Crimson Menagerie: Act 4
“WHA-!” Elim shouted, sitting upright suddenly, realizing he had been asleep and the sensations around him were totally unfamiliar. He was laying on something soft, enshrouded in something soft and had the most-delicious sleepy-waking feeling he’d had since… ever.
He sat and stared, uncomprehendingly, not sure what had happened.
He remembered, of course, the events of the last few years in terrible detail and yet… it was as if it had been a little while ago. The remains of the fire lay where he remembered it should be yet his position had changed. And his state, he realized, as he was dressed in a clean clout and a shirt. He had a moment of panic before he spotted his armor and bow, laying above where his head had lay, clean and neatly folded on his pack.
Pack? He cocked his head and reached for it carefully, before a movement at the trunk of the tree caught his eye. A scroll of some sort hung there, twisting in the wind. Of Yolen and the healer, of course there was no sign and yet, rather than be robbed as he suspected it seemed they each had more than they had when they arrived here.
That was curious.
The whole thing was rather curious. He reached for the pack and searched it quickly, seeing that there were pockets within and that the pack, seeming large and fairly full, remained light. Magic tingled in his fingertips as he held it, though he couldn’t fathom the enchantments, it appeared the sack was lighter than the contents of it.
Within was a change of clothes, another shirt for sleeping, an extra clout and his potions plus three. Two water-skins filled smaller pouches on the sides of the pack and a special set of straps for his quiver were set for ease of draw over his shoulder. The quiver had been filled with two-score black-fletched shafts and a handful of those with one white fletch amidst the black. They would do, he realized, as he inspected them.
A further search showed iron rations good for a week or so, fishing gear and flint and tinder. A small pouch held two gold trade-bars and a few gems, which as he inspected them seemed a fair worth.
With a snort Kilmor sat up suddenly, staring around himself wildly. His pack and clothing was consequently larger, his size as a matter of fact, and unseen in the leaves a large staff nearly as long as he was tall. He glanced at Elim, who merely shrugged, and gesture eloquently around them.
Animal noises, the gurgling of the river, the glare of the later afternoon sun; it was as if they had merely been camping here overnight on their way elsewhere. As a matter of fact, they were equipped to go somewhere, though where he wasn’t sure.
“Wha-a-at?” Adama called as he sat up, blinking owlishly, throwing back the covers of the sleeping roll. He looked down and saw the shirt he’d been sleeping in and stared at the other dumbfounded a moment, his fingers rubbing over the softness of the waterproofed cotton and wool of the bedroll.
Elim stood and taking up weapons, a small sack and all their skins, stepped to the reeds and inspected the river and the far shore. After a moment he bent to the water and sniffed, trying to smell for a taint. Not smelling anything horrid, he filled the skins and splashed cool water on himself and his head, scrubbing his scalp and applying the soap-butter he had found redolent with strong herbs and cleansing grit.
It took a bit and his face, upper body and his scalp were nearly raw, but he felt cleaner than he could remember ever being. He returned and the others were up and about, digging in their packs like mid-winter had come, finding their weapons and armor cleaned and ready. His wore his clout and carried his shirt. Now soaking though washed as well.
Tossing down the skins he knelt over them and held his hands over the pile, muttering a prayer to the Powers and calling on the purity of water. A moment later he sensed the spell had been released and the water was purified and was cool and ready to drink. Silently he handed them out, gesturing for Kilmor to come fetch his because it was too heavy to carry easily.
“What happened?” Adama asked wonderingly, dressed in clothing that fit and seemed made for his unique frame.
“Yolen and the Healer I am guessing,” Elim replied with a grin. The jerky wasn’t the best but it was meat and his teeth needed to feel it again. “I’d say that scroll is our answer.”
Adama stepped over and took down the scroll, running his eyes over it. “It’s in Chondath and two other languages I don’t recognize. The part I can read says, ‘Dearest Companions, obviously you have awakened hearty and hale. I regret that I am unable to be there but the healer needs escort and I have a mission of mine own to fulfill, a decade overdue even now. You are well-tended while you sleep though once awakened, your guardians will abandon you, leaving you to your own devices. I suggest leaving a portion of whatever you eat behind for them, out of respect.’” Adama paused and looked confused, while Elim gave the reeds, trees and bushes the once-over with his Druidic senses. He hadn’t been sure before but now… ah.
“Fey,” he muttered to the others. “It is best we’re respectful or foul luck will plague us for weeks.”
“Understood,” Adama replied and went back to the note. “’You have all likely taken stock and lest you have not, do so now. We have arranged for you to feel more civilized, if you like, at least giving you the trappings and tools with which to do as you will. I have helped you as I may, our debt is done and your lives are your own. The healer has added her bit as well, feeling her balance must be appeased and we bid you a fond fare-thee-well. Look for us, for I feel our paths may yet have not done crossing one another.’”
“So what’s our stock?” Adama asked, looking at the others.
“We have about enough rations for a week or so,” Kilmor offered, pulling out a horse-ration, a block of pressed oats and grains with dried applies and carrots held together with a little honey. One of those, each sized for the one carrying it, with some water would fill them up well. For him and Adama, the majority of their rations were those blocks. For Elim and S’lan, theirs included jerky, a couple of blocks and journey bread with a few spice-herbs.
“I can hunt and catch fish for us,” Elim told the others, “though for you two,” he gestured to Adama and Kilmor, “is meat something you can stomach?”
“I ca-a-an,” Adama responded aside. “A goat can eat anything, it seems. Though,” he took a nibble of the block he was holding, “this is very good.”
Elim had been looking around and his skills and sense of nature identified natural grains and plants with roots and leaves that were edible and nutritious. “I can find us things to round out the meat and boost what you already have to stretch it a bit,” he told them, going over to the water and plucking a handful of ripened wild rice. “This cooks up well and I’ve been given some spice-herb examples to put in it.” He handed it to Kilmor who put it in his mouth raw and chewed it noisily.
“Crisp,” Kilmore said around his mouthful, “like that porridge from last night? With the fish?” Elim merely nodded and Kilmor just said, “Good,” his eyes slitting with what Elim read as pleasure.
“What about these other parts here?” Adama asked, holding up the scroll to S’lan to read.
“I can read this,” he pointed to one set of characters and moving his lips as he deciphered it, “it’s the same thing you just read. This on the other hand,” he gestured to the other line of runes down the left side, “I’ve never seen before. Do you know this script?” he asked, turning to Kilmor and then Elim.
Kimor shook his shaggy head negative and then Elim took a look. At the first character he snatched it from S’lann’s hand and read if avidly, muttering and mumbling as he did. A moment later he looked off to the west and south, sniffing the air as he did so. He caught the scent in short order. “We need to stay here over night,” he offered, “there’s something I need to do.”
“What?” Adama asked.
“Hunt,” Elim replied quietly and set to getting dressed in his armor and weapons. He was quickly clothed, his armor was different, he could tell. When he stood, against the background of the trees and bushes, his outline was indistinct and seemed to blur and shift slightly. “Hmm nice,” he muttered and pulling the hood over his head he made ready to depart.
“What should we do?” Adama asked irritably. “We’re still pretty close.”
“Rest,” Elim replied and gestured to the bedrolls, “bathe and make ready for swift-travel. I will do what I can to bring us extra meat and perhaps, a way to get where we’re going all the faster.”
“What do-?” Adama started to ask but Elim was gone, faded into the underbrush as if he’d been an apparition. “Damn him.”
“We are all damned a little,” S’lann offered poetically, musing as he stared at the glistening water as the sunlight reflected from it.
“Whate-e-ever,” Adama threw back and snorted, snapping up his skins and stowing them in his pack. In a moment he huffed and stood, taking the Paladin’s sword he drew a circle in the dirt around himself. A moment later and fully armored, he took the opening pose of his weapon movements.
It was well past dark when Elim returned, the fire having been rekindled and the little group sitting around it. He stunk to high havens but he was grinning fiercely. “I have obtained possible transport though,” he looked at Kilmor, “not all of us can go at once.”
“We all go-o-o,” Adama told him, grumpy at his sudden appearance and disappearance. “Speaking of, where were you?”
“Druid-business,” Elim replied and threw down a brace of rabbits already skinned and cleaned. “Tomorrow night we will eat again and depart the following night, unless we have reason to before then.”
“Why?” Adama asked pointedly, the stubborn look coming across his face.
Elim knew that look from experience and knew Adama was about to be a goat about it. Really, he DID owe them an explanation. He squatted next to the fire and after asking S’lann to get him three green sticks from the river reeds, he began his tale. “I’m not sure who or what Yolen really is but he is very fair with his knowledge of Druids. It makes sense that he might know a bit, as a Fey, and yet I am still amazed at the secrets he has privy.” He shrugged and gestured thanks to S’lann as he brought back the reeds. In short work he had the rabbit bodies strung up and hanging over the fire after rubbing them with bitter root and stuffing them with only slightly wilted wild onions he’d pulled earlier. With mud he packed wild-potatoes from the deadly nightshade with salt and cracked blackseed into the coals and sat back to stare and speak as they hissed and cooked.
“Yolen told me of a cave system nearby in which I might find assistance in our plight. I believe he had already spoken to a Fey or two that lived in the caves for him to know about her,” he shrugged again, his expression for being unsure. “Whatever the reason, he directed me there and I have made friends with a great beast there who has agreed to be my Companion.”
“Is that why you smell of muck?” S’lann asked, wrinkling his nose but smiling all the same.
“In part,” Elim replied with his own fanged-toothy grin. “You see, I’ve been ankle deep in guano for the better part of the evening, negotiating and meditating with a Dire Bat.”
“DIRE bat?” Adama asked, “As in with a wingspa-a-an big enough to encompass a cottaa-a-age and can carry off ca-a-attle in the night, ‘dire baa-a-at’?”
Elim looked over at Kilmor and said, “Hopefully.” Kilmor looked both ways as if saying ‘who me’ before grinning and swallowing convulsively. “She’s okay as long as we let her eat sometime during the night. I’m not sure if she can manage the three of us plus Kilmor- I somewhat doubt it.”
“So what do you get out of it?” S’lann asked.
“Aside from a companion I can have help me,” he added and shrugged, “she can guard my back and I can help her hunt. I prefer to travel and hunt at night anyway and she’s good for that. And I can always trust her because I understand what motivates her.”
“Is it safe?” S’lann asked.
“From her,” he nodded, “yes. There are some other bats in the cave that’re pretty big and might snap you up.” He grinned evilly, “But you’re hardly a mouthful for anything dangerous and with your wings and pretty tail the might try to mate you.” He chuckled as S’lann blushed.
“That’s not funny Elim,” S’lann sulked.
“I’m sorry S’lann,” he apologized mockingly, “I wasn’t aware you were so tender to the spoken word.”
“Enough you two,” Adama interjected a warning.
“I was just teasing him Adama,” Elim protested and winked at S’lann. Adama just glowered at him menacingly and he gestured surrender. “I’m going to fish. Do we have a pot or anything with which to cook in?” he asked, thinking of the two pots Yolen had last night. Shaken heads answered him as he thought of the tasty porridge from the night before. “Ah well, baked-clay fish it is then. For breakfast anyway,” he stalked off into the darkness with his bow to spear some breakfast.
“WHA-!” Elim shouted, sitting upright suddenly, realizing he had been asleep and the sensations around him were totally unfamiliar. He was laying on something soft, enshrouded in something soft and had the most-delicious sleepy-waking feeling he’d had since… ever.
He sat and stared, uncomprehendingly, not sure what had happened.
He remembered, of course, the events of the last few years in terrible detail and yet… it was as if it had been a little while ago. The remains of the fire lay where he remembered it should be yet his position had changed. And his state, he realized, as he was dressed in a clean clout and a shirt. He had a moment of panic before he spotted his armor and bow, laying above where his head had lay, clean and neatly folded on his pack.
Pack? He cocked his head and reached for it carefully, before a movement at the trunk of the tree caught his eye. A scroll of some sort hung there, twisting in the wind. Of Yolen and the healer, of course there was no sign and yet, rather than be robbed as he suspected it seemed they each had more than they had when they arrived here.
That was curious.
The whole thing was rather curious. He reached for the pack and searched it quickly, seeing that there were pockets within and that the pack, seeming large and fairly full, remained light. Magic tingled in his fingertips as he held it, though he couldn’t fathom the enchantments, it appeared the sack was lighter than the contents of it.
Within was a change of clothes, another shirt for sleeping, an extra clout and his potions plus three. Two water-skins filled smaller pouches on the sides of the pack and a special set of straps for his quiver were set for ease of draw over his shoulder. The quiver had been filled with two-score black-fletched shafts and a handful of those with one white fletch amidst the black. They would do, he realized, as he inspected them.
A further search showed iron rations good for a week or so, fishing gear and flint and tinder. A small pouch held two gold trade-bars and a few gems, which as he inspected them seemed a fair worth.
With a snort Kilmor sat up suddenly, staring around himself wildly. His pack and clothing was consequently larger, his size as a matter of fact, and unseen in the leaves a large staff nearly as long as he was tall. He glanced at Elim, who merely shrugged, and gesture eloquently around them.
Animal noises, the gurgling of the river, the glare of the later afternoon sun; it was as if they had merely been camping here overnight on their way elsewhere. As a matter of fact, they were equipped to go somewhere, though where he wasn’t sure.
“Wha-a-at?” Adama called as he sat up, blinking owlishly, throwing back the covers of the sleeping roll. He looked down and saw the shirt he’d been sleeping in and stared at the other dumbfounded a moment, his fingers rubbing over the softness of the waterproofed cotton and wool of the bedroll.
Elim stood and taking up weapons, a small sack and all their skins, stepped to the reeds and inspected the river and the far shore. After a moment he bent to the water and sniffed, trying to smell for a taint. Not smelling anything horrid, he filled the skins and splashed cool water on himself and his head, scrubbing his scalp and applying the soap-butter he had found redolent with strong herbs and cleansing grit.
It took a bit and his face, upper body and his scalp were nearly raw, but he felt cleaner than he could remember ever being. He returned and the others were up and about, digging in their packs like mid-winter had come, finding their weapons and armor cleaned and ready. His wore his clout and carried his shirt. Now soaking though washed as well.
Tossing down the skins he knelt over them and held his hands over the pile, muttering a prayer to the Powers and calling on the purity of water. A moment later he sensed the spell had been released and the water was purified and was cool and ready to drink. Silently he handed them out, gesturing for Kilmor to come fetch his because it was too heavy to carry easily.
“What happened?” Adama asked wonderingly, dressed in clothing that fit and seemed made for his unique frame.
“Yolen and the Healer I am guessing,” Elim replied with a grin. The jerky wasn’t the best but it was meat and his teeth needed to feel it again. “I’d say that scroll is our answer.”
Adama stepped over and took down the scroll, running his eyes over it. “It’s in Chondath and two other languages I don’t recognize. The part I can read says, ‘Dearest Companions, obviously you have awakened hearty and hale. I regret that I am unable to be there but the healer needs escort and I have a mission of mine own to fulfill, a decade overdue even now. You are well-tended while you sleep though once awakened, your guardians will abandon you, leaving you to your own devices. I suggest leaving a portion of whatever you eat behind for them, out of respect.’” Adama paused and looked confused, while Elim gave the reeds, trees and bushes the once-over with his Druidic senses. He hadn’t been sure before but now… ah.
“Fey,” he muttered to the others. “It is best we’re respectful or foul luck will plague us for weeks.”
“Understood,” Adama replied and went back to the note. “’You have all likely taken stock and lest you have not, do so now. We have arranged for you to feel more civilized, if you like, at least giving you the trappings and tools with which to do as you will. I have helped you as I may, our debt is done and your lives are your own. The healer has added her bit as well, feeling her balance must be appeased and we bid you a fond fare-thee-well. Look for us, for I feel our paths may yet have not done crossing one another.’”
“So what’s our stock?” Adama asked, looking at the others.
“We have about enough rations for a week or so,” Kilmor offered, pulling out a horse-ration, a block of pressed oats and grains with dried applies and carrots held together with a little honey. One of those, each sized for the one carrying it, with some water would fill them up well. For him and Adama, the majority of their rations were those blocks. For Elim and S’lan, theirs included jerky, a couple of blocks and journey bread with a few spice-herbs.
“I can hunt and catch fish for us,” Elim told the others, “though for you two,” he gestured to Adama and Kilmor, “is meat something you can stomach?”
“I ca-a-an,” Adama responded aside. “A goat can eat anything, it seems. Though,” he took a nibble of the block he was holding, “this is very good.”
Elim had been looking around and his skills and sense of nature identified natural grains and plants with roots and leaves that were edible and nutritious. “I can find us things to round out the meat and boost what you already have to stretch it a bit,” he told them, going over to the water and plucking a handful of ripened wild rice. “This cooks up well and I’ve been given some spice-herb examples to put in it.” He handed it to Kilmor who put it in his mouth raw and chewed it noisily.
“Crisp,” Kilmore said around his mouthful, “like that porridge from last night? With the fish?” Elim merely nodded and Kilmor just said, “Good,” his eyes slitting with what Elim read as pleasure.
“What about these other parts here?” Adama asked, holding up the scroll to S’lan to read.
“I can read this,” he pointed to one set of characters and moving his lips as he deciphered it, “it’s the same thing you just read. This on the other hand,” he gestured to the other line of runes down the left side, “I’ve never seen before. Do you know this script?” he asked, turning to Kilmor and then Elim.
Kimor shook his shaggy head negative and then Elim took a look. At the first character he snatched it from S’lann’s hand and read if avidly, muttering and mumbling as he did. A moment later he looked off to the west and south, sniffing the air as he did so. He caught the scent in short order. “We need to stay here over night,” he offered, “there’s something I need to do.”
“What?” Adama asked.
“Hunt,” Elim replied quietly and set to getting dressed in his armor and weapons. He was quickly clothed, his armor was different, he could tell. When he stood, against the background of the trees and bushes, his outline was indistinct and seemed to blur and shift slightly. “Hmm nice,” he muttered and pulling the hood over his head he made ready to depart.
“What should we do?” Adama asked irritably. “We’re still pretty close.”
“Rest,” Elim replied and gestured to the bedrolls, “bathe and make ready for swift-travel. I will do what I can to bring us extra meat and perhaps, a way to get where we’re going all the faster.”
“What do-?” Adama started to ask but Elim was gone, faded into the underbrush as if he’d been an apparition. “Damn him.”
“We are all damned a little,” S’lann offered poetically, musing as he stared at the glistening water as the sunlight reflected from it.
“Whate-e-ever,” Adama threw back and snorted, snapping up his skins and stowing them in his pack. In a moment he huffed and stood, taking the Paladin’s sword he drew a circle in the dirt around himself. A moment later and fully armored, he took the opening pose of his weapon movements.
It was well past dark when Elim returned, the fire having been rekindled and the little group sitting around it. He stunk to high havens but he was grinning fiercely. “I have obtained possible transport though,” he looked at Kilmor, “not all of us can go at once.”
“We all go-o-o,” Adama told him, grumpy at his sudden appearance and disappearance. “Speaking of, where were you?”
“Druid-business,” Elim replied and threw down a brace of rabbits already skinned and cleaned. “Tomorrow night we will eat again and depart the following night, unless we have reason to before then.”
“Why?” Adama asked pointedly, the stubborn look coming across his face.
Elim knew that look from experience and knew Adama was about to be a goat about it. Really, he DID owe them an explanation. He squatted next to the fire and after asking S’lann to get him three green sticks from the river reeds, he began his tale. “I’m not sure who or what Yolen really is but he is very fair with his knowledge of Druids. It makes sense that he might know a bit, as a Fey, and yet I am still amazed at the secrets he has privy.” He shrugged and gestured thanks to S’lann as he brought back the reeds. In short work he had the rabbit bodies strung up and hanging over the fire after rubbing them with bitter root and stuffing them with only slightly wilted wild onions he’d pulled earlier. With mud he packed wild-potatoes from the deadly nightshade with salt and cracked blackseed into the coals and sat back to stare and speak as they hissed and cooked.
“Yolen told me of a cave system nearby in which I might find assistance in our plight. I believe he had already spoken to a Fey or two that lived in the caves for him to know about her,” he shrugged again, his expression for being unsure. “Whatever the reason, he directed me there and I have made friends with a great beast there who has agreed to be my Companion.”
“Is that why you smell of muck?” S’lann asked, wrinkling his nose but smiling all the same.
“In part,” Elim replied with his own fanged-toothy grin. “You see, I’ve been ankle deep in guano for the better part of the evening, negotiating and meditating with a Dire Bat.”
“DIRE bat?” Adama asked, “As in with a wingspa-a-an big enough to encompass a cottaa-a-age and can carry off ca-a-attle in the night, ‘dire baa-a-at’?”
Elim looked over at Kilmor and said, “Hopefully.” Kilmor looked both ways as if saying ‘who me’ before grinning and swallowing convulsively. “She’s okay as long as we let her eat sometime during the night. I’m not sure if she can manage the three of us plus Kilmor- I somewhat doubt it.”
“So what do you get out of it?” S’lann asked.
“Aside from a companion I can have help me,” he added and shrugged, “she can guard my back and I can help her hunt. I prefer to travel and hunt at night anyway and she’s good for that. And I can always trust her because I understand what motivates her.”
“Is it safe?” S’lann asked.
“From her,” he nodded, “yes. There are some other bats in the cave that’re pretty big and might snap you up.” He grinned evilly, “But you’re hardly a mouthful for anything dangerous and with your wings and pretty tail the might try to mate you.” He chuckled as S’lann blushed.
“That’s not funny Elim,” S’lann sulked.
“I’m sorry S’lann,” he apologized mockingly, “I wasn’t aware you were so tender to the spoken word.”
“Enough you two,” Adama interjected a warning.
“I was just teasing him Adama,” Elim protested and winked at S’lann. Adama just glowered at him menacingly and he gestured surrender. “I’m going to fish. Do we have a pot or anything with which to cook in?” he asked, thinking of the two pots Yolen had last night. Shaken heads answered him as he thought of the tasty porridge from the night before. “Ah well, baked-clay fish it is then. For breakfast anyway,” he stalked off into the darkness with his bow to spear some breakfast.
