IoK Session 20

“Well, how many lashes do you think you’ll get?  I’m hoping for at least 25… need to be able to outdo the young Rikian.  Gotta admit, he took the lash well.  Would have thought him a disciple of Talivar the way he withstood Shipworth’s work.”

Hardel never really knew Orgren to be a chatterer, but since they’d left the camp he never ceased to express his thoughts.

“The way I see it, you’ll get more.”

“Why do you say that?  This was as much your idea as it was mine.” 

Hardel was half surprised and half flattered.  He would take a harsher count, being the senior miner amongst the crew.  Bolan would whip him to make a point, and then whip Orgren because he could.

It was nearly midday and the camp was sure to have noticed their absence by now. 

“Think they’ll send the scouts after us?  I hear that the hynid can damn near track anything.  What do you suppose is stranger, the beastlings or the flatlanders?  This ‘Mip’ is the first one I’ve actually met, and he appears as much a monster as the hynn.  More so… as he seems a new monster each morning.  How are the Northwinds supposed to know when to shoot?  What if a real monster comes into the camp and they think its Mip and it eats all the bacon?”

Orgren was just rambling now.

“No monster could eat all the bacon… Eland has enough to choke a wyvern.”

Hardel was sick of bacon, but sure enough his pack smelled of Applewood smoked pork bellies.  Some apples, a sack of nuts, and a flask of rye whiskey to round out their diet.  Since they were already breaking some rules, might as well break the best ones.  Besides, neither he nor Orgren really knew what to expect of this hike.  Might as well enjoy it.

Orgren continued to vent every thought and Hardel focused on the woods.  The larger miner was no scout, but his strength was ever useful when things went south.  A shame they didn’t find a suitable axe before leaving, but Orgren carried his pick in hand.  Hardel had seen him shatter boulders with a single strike and hoped he would never see the dwarf swing at something softer.

Hours went by and the two hiked south.  A straight line did not exist in these untamed woods, but Hardel had spent enough time with maps to understand how to navigate.  Besides, this wasn’t a long trip and it wasn’t a straight line they needed.  Fardel could not have traveled far from the camp during his nighttime expedition.  The plan was to head past where he claimed to have spoken with his mysterious elf and find a trail or camp.  Far enough that Bolan wouldn’t find them, yet close enough to find a clue and clear his nephew’s name. 

But the sun continued west and the shadows continued to lengthen.  Hardel and Orgren began to circle the camp in a wide arc, well beyond the eyes and ears of Volimak’s tower.  Orgren seemed to have run out of thoughts to share and the only question to be heard was the one the forest was not answering.  No camp, no tracks, no markings or signs.  Perhaps Hardel’s past hunting trips hadn’t prepared him to be a real tracker, or perhaps there was no elf to track. 

What if Fardel had made it up?  What if this was a fish story so big that even his nephew believed it? 

“Hardel… I was thinking…”

So that’s what the silence was.

“…this elf seems to have taken great care in only being seen by Fardel and only meeting with him after dark.  It obviously doesn’t want to be found.  Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way… let’s let the elf come to us.  It has a story to tell and it’s looking for help.  We’ll make ourselves available.”

With that, Orgren brushed away the foliage from a large stone and took a seat.  From his belt, he pulled a green apple.  Crunching the fruit and staring into the woods, Orgren looked every bit the visage of patience.

“Fair enough.  We wait to be seen.”

Hardel sat on a nearby log, pulled his flask, and took a long drink.  His knees fully agreed with Orgren’s plan, though his mind was at ill at ease with sitting still.  Sure, the elf could see them here in this clearing.  So could everything else.

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“Well… that was that.  Another 3 ravens in my pocket and all I need do is point a srylian towards a mudhole.  I’m not sure I trust this job, but it’s damn easy.”

Regnit smiled and pantomimed tossing three coins into a pouch.  Veldamere smiled while continuing to watch the bubbles of the watery cave entrance.

“Lan… how long can a srylian hold its breath?  They’re not amphibious, are they?  Just water lizards, right?”

The older brother was asking with the air of a concerned onlooker… Not part of the problem, but hesitant to let bad things happen to others.  It had always been Veldamere’s problem.  Couldn’t stay out of the business of others.

“They know what they’re doing.  If not, they’ll learn quickly.”

“The ancients can hold the breath of four men, and they swim better than they walk.”

Landralsine was young for a Deltan.  No more than 35, which put him at the same age as Regnit.  The two had known each other since they were children, and Veldamere had promised his mother that he would watch out for him.  Deltans matured slowly and though Regnit was now an adult Vern, Landralsine still had another inch or two of height and hopefully a few more pounds of muscle.  He was quick though, and still a good inch taller than Regnit.  Maybe two now.

“We never scouted the caves and I don’t know what they will face in there.” 

Veldamere’s forehead formed a wrinkled ‘V’.  It was a recurrent expression of concern that made him look older than his 40 years.  The lines of the older son, worn by most first born.

“I’d say they have…”

Regnit flipped through his journal, fingers tracing pages of text and numbers while silently mouthing the rest of his statement.  Then with a nod…

“1 big one, 5 tall ones, 10 regular ones, and 20 little ones… and that’s just what we’ve seen.”

“Don’t count the big one, I don’t think it’s aggressive.  Lan…”

“Dormaic Ogre… they’re found on the west coast.  Fishing tribes.”

“That would explain how he knows how to swim.  She must have brought him here.  Either way, we shouldn’t be seen.  There are still other golyn in the woods.”

Regnit paused, closing his journal and pointing to the pit.

“Vel… if they are still in there when the golyn scouts return, that would cut off their escape.  The Darian said they would be in and out… a retrieval job.  What if they can’t get out because the others are returning to the hole?”

The ‘V’ deepened.  Their employer had told them not to get involved, just keep an eye on the area.  This changed things though.  As big as that hynn was, nobody stands up well to a surprise at their backs.

“Change of plans then… Lan, start tracking the leechlings.  We can at least cover their rear.  If the Darian asks, we’ll say this band of misfits did it.”