IoK Session 21

The flask was empty.  Hardel was sure that Orgren had drank more than his share, but he wasn’t going to argue with the meaty dwarf about it… this was the happiest he had seen him in weeks.  The Weekin had always believed that the spirits of distilled grains were a magic truth serum.  Hardel’s experience had been more of ‘magical belief’ serum.  As Orgren rambled on about impossible stories, the lick of whiskey on his tongue would lead you to believe that Orgren believed his own impossible stories.  This was the true magic of alcohol… not truth, but failure to see lies.

“…and then this lass comes tumbling down the stairs.  All 200lbs of jiggly bits and lace, and she lands right on top of me.  Well I just had to introduce myself after that.  So I set down the duck I was carrying…”

The story went on and Orgren laughed at his own incredible tale, and this continued well into the night.  The moon had risen and the forest around them faded to gray.  Despite the noise from the one-dwarf-show, the night time had come alive with forest animals.  Hardel half listened, half watched… his attention longing for something other than the third round of the same drunken stories.  Squirrels and rabbits moved through the underbrush.  At the edge of Hardel’s vision, he could see deer.  Their glowing green eyes watching his with curiosity.  They were far from the settlements of either dwarf or man and he was certain that this may have been the first time this creature had laid eyes on a kin-darian.  The two shared a moment before Orgren’s belly laugh spooked the deer back in to the woods and the shadows past Hardel’s sight.

“… and so I married her!”

Orgren laughed again, wiped a tear from his eye, and breathed the night air deeply.  The big dwarf simply wanted to laugh, and this time away from the camp had been sorely needed.

“That’s a great story, Orgren.  I never knew you had so many children back home.”

Hardel had none of his own.  It was his older brother who had settled down and made a life for himself.  Hardel had always been a wanderer.  Being the younger brother, he always found himself in the shadows.  Foldis was expected to pick up their father’s trade, leaving Hardel the luxury of ‘low expectations’.  Never needed to prove himself nor carry on their father’s quest for a strong name.  Instead, Hardel joined the Merchant Navy of Forgen.  Sailing from island to island, seeking nothing but strong drink, quick silver, and easy Fellerin girls.  He had an amazing story of a week with a Childe sorcerer while circling Daconis, but it was a story he kept to himself.  Plus, it was an old story and one left best for young dwarves to tell.

Orgren smiled and chewed on a bit of jerky.  He looked to the sky and watched the stars, enjoying the silence between friends. 

It was during the natural pause of their conversation that Hardel first noticed the change in the forest.  Orgren’s stories had ceased and the forest had returned to silence, but this was an unnatural silence.  The squirrels and rabbits had all left their gray circle, no animals to be seen within the limits of their dwarven vision.

Motioning to his pick, both Hardel and Orgren reached for their makeshift weapons and stood without further speaking.  They stood facing each other, but searching the woods behind one another.  Readying themselves for whatever may step out of the shadows.

The trio had been hunting all day and fatigue was beginning to set in.  Somewhere in these dark woods was a band of Golyn scouts, and they needed to be found before they returned to the pit entrance.

“Lan… how are you doing back there?  I want to avoid lanterns right now… we need to catch them unaware.”

Veldamere and Regnit had struggled to keep up with the young Deltan during the day, but now that twilight had past the elf had lost his lead.

“I’m fine, Vel.  The sky is clear and the moon lights my way.”

“I’m not fine… I’m tired.  Vel, I think we’ve gone too far away.  The golyn were following a small circular pattern and we’re past that now.  Let’s head back to the mudhole and wait for them.”

Regnit had been flagging for the past mile.  His nature as a bookworm now betraying him with every labored breath. 

“Another mile, no more.  I know I heard something up ahead.”

“If you can’t make it, Reg… I’m willing to carry you.  Like a little hairy baby.”

“So you are jealous of my moustache.  You’ll get yours eventually, Lan… you are a male right?  Can’t tell with you elves.”

Though the chatter was against his plan to sneak up on the golyn, Vel couldn’t help but smile as his two little brother’s bantered.  They had been bored in the woods for too long.

It was then that the moonlight caught something up ahead.  A flash of yellow which Vel recognized immediately.  Halting on his heels, he waved wildly to his rear… catching the attention of Reg and Lan.  They hunched, and laid silent.  Trying to catch another glimpse of the glowing yellow eyes.

Luck held out, and Vel saw the pale scalp of a leechling creep through a moonbeam.  It was hunting something as well, skulking through the forests towards a clearing.  As the three laid silent, they counted at least 4 more leechlings and a true golyn.  They had spread out in a circle and were all slowly encroaching on the forest’s edge.

A tap was heard and Vel spun his head to the rear.  Reg held a wide-eyed look of surprise as he pointed two fingers into the clearing.  Lan seemed unaware and with eyes closed appeared to be listening intently to the woods.  In his hands he held his bow ready and arrow notched.

Following Reg’s fingertips, Vel peered into the darkness beyond his under-sight.  Though difficult to make out, it appeared that two dwarves stood in the clearing.  They held picks, and waited.
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"I don't understand... how could you not have seen them leave?  We built a tower right above the barracks.  You were in it.  The only possible answer is that you weren't looking!"

Drauk's face was a deep crimson as he scolded Volimak.  The dwarven rifleman stood at attention during the entire verbal barrage, braced against the hot breath of the senior mercenary.

"I don't know how I missed them, Drauk.  I swear..."

"I don't want to hear another word.  Its a simple fact; Hardel and Orgren left under your watch.  Return to your post and we'll settle this later."

Volimak didn't drop his stance till Drauk had returned to the mess lodge.  Rolling his shoulders, he attempted to relax and chase away the cramp from his neck.  It had been only 5 minutes or so, but the tension felt like hours.  Glancing up to the tower's loft, Volimak felt the sun on his face and new the tower would be that much closer to the heat.  Slinging his rifle, he ponderously reached for the ladder's rungs.

From up here, he could see every bit of the camp.  The loggers had cleared several acres now, providing for open set backs of safety.  There was also a stone wall erected along the south, growing by feet every day as it encircled the freshly thatched cabins.  To his south, the primary mining crew spent their days gathering more logs and stone.  They toiled under this same sun as Volimak, but he swore he was warmer than they were.  The sweat soaking his boiled leather tunic, leaving a dark stain across the back.  Black and ringed with salt. 

Shielding his eyes, he searched the remaining woods for signs of the two runaways.  A sea of evergreens along the coast of the Vernfal Mountains.  It truly was a beautiful sight.  He understood why the Vernish had made their homes amongst these hills and peaks. 

Watching the wind stir a wave of across the treetops, Volimak let his mind wander freely while his eyes focused on the task of hunting wayward dwarves. 

If there was an elf in these woods, why would it ask Fardel for aid?  Of all dwarves in the camp... Fardel was a fool.  A storyteller with a loose grasp of the severity of their situation.  Golyn had infested the evergreen sea to the north, hiding beneath its pine scented waves.  The scouts had been sent to flush out this infestation and return with some 'McGuffin of Power' which supposedly held the master smith trapped in the dream world... who makes this crap up?  If the old dwarf hadn't recovered from a rusty knife to the belly, you don't need an elven shaman to trap him in a dream to explain his bed ridden situation.  He's an old dwarf, and they die from knife wounds... some slower than others.

But none of this explains the elf.  Fardel believed the elf was asking for help... that the other elf must be stopped or a family would be killed.  Who's family?  The elf's?  Is so, why should we care?  And if this was such a matter of monumental importance, why wouldn't the elf simply walk into camp right now and scream 'Help me you stupid dwarves!'

The sun was bright, and Volimak's mind returned to the green sea.  With a strange realization, it occurred to him how easy it was to lose track of yourself up here.  The ever present wave of the forest was hypnotic and for the last several minutes, he had been lost within his own day dream.  Looking to the south, he no longer saw the miners.  They hadn't moved far, but he needed to search for them again.

Perhaps being lost within a dream is not at all so difficult.