Chapter 13: Family, Responsibility, and Voyage (Continued)
I didn't forget you. I never forget you, my loyal readers.
Unfortunately, I had been busy. Long story short, Happycat's brother is being re-deployed to Iraq for another year. We had to see him before he left. Familial obligations, ya know.
So, its short...but we're nearing the end of this chapter...only four or five posts away now, I'd guess. This is just a modification of Destan's post to our group board. I cut off the end, so that I can expound a bit...and did some minor editting. Its always good to have a little more practice.
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The next morning was one of farewells.
Captain Dougal spent the morning in private conversation with his sergeant, until he and most of his horsemen thundered northward toward Rhelm. The town grew quieter, possibly less secure, without their presence.
Tobias walked the three toward the docks. Lady Carnelloe waved from the prow of a large, bulky river barge. Her eyes were alight with hope. If nothing else, it appears one woman was made happy with the decision.
Tobias shook Motega’s, Fitz’s and finally Magnus’ hands in turn. "I'll be fine," he murmured. The paladin’s face held a look he had not worn too often. They all have difficulty accepting the fact he wants to stay in Minetown, but he seems set upon that path.
So be it.
Tobias strode away toward the keep, leaving his friends in a circle of silence.
Fitz sighed. "Three of us, now. Where there used to be eight."
Motega shrugged, grabbing his pack, and makes his way up the barge's gangway. Fitz followed and, then Magnus.
As the young wizard was about to step aboard, a lone horseman comes thundering back. Ebbem, Dougal’s mage, rode onto the wooden planking and hands Magnus a scroll. "Your letter, signed by the Captain. Might help with some nobles, but don't bet on it. Rhelm is far away from some of the fiefs."
Magnus grinned and nodded his thanks.
The Lady Carnelloe showed the three Heroes to their room. The room was a cramped, square den
beneath the barge's topside deck. A thin trail of water seeped through the walls. At least the dampness kept the room at a comfortable temperature. The day promised to be a hot one.
The Heroes turned as one as a retching sound drifted through the other side of the wall followed closely by a gaggle of laughter. A questioning look was shared.
Motega quirked an eyebrow. "Either someone's got the plague, or someone had a rough night."
Almost on cue, the door bursts open. Fitz and Motega leapt up armed, even as Magnus readied a spell. A tall, thin Gordian wobbled into the frame of the doorway. Actually, the man was too large for the doorway to frame him. He ducked, still managed to bump his head on the frame, and stumbled in to collapse on the nearest straw pallet.
"Mind...mind if I sleep some here? Damn bastards won't leave me be,” he slurred.
Fitz frowned. "You are sick?"
"Mmmm, could say that. Too much-"
"Drink." Motega finished. The Rornman shook his head. The smell of alcohol was nearly overpowering. "I think I'm gonna head topside."
Magnus followed Motega out, a humored smirk on his face. Fitz, accustomed to the smell of
battlefield rot and his own suppression, was less bothered. The priest sat and began to murmur a prayer to Ceria. When the Windword finishes, he looked toward the Gordian. "I am Fitz, a priest of Ceria."
His introduction was greeted only by a low moan.
"You are?"
“Still drunk," the Gordian slurred. “Name’s Drake.”
Fitz considered casting a minor healing spell on the man, then decided against it. He shifted to his feet, grabbed his scythe, and moved to stand with his fellows.
The barge pushed out into Raider's Bay and began a slow journey northward. Five oarsmen worked either side of the vessel, save when the ship skimmed along a sandbar, and they had to break out poles to make better time.
It was going to be a long trip.