the halfling. “One thing I noticed, laddie, is ye ne’er shuddup. But ask about yer past, an’ you clam up. I ain’t ginna pry, but is jus’ somethin’ I noticed.” Percy nodded in acceptance of the observation. “I’ve wondered about yer story too, of course. Not many dwarves leave Hammerfast that I know of, and fewer still shave their beard off. Did you sleep with another man’s wife or something?” Omar chuckled at the suggestion. “No lad. Nothin’ like that.” “What brought you to Fallcrest, then? If you show me yours then I’ll show you mine.” Daichot moved over and knelt over the elf to inspect the dressing on her wound, lifting up the edge of the bedroll. From their side they could see the curve of her bare shoulder and a wild fount of silky hair matted to her back. Her lips were quivering with chill, but Daichot shook his head as he touched her flesh beneath the coverings. “She’s burning up; fever hasn’t broken.” “What do we do then?” Oleaf weakly spoke. “Keep talking, it helps me sleep.” They were all looking at Omar. [/QUOTE]
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