Wow. The party has been out of the town for less than a day and have already met some interesting characters, er creatures............maggot-eaters, maybe? Anyway, now those things have gotten a little taste of Jonas and Constance, it won't surprise me if they end up coming back for more. Perhaps for a "bigger" helping next time.
"The Promised Land" - An Aquerra Campaign (Last Updated 1/23/04)
Jonas Fawkes
First Post
I've been waiting for some more of this fine story of my bravery and ingenuity and prowess myself. . .
Rastfar
First Post
Session #8
session #8
Still running high on adrenaline from the fight, the small group gathered together and pondered what to do next. The light of the fire burned low. They agreed, it was dangerous to stay, but equally so to go; no one knew when the undead would come back. Ultimately, they arrived at a decision of practicality; the river was rough, and without light, it would be difficult to spot the rocks. The group stayed, attempting to stave off fatigue with brief naps before dusk.
Tholem, 4th of Oche – 564 H.E.
They awoke that morning about as well rested as could be expected, having slept fitfully on the rocky wet incline. They nursed the wounds of the night’s activities and quickly broke camp. An easy task as most of the supplies still remained in the boats. A quick survey of the bottoms revealed minimal damage. They drank the rest of their rapidly diminishing water supplies. Too late they realized their error in only accounting for food rations.
Jebediah pushed the boats into the water as Adair lifted the bottoms from the rocks with a half burnt log.
“We may need to stop in Black River Bridge,” stated Wrenchard as he covered the fire pit, “to use their well.”
Jonas was bundling his armor. “Isn’t that place cursed?”
Wrenchard raised an eyebrow and glanced at the young man sidelong, “Isn’t our place cursed?” From Wrenchard’s crouched position Jonas thought his look sinister.
Of course, that did little to strain his tongue. “I think they’re more cursed.”
---------------------------------------------
Constance sat in the middle of the lead boat as Jebediah provided power in the front, Wrenchard supplementing and steering from the rear. She’d periodically knead the knotted muscles in Jebediah’s back and shoulders. Jonas and Adair dragged behind in their wake.
Catching his breath, Jonas muttered, “brother and sister my ass.” Adair heard it and chuckled.
The journey for the day was uneventful, save for a few bumps on the bases of the boats. They stopped to change the dressings of their bandages at about mid-day, eating dry tack and meat, drinking sparingly, and scooping snow into the lips of their waterskins. The respite was brief. Delicately they traded seating arrangements. Jonas volunteered to ride with Constance, but instead was saddled with Jebediah and most of the gear. His chagrin was evident to Wrenchard, who wore his own dismay overtly.
“Mr. Valinson, if we’re going to be traveling together you can’t be giving me that disappointed fatherly look so much,” Jonas capitulated.
Wrenchard had no chance to respond. Already embittered by Jonas’ constant pestering of his sister, Jebediah chirped in. “Maybe you should work hard to not be such a disappointment.”
Everyone laughed. And it didn’t hurt so much for Jonas to be laughed at, frankly he was used to it, often laughing along in his own self-deprecation. But this was somehow different, less funny, more mocking, kind of serious, perhaps it was the smarmy look on Constance that set his blood to boil.
Flustered he lashed back, “Maybe you should work hard to shut your mouth!” He looked away.
Muttering to himself Jonas chided, “I’m on to you,” casting an askance glance at the Groomers.
Having heard him, Constance turned to Jebediah, “Huh? What does that mean, he’s on to us?”
---------------------------------------------
The group pushed on in the choppy waters, dodging rocks and flakes of snow. Though the white powder sprinkled steadily from the sky, it had yet to begin collecting or pose any impediment. As the afternoon progressed so too did the palisade embankments, offering no shore for the coming dusk.
They paused to rest a bit and consult Valinson’s map. Intrigued, Constance leaned in close as he unfurled it from its protective leather tube. Whether it was the weather or perhaps he had already begun to miss the comfort of his own bed, he did not know, but Wrenchard felt the warmth of her fingers make his flesh tingle. The heady way she leaned in on and over him caused something stir inside. His eyes met hers. Suddenly, feeling as if everyone was watching, he recoiled back and jerked the map from her grasp.
“Yup. Up ahead a little further, the left bank should break.” Wrenchard picked up an oar and repositioned himself in his seat.
Constance and Adair gingerly switched positions, while Jebediah continued to power the lead boat onward. They paddled on later and later, hoping against all hope that they might find a suitable place to land and make camp. Dusk fell; Bes (1) did not find them.
A lantern was produced and affixed to the prow of the lead boat. The trailing boat was lashed to the first with rope. Driven, Jebediah paddled fueled by stubborn pride, calling out the positions of visible rocks. “Right!” “Left!” This tactic met with marginal success.
Ultimately, a loud scrape, much more resonant and pronounced than all of their prior bumps proved, gave them pause.
Constance called up to Adair, “Check the outside for a hole.” She did little to hide the concern, which caused her voice to crack.
Hearing the commotion, Jonas was quick to respond, “Keep your hands in the boat!”
Tired, disgruntled and perturbed, the five endured working their way to the westerly bank, the boats suffering a few more punishing scrapes along the way. Once secured to the sides of the cliff via outcroppings of rock and withered shrub roots, heated debate ensued.
Jonas was the first to cast accusations, “I told you we needed more practice!”
Wrenchard was just as surly, “Sorry, I was busy almost bleeding to death.”
“Well, whose fault was that?” Jonas stabbed.
Wrenchard knew full well whose fault it was, but bit his tongue giving Jonas a knowing look. Jonas threw his nose in the air and busied himself securing the supplies. The tension was high. Constance engaged her closest companion, Adair, in conversation, hoping to avoid being drawn into any arguments. The two spoke of the undead and Dralmohir, though it was mostly the shepherd boy attempting to answer her questions. The boats swayed in the faint light, the noise of the river echoing engulfed them. It seemed to dawn on Constance then, turning to Adair she naïvely asked, “Can skeletons swim?”
---------------------------------------------
Over the course of that night not too much happened. They established watches as best they could, overlapping at times. During the interim the boats rocked rhythmically with the water, which muffled most of the nighttime noises. The crossbow was passed around. After Constance and Jebediah found rest, Jonas took the middle watch alone.
With the lantern he attempted to scan the far bank. The river proved too wide. As he sat, scrutinizing the waters and cliff ledge high above, there came a violent bump at the bottom of his boat. A single forceful thrust, which he swore, must have lifted the laden wooden vessel. He grabbed the sides of the runners and braced himself.
Any action he anticipated was delayed in coming. He sat up and peered out into the dark, straining his eyes. Five, then ten, then twenty minutes passed, still nothing. His anxiety eased. In response there came a loud splash in the water, from none too far up ahead. Jonas turned just in time to miss it, he was sure the sound emanated from just beyond the visible light. Again, he tensed, waiting.
Curiosity overcame him, he decided the risk was worth it; he called out. “Hello…?!”
A similar sounding reply called quickly, “Hello…!?”
He was startled, stunned and amazed all at once. He couldn’t believe his fortune, or misfortune. His mind raced. Perhaps it was Tyrus, caught up to them. Or maybe Canton Myle had tracked them down and now he had foolishly given their position away. Jonas clammed up awaiting response. Too long he waited.
He risked it again. “Hello.”
That same reply, “Hello,” but was it closer this time?
Jonas looked all about trying to find the voice’s speaker. No such luck. He loudly whispered now, sure that anyone far wouldn’t hear him, “Hey…..”
There was a long pause as Jonas strained to listen, careening out over the edge of the boat. ‘Ah-ha’ he thought, ‘no response.’ And then he heard ever so softly, “…..hey…..,” carried by the wind.
He froze up, a bit startled. The crossbow found mark after mark in the omnipresent dark. His finger itched, ready to fire at any perceivable threat illuminated by the lantern shine. Jonas was warm and sweaty, cold and clammy, as the boat swayed he felt his heart pulse, pounding ready to flee from his chest. He was incensed.
“Hey!” He called out, not caring who would awaken, “Oooh-wee-oooh!?”
He swung the missile weapon about, ready to fire at the first sound.
And there it was, close, it came back quicker this time. “Hey! Oooh-wee-oooh!?”
Jonas, slack jawed, couldn’t help but chortle. His finger eased from its cramped hook-like position with an audible pop as his knuckle cracked. He wanted to clarify.
“Boody-booty-boo…”
“Booty-boody-boo…”
“Doodoo?”
“Doodoo!”
Jonas laughed and slapped his knee. The boat swayed some more.
Nearby Wrenchard stirred. The time drew near for the avuncular figure’s watch duty.
“Anything happen?” Wrenchard inquired as he leaned forward for the crossbow. His spine popped in three places.
Jonas did not eschew the ridiculousness of the situation. “Well, a stone or something plopped in the water, something hit the boat from beneath, and there’s an echo.” He accentuated the last bit, proud of himself after all.
“Oh,” Wrenchard was blasé. “It probably bounces off of the palisades.” The elder man accepted the lantern and dimmed the light a bit to conserve oil.
Jonas settled as best he could. The dark concealed the wounded look on his face. His sarcasm was evident, “I wish I was as smart as you Mr. Valinson.”
The young mop-mulleted militia man swiftly slid into a slumber.
Balem, 5th of Oche – 564 H.E.
The soft snow specks that drifted down from the sky as if reluctant to reach the earth for it knew its fate; destined to melt and fade away before ever collecting, becoming anything. They drifted downward, almost frozen in time, proving easier to catch on Jonas’ tongue. Head tilted backward at a most severe angle, the younger Fawkes held his mouth open extraordinarily wide. Adair knew, of course, that it was wide enough to fit the man’s own fist, though none of the others marveled at this fact. Instead they primed for travel.
Constance returned the waterskin to Jebediah who noted its weightlessness. “We’d best get moving,” he prompted Jonas with an elbow, which he didn’t see coming. The musician bit his tongue.
“Oollww!” He scowled at Jebediah.
That next morning as they paddled, alternating from time to time to rest the weaker party members, it seemed that the snaking palisades on either side of the winding river didn’t want to let up. Again this forced them to the side to latch onto some tree roots while they broke fast and quietly ate some lunch.
Jonas hatched an idea and scarfed down the turkey leg in his hand. Leaving the others behind, he scaled the cliff, the pretense of getting a better look around. From some 50’ above Jonas had a clearer vantage of the land. He had noticed that the palisades sloped away up ahead and appeared as if they would finally have a place to beach the boats on the left shore.
This bit of news encouraged the others below. They waited for him to descend. But above, Jonas had other schemes. Though he had not armor or equipment, only his crossbow, he also knew it would be a short walk of a mile or two to the break, and he was tired of rowing. Feeling a bit liberated, he squatted low, his knee pop echoed in the sparse wood behind him, and he began to scoop fistfuls of snow.
‘Pap.’ Something cold and hard struck Adair, unawares, in the side of the head. “Oww…” the shepherd exclaimed as he found his assailant.
Jonas hopped from left foot to right, cackling with mirth, holding a snowball aloft in each hand, high above. “Ooh, hee, hoo.” He was enjoying himself.
Another such projectile missed its mark, Wrenchard was not amused, “C’mon down. Let’s go.” The rest of the group, anxious to be out of the boats, echoed the cartographer’s sentiment.
Another salvo of snow gave them their reply. “I’m gonna walk.” He tossed one at Constance; she ducked. “I’ll meet y’all there.”
Groaning a little, they began to loose the boats. At least they’d be getting away from the prankster.
They continued north, Jonas gave a few steps chase as they slowly progressed. Another tightly packed ball of soft snow struck Jebediah in the back of the head. The bigger man turned and shook his oar, scolding the buffoon. The boats slowed.
Jonas stood proud at the lip of the cliff, watching the others doing their best to ignore his tomfoolery. Then something cold, hard, and wet glanced off of the top of the young man’s head. Jonas was nonplussed; whirling around he could see no one there. None below saw it.
“Hey, there’s someone else up here!” Jonas called down to his companions, paddling away with his gear.
“HEY!” He yelled again.
His pleas fell on deaf ears. “Yeah sure there is.” Jebediah called back to Jonas.
“We’ll see ya up river,” confirmed Constance as they turned the bend.
---------------------------------------------
Jonas spun around, crossbow at the ready. He suddenly felt very alone, naked and cut off, “Come out of there,” Jonas commanded, affecting his most authoritative tone.
Another ball of snow emerged from the sparse wood and underbrush.
“Hey!?” Jonas ducked. “Stop that. Come out here.”
“Come out; while you’re pointing that thing at me?” A spritely voice carried from the cover of brush. “Do you think I’m stupid?” The voice was high-pitched and spoke quickly.
“You threw a snowball at me; that’s not so smart.” Jonas answered.
“Well, I thought we were playing,” explained away the sing-song voice. Jonas tried to draw a bead on the direction of the speaker.
“Well, I…we were,…You’re not…ergh. Look, I’ll lower my crossbow. I’m not gonna fire, you can come out now.”
“OK.” There was a chuckle, “I feel safe now. I’m coming out.” Jonas didn’t know if he appreciated the sarcasm.
Jonas was anxious. His eyes fell upon the diminutive figure slowly brushing past the lower brambles. It must have been a child, standing no taller than the musician’s waist. What little detail he could glean from beneath the small person’s winter clothes were a large bulbous nose and a well-trimmed white beard. He focused on these details, ignoring what may have been more important, a small mace suspended from the figure’s belt and a light crossbow. Jonas only saw size.
“Hey kid, where are your parents? And where’d you get that realistic looking beard disguise?”
The smaller man tugged at his chin hairs with mirth, “Why this is real.” His tone was almost skeptical.
Jonas went slack-jawed. He realized the error too late and now feared for his life. “OH, by the gods! There’s no babies here, dwarf!” He brought his crossbow again to the ready.
The smaller man seemed unphased, standing his ground, almost expectant of such a reaction. “Dwarf? What are you talking about? I’m a gnome.”
Jonas, baffled, did not reply. Instead, he warily eyed the man as if to ascertain the validity of his claim. Unfortunately, the Kendrit had never met a dwarf, let alone heard of a gnome.
The smaller man sensed Jonas’ unease, knew he was being measured. He decided to counter with an examination of his own. “BOO!” He yelled and jerked forward.
Jonas flinched, recoiling dangerously close to the cliff edge, and again brought up the crossbow, which had drooped with the weight of conversation. The bolt rattled in its nock. The Kendrit was unsure. “I dunno. Those dwarves are tricksy.”
Yet Jonas knew that dwarves never engaged their prey in conversation, and thus curiosity got the better of him. Still he decided to subjugate this stranger with fact. “I’m a damn good warrior,” he warned. “You see all my scars?”
The gnome had closed from the refuge of the tree-line, still his left hand lingered behind his cold weather cloak; a fact not unnoticed by Jonas. “No.” He admitted candidly.
Always of quicker wit, “That’s how good I am,” Jonas snorted.
“Uh-huh.” The gnome replied. He punctuated his doubt with astonishing speed as he brought forth another snowball and hurled it at Jonas’ head. The soggy projectile struck hard.
Jonas took cover, dropping his crossbow and furiously scooping snow. Minutes passed as the two chased about in circles, pelting one another. In quick fashion he learned the gnome’s name to be horrifically long. This was shortened by the common tongue to Nolbolnam. Jonas promptly adopted Nolbie. (2) Inexplicably, the two headed northward toward the beachhead where the others surely waited. Jonas learned that Nolbie had been traveling alone and was headed north toward Gothanius.
---------------------------------------------
Jebediah pulled the boats in. Adair hopped out thankful to once again set his feet on dry land. He aided Constance who was obviously of similar mind. As it grew late in the day they secured the boats, tipping them upside down on the bank, exposing the damage already done by the rocks. They all unpacked their belongings. Jonas’ prolonged absence weighed heavily on Wrenchard’s mind. Already Adair had returned with two armloads of wood, Jebediah nearly had a fire lit, and Constance had made comfortable sleeping arrangements. Matet began to reach its final descent. He notified the others of his intent and headed downstream along the rivers edge to seek out the fool.
Eventually he did indeed find his young friend, though he was shocked to see that Jonas brought a dwarf in tow. Wrenchard was livid, confused, and most of all tired. He could not fathom how Jonas constantly proved to be a lightning rod for complication, but knew enough that this was not the time to mull it. Deftly, a dart was drawn to his hand.
From behind Jonas, Nolbie saw the human’s companion and his predictable reaction. He couldn’t hide the chuckle.
The dwarf’s glee incited a rage in Wrenchard most uncommon. The older man advanced around Jonas. “What are you laughing at babykiller?”
Nolbie was unfamiliar with rhetoric. “You humans are all so quick to pull your weapons.”
Wrenchard had not forgotten Jonas’ treachery, his anger turned there. “Jonas, you know what they do. They use the blood of our babies to bake their bread!?”
Jonas was unconvinced. “He says he’s a gnome.” Nolbie stood by curiously awaiting the outcome of the humans’ discussion.
“Gnome, dwarf, what’s the difference?”
Nolbie piped in, “There are lots of differences…” He was very matter of fact.
Red-faced, Wrenchard spat down at him, “I didn’t ask you.”
“Yes, but, you don’t seem to know…” Nolbie continued in the same patient tone.
Jonas reinforced this. “You did ask what the difference was, and he’s gonna tell ya.”
Wrenchard could not abide by being made the fool. He turned back to Jonas. “Do you remember what I told you before we left? We can’t let anyone know about our group. We either have to bring him with us or kill him.”
Still Jonas was unrelenting. “Who’s he gonna tell? He’s a dwarf, who’s gonna listen to him?”
Jonas’ swift wit only served to further incite rage in Wrenchard. Steam rose through his cloak. He lunged at the gnome. Jonas watched as the two grappled, rolling about in the snow, on the hard packed frozen earth. Ultimately, the larger man gained the momentum and the upper hand.
Pinned beneath Wrenchard’s knees, Nolbie had no choice but to listen. “I’m going to show you mercy that your people don’t show.”
Wrenchard let Nolbie up. Along the way, he began to trust the instincts that Jonas seemed blessed with. He also recognized that Bes seemed to smile upon the young man. He could bide his time, for now. Yet, the politico did not like loose ends. He had decided that Nolbie knew too much about the group, no matter what his intentions or race. This fact discomforted the calculator, and thus he coerced (3) the gnome into joining them along their expedition.
---------------------------------------------
Upon the trio’s return to camp, Nolbie was once again misidentified as a dwarf, requiring yet another brief explanation on his part.
Jebediah was surprised to see his two companions return with a third. “What’s this?” He asked, looking up from the fire where his stare had vanished.
“It’s a gnome,” Jonas boasted, proud of his newfound knowledge.
“Ugh,” Wrenchard grunted, weary of such efforts.
Adair looked upon Nolbie, forgetting about the spit rabbit he turned over the fire. “What in Anubis’ Realm is a gnome?”
Nolbie, yet unable to answer, Jebediah confirmed Jonas’ claim. “Looks like a gnome,” he stated disinterested, turning again to the fire, and whatever thoughts were lost there.
And as quickly as he was introduced and accepted, Nolbie was forgotten as the Kendrits again banded together in their suspicion of the Groomers. They found it curious that Jebediah should be able to distinguish a gnome from a dwarf.
Constance grew intolerant. “How come a strange gnome comes among us and we’re the ones falling under scrutiny?”
Jonas deliberated, “Maybe it’s been a long time coming.”
Constance looked to her brother for support, but he did not meet her gaze, leaving her alone to champion their defense. Outnumbered and defeated, Constance drew quiet, silently stewing about the ingrates. Again the talk turned to Nolbie. Though he gave information guardedly, it was revealed that the gnome was indeed lost. He assumed that he had been following the Tall Twin River northward into Gothanius. His destination lay somewhere there or beyond. (4) In fact he’d become misdirected in his flight from Menovian lands, ending up following the Black River into Rhondria.
---------------------------------------------
As night fell and the travelers began to drift off into a well-deserved slumber, a couple remained awake to stand guard. Hours passed uneventfully until night became stillest, darkest, coldest. Then at the edge of the wood, just beyond the periphery of light, Nolbie and Wrenchard felt the presence of creatures. Wrenchard was reminded of the flesh eaters of the previous night. Perhaps even, he thought, they were indeed the same creatures.
“Give us the small one,” a raspy voice seduced, requesting the gnome for dinner.
Alarm spread through the small encampment and quickly Wrenchard woke his companions. Without delay Nolbie dashed from the safety of numbers and firelight, seeking refuge in the nearby wood.
While the others readied armor and weapons, they could hear the hunters probing the edge of their camp, hissing, skulking, shadows dancing in the vagaries of light. Adair wondered why these things had bothered to announce themselves at all, allowing a reaction time. A strong hunter, like the wolves he knew to steal his sheep, would creep as close as possible and pounce without warning. One scarcely knew that they were there or attacking before they were gone. The flesh-eaters seemed intelligent, yet he did not understand what force kept them at bay.
Standing at the forefront of their perimeter, Wrenchard called over one shoulder “We have to go after him.” He was the first to notice Nolbie’s absence.
Jonas’ fear mingled with suspicion. “Oh no we don’t.” He finished loading his crossbow.
“We can’t leave him out there for those creatures.” Wrenchard pointed out a second threat to Adair who trained his arrow at the tree line.
“For all we know, he led them here.” Jonas now began wondering how in fact this gnome did survive the wild lands lost and alone. “Anyway, a few hours ago you wanted to kill him.”
Constance finished helping Jebediah strap on his cumbersome armor, while the others anxiously awaited the imminent attack. The flesh-eaters probed the perimeter, throwing club-like tree limbs and rocks at the travelers and encampment.
Jebediah boldly headed toward the tree line, tired of the cat and mouse games. He instructed Adair to follow behind with the lantern. “Come and get me!” He taunted, drawing his oversized blade.
The undead things could barely contain their anticipation. “Yes. Yesss, send us the big one!”
A second flesh-eater locked onto Nolbie’s scent and began to pursue him through the darkened wood. The crafty gnome, his own sight keen in the low light, was surprised at the speed and ease by which the monster stalked him. Cautiously, he remained at the edge of the wood and the perimeter of light wherein his erstwhile companions clustered.
“Come and get the big one!” Jebediah called as he lunged into the wood and the closest flesh-eater waiting for him there.
Deftly, it avoided his initial swing, snakelike in its movement, writhing through the bushes. The flesh-eater’s retribution was swift, judgment harsh. It lashed out with its two talon-like, clawed hands, finding purchase in Jebediah’s armor. Though unharmed Jebediah found that he was unable to break free of the maggot-eaters unnatural strength. He closed his eyes involuntarily and recoiled as the creature pulled him closer to its gaping maw. Jebediah winced as he felt the press of cold leathery skin at his neck, teeth plunging into his warm flesh, tearing away at it as the monster drew its head back. Too swiftly, Jebediah felt a cold numbness carry through his body. A blood borne paralysis seized his muscles, ceasing him in his tracks.
Fortunately for him, the others were nearby. Adair passed lantern duty to Constance and sprang forth into the wood.
The flesh-eater lapped at the blood flowing from the wound. “Just let us have this one,” it reasoned. “And we will leave you be.” It struggled to carry off its prey, slowed by the large man’s weight.
Jonas’ hurried forward to deliver his answer, a crushing blow with his warhammer. The cunning creature, however, was able to use his victim’s body as a shield. Jebediah gave a mental wince as he heard the resounding crack of metal on bone. Jonas apologized and the flesh-eater hissed pleasurably as they saw the blow land on Jebediah’s right forearm. Immediately, blood poured.
Wrenchard leapt to Adair’s side and both men secured a hold on Jebediah. Jonas advanced on the precariously positioned flesh-eater whose companion was still busy hunting Nolbie too far away to coordinate a concentrated attack. Savvy, the monstrosity relinquished its efforts, bounding away. They dragged Jebediah back to camp where Nolbie rejoined them, having had enough of his own pursuit. The creatures did not follow. It appeared that, once again, the travelers had driven them off.
---------------------------------------------
Minutes later, Jebediah regained his faculties after experiencing a full body awakening, tingling sensation, as his muscles regained life. It proved excruciating.
“Did we know those things could do that?” He asked of the Kendrits as much as anyone else.
“We do now.” Jonas offered with little sympathy.
The group again tried to bed down, while high on the adrenaline from the fight. Constance nursed her brother’s arm, setting it in a splint and wrapping it with bandages. Forcefully they made themselves rest, sure that the threat was passed at least for this night.
Teflem, 6th of Oche – 564 H.E.
In the morning they engaged in more important dialogues. Jonas began his own diatribe. “Listen, if those things return, when they return, we’d best better be prepared. We should form a line and stay together and let them come to us. Or move as a group. And anyone who has ever had any military training would agree with me. Right Jebediah?” He didn’t wait for a response from the surly pilgrim. “Then again, you’re just an escaped slave from Menovia, so you wouldn’t know.”
Constance was taken aback. “You know, Jonas, if you weren’t such a fool all the time; you’d be smart.”
Jonas only rolled his eyes, retorting with the usual sarcasm. “Yeah, that makes a whole lot of sense Constance.”
She let it go, and returned to fawning over her brother’s wounds. They broke camp after discussing whether to continue on the river or to change to walking over land the rest of the way up toward Black River Bridge and Black Top beyond it. They rolled over the boats and took to the water, once again paddling upstream.
---------------------------------------------
Notes:
(1) – Bes is notoriously fickle. The god of Luck, Chance, Fortune
(2) – Of course this is pronounced Knobby.
(3) – Some might read this as kidnapped.
(4) – For more information on the beyond, refer to Nemmerle’s Story Hour – ‘Out of the Frying Pan’
session #8
Still running high on adrenaline from the fight, the small group gathered together and pondered what to do next. The light of the fire burned low. They agreed, it was dangerous to stay, but equally so to go; no one knew when the undead would come back. Ultimately, they arrived at a decision of practicality; the river was rough, and without light, it would be difficult to spot the rocks. The group stayed, attempting to stave off fatigue with brief naps before dusk.
Tholem, 4th of Oche – 564 H.E.
They awoke that morning about as well rested as could be expected, having slept fitfully on the rocky wet incline. They nursed the wounds of the night’s activities and quickly broke camp. An easy task as most of the supplies still remained in the boats. A quick survey of the bottoms revealed minimal damage. They drank the rest of their rapidly diminishing water supplies. Too late they realized their error in only accounting for food rations.
Jebediah pushed the boats into the water as Adair lifted the bottoms from the rocks with a half burnt log.
“We may need to stop in Black River Bridge,” stated Wrenchard as he covered the fire pit, “to use their well.”
Jonas was bundling his armor. “Isn’t that place cursed?”
Wrenchard raised an eyebrow and glanced at the young man sidelong, “Isn’t our place cursed?” From Wrenchard’s crouched position Jonas thought his look sinister.
Of course, that did little to strain his tongue. “I think they’re more cursed.”
---------------------------------------------
Constance sat in the middle of the lead boat as Jebediah provided power in the front, Wrenchard supplementing and steering from the rear. She’d periodically knead the knotted muscles in Jebediah’s back and shoulders. Jonas and Adair dragged behind in their wake.
Catching his breath, Jonas muttered, “brother and sister my ass.” Adair heard it and chuckled.
The journey for the day was uneventful, save for a few bumps on the bases of the boats. They stopped to change the dressings of their bandages at about mid-day, eating dry tack and meat, drinking sparingly, and scooping snow into the lips of their waterskins. The respite was brief. Delicately they traded seating arrangements. Jonas volunteered to ride with Constance, but instead was saddled with Jebediah and most of the gear. His chagrin was evident to Wrenchard, who wore his own dismay overtly.
“Mr. Valinson, if we’re going to be traveling together you can’t be giving me that disappointed fatherly look so much,” Jonas capitulated.
Wrenchard had no chance to respond. Already embittered by Jonas’ constant pestering of his sister, Jebediah chirped in. “Maybe you should work hard to not be such a disappointment.”
Everyone laughed. And it didn’t hurt so much for Jonas to be laughed at, frankly he was used to it, often laughing along in his own self-deprecation. But this was somehow different, less funny, more mocking, kind of serious, perhaps it was the smarmy look on Constance that set his blood to boil.
Flustered he lashed back, “Maybe you should work hard to shut your mouth!” He looked away.
Muttering to himself Jonas chided, “I’m on to you,” casting an askance glance at the Groomers.
Having heard him, Constance turned to Jebediah, “Huh? What does that mean, he’s on to us?”
---------------------------------------------
The group pushed on in the choppy waters, dodging rocks and flakes of snow. Though the white powder sprinkled steadily from the sky, it had yet to begin collecting or pose any impediment. As the afternoon progressed so too did the palisade embankments, offering no shore for the coming dusk.
They paused to rest a bit and consult Valinson’s map. Intrigued, Constance leaned in close as he unfurled it from its protective leather tube. Whether it was the weather or perhaps he had already begun to miss the comfort of his own bed, he did not know, but Wrenchard felt the warmth of her fingers make his flesh tingle. The heady way she leaned in on and over him caused something stir inside. His eyes met hers. Suddenly, feeling as if everyone was watching, he recoiled back and jerked the map from her grasp.
“Yup. Up ahead a little further, the left bank should break.” Wrenchard picked up an oar and repositioned himself in his seat.
Constance and Adair gingerly switched positions, while Jebediah continued to power the lead boat onward. They paddled on later and later, hoping against all hope that they might find a suitable place to land and make camp. Dusk fell; Bes (1) did not find them.
A lantern was produced and affixed to the prow of the lead boat. The trailing boat was lashed to the first with rope. Driven, Jebediah paddled fueled by stubborn pride, calling out the positions of visible rocks. “Right!” “Left!” This tactic met with marginal success.
Ultimately, a loud scrape, much more resonant and pronounced than all of their prior bumps proved, gave them pause.
Constance called up to Adair, “Check the outside for a hole.” She did little to hide the concern, which caused her voice to crack.
Hearing the commotion, Jonas was quick to respond, “Keep your hands in the boat!”
Tired, disgruntled and perturbed, the five endured working their way to the westerly bank, the boats suffering a few more punishing scrapes along the way. Once secured to the sides of the cliff via outcroppings of rock and withered shrub roots, heated debate ensued.
Jonas was the first to cast accusations, “I told you we needed more practice!”
Wrenchard was just as surly, “Sorry, I was busy almost bleeding to death.”
“Well, whose fault was that?” Jonas stabbed.
Wrenchard knew full well whose fault it was, but bit his tongue giving Jonas a knowing look. Jonas threw his nose in the air and busied himself securing the supplies. The tension was high. Constance engaged her closest companion, Adair, in conversation, hoping to avoid being drawn into any arguments. The two spoke of the undead and Dralmohir, though it was mostly the shepherd boy attempting to answer her questions. The boats swayed in the faint light, the noise of the river echoing engulfed them. It seemed to dawn on Constance then, turning to Adair she naïvely asked, “Can skeletons swim?”
---------------------------------------------
Over the course of that night not too much happened. They established watches as best they could, overlapping at times. During the interim the boats rocked rhythmically with the water, which muffled most of the nighttime noises. The crossbow was passed around. After Constance and Jebediah found rest, Jonas took the middle watch alone.
With the lantern he attempted to scan the far bank. The river proved too wide. As he sat, scrutinizing the waters and cliff ledge high above, there came a violent bump at the bottom of his boat. A single forceful thrust, which he swore, must have lifted the laden wooden vessel. He grabbed the sides of the runners and braced himself.
Any action he anticipated was delayed in coming. He sat up and peered out into the dark, straining his eyes. Five, then ten, then twenty minutes passed, still nothing. His anxiety eased. In response there came a loud splash in the water, from none too far up ahead. Jonas turned just in time to miss it, he was sure the sound emanated from just beyond the visible light. Again, he tensed, waiting.
Curiosity overcame him, he decided the risk was worth it; he called out. “Hello…?!”
A similar sounding reply called quickly, “Hello…!?”
He was startled, stunned and amazed all at once. He couldn’t believe his fortune, or misfortune. His mind raced. Perhaps it was Tyrus, caught up to them. Or maybe Canton Myle had tracked them down and now he had foolishly given their position away. Jonas clammed up awaiting response. Too long he waited.
He risked it again. “Hello.”
That same reply, “Hello,” but was it closer this time?
Jonas looked all about trying to find the voice’s speaker. No such luck. He loudly whispered now, sure that anyone far wouldn’t hear him, “Hey…..”
There was a long pause as Jonas strained to listen, careening out over the edge of the boat. ‘Ah-ha’ he thought, ‘no response.’ And then he heard ever so softly, “…..hey…..,” carried by the wind.
He froze up, a bit startled. The crossbow found mark after mark in the omnipresent dark. His finger itched, ready to fire at any perceivable threat illuminated by the lantern shine. Jonas was warm and sweaty, cold and clammy, as the boat swayed he felt his heart pulse, pounding ready to flee from his chest. He was incensed.
“Hey!” He called out, not caring who would awaken, “Oooh-wee-oooh!?”
He swung the missile weapon about, ready to fire at the first sound.
And there it was, close, it came back quicker this time. “Hey! Oooh-wee-oooh!?”
Jonas, slack jawed, couldn’t help but chortle. His finger eased from its cramped hook-like position with an audible pop as his knuckle cracked. He wanted to clarify.
“Boody-booty-boo…”
“Booty-boody-boo…”
“Doodoo?”
“Doodoo!”
Jonas laughed and slapped his knee. The boat swayed some more.
Nearby Wrenchard stirred. The time drew near for the avuncular figure’s watch duty.
“Anything happen?” Wrenchard inquired as he leaned forward for the crossbow. His spine popped in three places.
Jonas did not eschew the ridiculousness of the situation. “Well, a stone or something plopped in the water, something hit the boat from beneath, and there’s an echo.” He accentuated the last bit, proud of himself after all.
“Oh,” Wrenchard was blasé. “It probably bounces off of the palisades.” The elder man accepted the lantern and dimmed the light a bit to conserve oil.
Jonas settled as best he could. The dark concealed the wounded look on his face. His sarcasm was evident, “I wish I was as smart as you Mr. Valinson.”
The young mop-mulleted militia man swiftly slid into a slumber.
Balem, 5th of Oche – 564 H.E.
The soft snow specks that drifted down from the sky as if reluctant to reach the earth for it knew its fate; destined to melt and fade away before ever collecting, becoming anything. They drifted downward, almost frozen in time, proving easier to catch on Jonas’ tongue. Head tilted backward at a most severe angle, the younger Fawkes held his mouth open extraordinarily wide. Adair knew, of course, that it was wide enough to fit the man’s own fist, though none of the others marveled at this fact. Instead they primed for travel.
Constance returned the waterskin to Jebediah who noted its weightlessness. “We’d best get moving,” he prompted Jonas with an elbow, which he didn’t see coming. The musician bit his tongue.
“Oollww!” He scowled at Jebediah.
That next morning as they paddled, alternating from time to time to rest the weaker party members, it seemed that the snaking palisades on either side of the winding river didn’t want to let up. Again this forced them to the side to latch onto some tree roots while they broke fast and quietly ate some lunch.
Jonas hatched an idea and scarfed down the turkey leg in his hand. Leaving the others behind, he scaled the cliff, the pretense of getting a better look around. From some 50’ above Jonas had a clearer vantage of the land. He had noticed that the palisades sloped away up ahead and appeared as if they would finally have a place to beach the boats on the left shore.
This bit of news encouraged the others below. They waited for him to descend. But above, Jonas had other schemes. Though he had not armor or equipment, only his crossbow, he also knew it would be a short walk of a mile or two to the break, and he was tired of rowing. Feeling a bit liberated, he squatted low, his knee pop echoed in the sparse wood behind him, and he began to scoop fistfuls of snow.
‘Pap.’ Something cold and hard struck Adair, unawares, in the side of the head. “Oww…” the shepherd exclaimed as he found his assailant.
Jonas hopped from left foot to right, cackling with mirth, holding a snowball aloft in each hand, high above. “Ooh, hee, hoo.” He was enjoying himself.
Another such projectile missed its mark, Wrenchard was not amused, “C’mon down. Let’s go.” The rest of the group, anxious to be out of the boats, echoed the cartographer’s sentiment.
Another salvo of snow gave them their reply. “I’m gonna walk.” He tossed one at Constance; she ducked. “I’ll meet y’all there.”
Groaning a little, they began to loose the boats. At least they’d be getting away from the prankster.
They continued north, Jonas gave a few steps chase as they slowly progressed. Another tightly packed ball of soft snow struck Jebediah in the back of the head. The bigger man turned and shook his oar, scolding the buffoon. The boats slowed.
Jonas stood proud at the lip of the cliff, watching the others doing their best to ignore his tomfoolery. Then something cold, hard, and wet glanced off of the top of the young man’s head. Jonas was nonplussed; whirling around he could see no one there. None below saw it.
“Hey, there’s someone else up here!” Jonas called down to his companions, paddling away with his gear.
“HEY!” He yelled again.
His pleas fell on deaf ears. “Yeah sure there is.” Jebediah called back to Jonas.
“We’ll see ya up river,” confirmed Constance as they turned the bend.
---------------------------------------------
Jonas spun around, crossbow at the ready. He suddenly felt very alone, naked and cut off, “Come out of there,” Jonas commanded, affecting his most authoritative tone.
Another ball of snow emerged from the sparse wood and underbrush.
“Hey!?” Jonas ducked. “Stop that. Come out here.”
“Come out; while you’re pointing that thing at me?” A spritely voice carried from the cover of brush. “Do you think I’m stupid?” The voice was high-pitched and spoke quickly.
“You threw a snowball at me; that’s not so smart.” Jonas answered.
“Well, I thought we were playing,” explained away the sing-song voice. Jonas tried to draw a bead on the direction of the speaker.
“Well, I…we were,…You’re not…ergh. Look, I’ll lower my crossbow. I’m not gonna fire, you can come out now.”
“OK.” There was a chuckle, “I feel safe now. I’m coming out.” Jonas didn’t know if he appreciated the sarcasm.
Jonas was anxious. His eyes fell upon the diminutive figure slowly brushing past the lower brambles. It must have been a child, standing no taller than the musician’s waist. What little detail he could glean from beneath the small person’s winter clothes were a large bulbous nose and a well-trimmed white beard. He focused on these details, ignoring what may have been more important, a small mace suspended from the figure’s belt and a light crossbow. Jonas only saw size.
“Hey kid, where are your parents? And where’d you get that realistic looking beard disguise?”
The smaller man tugged at his chin hairs with mirth, “Why this is real.” His tone was almost skeptical.
Jonas went slack-jawed. He realized the error too late and now feared for his life. “OH, by the gods! There’s no babies here, dwarf!” He brought his crossbow again to the ready.
The smaller man seemed unphased, standing his ground, almost expectant of such a reaction. “Dwarf? What are you talking about? I’m a gnome.”
Jonas, baffled, did not reply. Instead, he warily eyed the man as if to ascertain the validity of his claim. Unfortunately, the Kendrit had never met a dwarf, let alone heard of a gnome.
The smaller man sensed Jonas’ unease, knew he was being measured. He decided to counter with an examination of his own. “BOO!” He yelled and jerked forward.
Jonas flinched, recoiling dangerously close to the cliff edge, and again brought up the crossbow, which had drooped with the weight of conversation. The bolt rattled in its nock. The Kendrit was unsure. “I dunno. Those dwarves are tricksy.”
Yet Jonas knew that dwarves never engaged their prey in conversation, and thus curiosity got the better of him. Still he decided to subjugate this stranger with fact. “I’m a damn good warrior,” he warned. “You see all my scars?”
The gnome had closed from the refuge of the tree-line, still his left hand lingered behind his cold weather cloak; a fact not unnoticed by Jonas. “No.” He admitted candidly.
Always of quicker wit, “That’s how good I am,” Jonas snorted.
“Uh-huh.” The gnome replied. He punctuated his doubt with astonishing speed as he brought forth another snowball and hurled it at Jonas’ head. The soggy projectile struck hard.
Jonas took cover, dropping his crossbow and furiously scooping snow. Minutes passed as the two chased about in circles, pelting one another. In quick fashion he learned the gnome’s name to be horrifically long. This was shortened by the common tongue to Nolbolnam. Jonas promptly adopted Nolbie. (2) Inexplicably, the two headed northward toward the beachhead where the others surely waited. Jonas learned that Nolbie had been traveling alone and was headed north toward Gothanius.
---------------------------------------------
Jebediah pulled the boats in. Adair hopped out thankful to once again set his feet on dry land. He aided Constance who was obviously of similar mind. As it grew late in the day they secured the boats, tipping them upside down on the bank, exposing the damage already done by the rocks. They all unpacked their belongings. Jonas’ prolonged absence weighed heavily on Wrenchard’s mind. Already Adair had returned with two armloads of wood, Jebediah nearly had a fire lit, and Constance had made comfortable sleeping arrangements. Matet began to reach its final descent. He notified the others of his intent and headed downstream along the rivers edge to seek out the fool.
Eventually he did indeed find his young friend, though he was shocked to see that Jonas brought a dwarf in tow. Wrenchard was livid, confused, and most of all tired. He could not fathom how Jonas constantly proved to be a lightning rod for complication, but knew enough that this was not the time to mull it. Deftly, a dart was drawn to his hand.
From behind Jonas, Nolbie saw the human’s companion and his predictable reaction. He couldn’t hide the chuckle.
The dwarf’s glee incited a rage in Wrenchard most uncommon. The older man advanced around Jonas. “What are you laughing at babykiller?”
Nolbie was unfamiliar with rhetoric. “You humans are all so quick to pull your weapons.”
Wrenchard had not forgotten Jonas’ treachery, his anger turned there. “Jonas, you know what they do. They use the blood of our babies to bake their bread!?”
Jonas was unconvinced. “He says he’s a gnome.” Nolbie stood by curiously awaiting the outcome of the humans’ discussion.
“Gnome, dwarf, what’s the difference?”
Nolbie piped in, “There are lots of differences…” He was very matter of fact.
Red-faced, Wrenchard spat down at him, “I didn’t ask you.”
“Yes, but, you don’t seem to know…” Nolbie continued in the same patient tone.
Jonas reinforced this. “You did ask what the difference was, and he’s gonna tell ya.”
Wrenchard could not abide by being made the fool. He turned back to Jonas. “Do you remember what I told you before we left? We can’t let anyone know about our group. We either have to bring him with us or kill him.”
Still Jonas was unrelenting. “Who’s he gonna tell? He’s a dwarf, who’s gonna listen to him?”
Jonas’ swift wit only served to further incite rage in Wrenchard. Steam rose through his cloak. He lunged at the gnome. Jonas watched as the two grappled, rolling about in the snow, on the hard packed frozen earth. Ultimately, the larger man gained the momentum and the upper hand.
Pinned beneath Wrenchard’s knees, Nolbie had no choice but to listen. “I’m going to show you mercy that your people don’t show.”
Wrenchard let Nolbie up. Along the way, he began to trust the instincts that Jonas seemed blessed with. He also recognized that Bes seemed to smile upon the young man. He could bide his time, for now. Yet, the politico did not like loose ends. He had decided that Nolbie knew too much about the group, no matter what his intentions or race. This fact discomforted the calculator, and thus he coerced (3) the gnome into joining them along their expedition.
---------------------------------------------
Upon the trio’s return to camp, Nolbie was once again misidentified as a dwarf, requiring yet another brief explanation on his part.
Jebediah was surprised to see his two companions return with a third. “What’s this?” He asked, looking up from the fire where his stare had vanished.
“It’s a gnome,” Jonas boasted, proud of his newfound knowledge.
“Ugh,” Wrenchard grunted, weary of such efforts.
Adair looked upon Nolbie, forgetting about the spit rabbit he turned over the fire. “What in Anubis’ Realm is a gnome?”
Nolbie, yet unable to answer, Jebediah confirmed Jonas’ claim. “Looks like a gnome,” he stated disinterested, turning again to the fire, and whatever thoughts were lost there.
And as quickly as he was introduced and accepted, Nolbie was forgotten as the Kendrits again banded together in their suspicion of the Groomers. They found it curious that Jebediah should be able to distinguish a gnome from a dwarf.
Constance grew intolerant. “How come a strange gnome comes among us and we’re the ones falling under scrutiny?”
Jonas deliberated, “Maybe it’s been a long time coming.”
Constance looked to her brother for support, but he did not meet her gaze, leaving her alone to champion their defense. Outnumbered and defeated, Constance drew quiet, silently stewing about the ingrates. Again the talk turned to Nolbie. Though he gave information guardedly, it was revealed that the gnome was indeed lost. He assumed that he had been following the Tall Twin River northward into Gothanius. His destination lay somewhere there or beyond. (4) In fact he’d become misdirected in his flight from Menovian lands, ending up following the Black River into Rhondria.
---------------------------------------------
As night fell and the travelers began to drift off into a well-deserved slumber, a couple remained awake to stand guard. Hours passed uneventfully until night became stillest, darkest, coldest. Then at the edge of the wood, just beyond the periphery of light, Nolbie and Wrenchard felt the presence of creatures. Wrenchard was reminded of the flesh eaters of the previous night. Perhaps even, he thought, they were indeed the same creatures.
“Give us the small one,” a raspy voice seduced, requesting the gnome for dinner.
Alarm spread through the small encampment and quickly Wrenchard woke his companions. Without delay Nolbie dashed from the safety of numbers and firelight, seeking refuge in the nearby wood.
While the others readied armor and weapons, they could hear the hunters probing the edge of their camp, hissing, skulking, shadows dancing in the vagaries of light. Adair wondered why these things had bothered to announce themselves at all, allowing a reaction time. A strong hunter, like the wolves he knew to steal his sheep, would creep as close as possible and pounce without warning. One scarcely knew that they were there or attacking before they were gone. The flesh-eaters seemed intelligent, yet he did not understand what force kept them at bay.
Standing at the forefront of their perimeter, Wrenchard called over one shoulder “We have to go after him.” He was the first to notice Nolbie’s absence.
Jonas’ fear mingled with suspicion. “Oh no we don’t.” He finished loading his crossbow.
“We can’t leave him out there for those creatures.” Wrenchard pointed out a second threat to Adair who trained his arrow at the tree line.
“For all we know, he led them here.” Jonas now began wondering how in fact this gnome did survive the wild lands lost and alone. “Anyway, a few hours ago you wanted to kill him.”
Constance finished helping Jebediah strap on his cumbersome armor, while the others anxiously awaited the imminent attack. The flesh-eaters probed the perimeter, throwing club-like tree limbs and rocks at the travelers and encampment.
Jebediah boldly headed toward the tree line, tired of the cat and mouse games. He instructed Adair to follow behind with the lantern. “Come and get me!” He taunted, drawing his oversized blade.
The undead things could barely contain their anticipation. “Yes. Yesss, send us the big one!”
A second flesh-eater locked onto Nolbie’s scent and began to pursue him through the darkened wood. The crafty gnome, his own sight keen in the low light, was surprised at the speed and ease by which the monster stalked him. Cautiously, he remained at the edge of the wood and the perimeter of light wherein his erstwhile companions clustered.
“Come and get the big one!” Jebediah called as he lunged into the wood and the closest flesh-eater waiting for him there.
Deftly, it avoided his initial swing, snakelike in its movement, writhing through the bushes. The flesh-eater’s retribution was swift, judgment harsh. It lashed out with its two talon-like, clawed hands, finding purchase in Jebediah’s armor. Though unharmed Jebediah found that he was unable to break free of the maggot-eaters unnatural strength. He closed his eyes involuntarily and recoiled as the creature pulled him closer to its gaping maw. Jebediah winced as he felt the press of cold leathery skin at his neck, teeth plunging into his warm flesh, tearing away at it as the monster drew its head back. Too swiftly, Jebediah felt a cold numbness carry through his body. A blood borne paralysis seized his muscles, ceasing him in his tracks.
Fortunately for him, the others were nearby. Adair passed lantern duty to Constance and sprang forth into the wood.
The flesh-eater lapped at the blood flowing from the wound. “Just let us have this one,” it reasoned. “And we will leave you be.” It struggled to carry off its prey, slowed by the large man’s weight.
Jonas’ hurried forward to deliver his answer, a crushing blow with his warhammer. The cunning creature, however, was able to use his victim’s body as a shield. Jebediah gave a mental wince as he heard the resounding crack of metal on bone. Jonas apologized and the flesh-eater hissed pleasurably as they saw the blow land on Jebediah’s right forearm. Immediately, blood poured.
Wrenchard leapt to Adair’s side and both men secured a hold on Jebediah. Jonas advanced on the precariously positioned flesh-eater whose companion was still busy hunting Nolbie too far away to coordinate a concentrated attack. Savvy, the monstrosity relinquished its efforts, bounding away. They dragged Jebediah back to camp where Nolbie rejoined them, having had enough of his own pursuit. The creatures did not follow. It appeared that, once again, the travelers had driven them off.
---------------------------------------------
Minutes later, Jebediah regained his faculties after experiencing a full body awakening, tingling sensation, as his muscles regained life. It proved excruciating.
“Did we know those things could do that?” He asked of the Kendrits as much as anyone else.
“We do now.” Jonas offered with little sympathy.
The group again tried to bed down, while high on the adrenaline from the fight. Constance nursed her brother’s arm, setting it in a splint and wrapping it with bandages. Forcefully they made themselves rest, sure that the threat was passed at least for this night.
Teflem, 6th of Oche – 564 H.E.
In the morning they engaged in more important dialogues. Jonas began his own diatribe. “Listen, if those things return, when they return, we’d best better be prepared. We should form a line and stay together and let them come to us. Or move as a group. And anyone who has ever had any military training would agree with me. Right Jebediah?” He didn’t wait for a response from the surly pilgrim. “Then again, you’re just an escaped slave from Menovia, so you wouldn’t know.”
Constance was taken aback. “You know, Jonas, if you weren’t such a fool all the time; you’d be smart.”
Jonas only rolled his eyes, retorting with the usual sarcasm. “Yeah, that makes a whole lot of sense Constance.”
She let it go, and returned to fawning over her brother’s wounds. They broke camp after discussing whether to continue on the river or to change to walking over land the rest of the way up toward Black River Bridge and Black Top beyond it. They rolled over the boats and took to the water, once again paddling upstream.
---------------------------------------------
Notes:
(1) – Bes is notoriously fickle. The god of Luck, Chance, Fortune
(2) – Of course this is pronounced Knobby.
(3) – Some might read this as kidnapped.
(4) – For more information on the beyond, refer to Nemmerle’s Story Hour – ‘Out of the Frying Pan’
Amazing! Those flesh eaters have already returned. And now they have the taste of someone else in their mouth. Are they going to keep coming back until they eat a little bit of everybody? Maybe if the group gives them a little something to munch on, the flesh eaters will leave them alone for awhile. And, no, I don't mean Nolbie. There has to be something else out there in the wilderness.....right? I look forward to the next one, Rastfar.
handforged
First Post
I too would like to see more of this story. I really enjoyed this last bit with the monsters. It will be interesting to see the Groomers' history come to light.
~hf
~hf
