Sworded Tales

Whilst the two leapt up onto their mounts, debating some point whose significance was unclear, Cheskith regarded the oncoming tide of mercenaries with a thoughtful look. Even as he did, his hand tapped his throat and lips, the same sort of whispery words as he’d uttered before issuing forth.

“For us to stay with you, you want?” the question was sent Erellia’s way, spoken somewhat more firmly than usual to carry well over the din from the town and the forces just beyond, “And to assist, or not to assist?” Continue reading

As Marcus, Borlak and Katarina walked toward town Marcus examined the mule and saddles they were supposed to trade.

“The saddles are new, they should get a good price,” Marcus sighed as he considered the mule, “I like mules better than horses for the most part, unfortunately they are not a speedy animal. Since time seems to be something that we will likely be short of, I will have to ride a horse.”

As they entered the young town, the immature age became apparent by showing only a few buildings and a lot of tents. Granted some of the tents were large, but their transient nature shone through, mainly to support the workers of the bridge. Continue reading

Erellia materialized from around the flank of one of the beefier steeds that Kurn was inspecting for the journey ahead.  Not even a silent whisper marked her approach.  An involuntary gasp from Haron was clear indication that he was startled by the sudden appearance of the mysterious Elf.

“Haron, I would like to speak with Kurn alone for a few moments,” she said in a pleasing tone, though Kurn sensed she fully expected to be obeyed, “Why don’t you spend a few minutes out of the rain near the fire to warm yourself?”

The boy stammered an affirmation, and after looking briefly at Kurn, headed toward the impromptu camp, his head unknowingly scanning for any sign of Katarina.  Once the young man has reached the shelter, Erellia spoke. Continue reading

While Borlak waited for Kurn to finish his preparations, the plainsman glanced toward the shelter where the remaining members of the party could be seen. Turning to Kurn he said, ““Kurn, might I ask you a question? Have you been acquainted with Erellia long?””

Borlak paused and glanced again at the tent. ““Could you perhaps tell me what Erellia might expect, in price, for the lot?”” he asked in his soft, low tone.

Kurn turned to regard the man’s demeanor. He delayed responding to the two questions as Borlak asked them long enough for it to be apparent his answer was to the second, “No.” His hands stopped upon the gear of the mount he was working with, trying to determine Borlak’s plain intent. Kurn followed with a flat question of his own, “It matters?” Continue reading

Cheskith shook his head, a maneuver alien to his own culture but one at which he’d sufficiently practiced so as not to appear oddly in the performing.  “Alchemist’s fire will deter them, I think?  I carry two flasks of it, acquired at your say-so in Sagassport…but the power of the word is not the power of fire or acid, for me.”

The young mage shook his head as well in response to Erellia’s inquiry.  “I am afraid my repertoire of fire and acid spells is limited.  I do have a few, but I will need time to prepare them,” he informed the two before him.  Hesitating for a bit to consider his situation, he continued, “I can also only prepare a limited number of offensive spells a day without compromising my defenses or eroding my utility to the group, as I have other spells that may be beneficial to our numbers, either assisting our warriors and scouts or disabling our enemies.  Continue reading

On a rain swept hillock, a lone, stunted figure, enshrouded in a sodden ochre cloak ambled toward the western bank of the winding river, an undulating swath of silver-gray. With every dozen paces, a puff of smoke rose and trailed behind him. He paused, turning at his wide waist to look behind him, and narrowed his stone gray eyes to watch the windblown wisps coil, ever thinner, into infinity. He stroked his red beard and pensively tugged on an intricate plait as he studied the patterns in the dissipating tobacco smoke. His lower eyelids twitched and his gaze grew distant, as if watching more than a billow of smoke in the rain, but rather the very fabric of the universe unraveling before him and tantalizing him with tenuous tendrils of unfathomed secrets.

His upper lip curled with a slow drag on his pipe, and his eyes rolled to one side, as he awakened from a deep, if momentary, trance. Rôhn Roughbuckle turned back toward the river bank, and plodded over the crest of the hill, bringing the splinted anatomy of the bridge works into view. Continue reading

Marcus nodded thanks to Erellia and left her to go and stand next to Borlak and Katarina.  Marcus then waited for Kurn to prepare the animals, obviously thinking about what they might need. Once Kurn brought over the beasts, Marcus slung his chest on one of the horses, tying it down securely and locking it with a small key.

Borlak and Katarina joined Marcus without further preamble.  “Whenever Kurn is set to hand over the mule and tack I will be ready to go,” the barbarian offered. Continue reading

Putting away the tea gear and making the cups vanish, Marcus pulled a brown oilskin cloak out of his chest before closing it.  Slinging the cloak on and walking towards Borlak and Katarina, he spoke to Erellia.

“Would you mind if I went to town with Borlak and Katarina? If we are getting foodstuffs, I would like to know what’s available before we set out.  I will talk to you about the spells I have when we get back.”

“That would be fine, Marcus,” Erellia responded politely, “Time is presently a luxury we can afford.” Continue reading

“Then our wait commences.”

With that, Erellia began to go about some minor tasks within the shelter as the various members of the group prepared to undertake the assignments given to them.

“Sell the extra saddles with the mule?” Kurn asked, suggesting; if five of the horses were to be pack animals, the saddles were extra weight and burden they’d not be needing, and could be placed upon the mule and also sold in Westerly. Continue reading

Absent-mindedly — if presumptuously — overlooking the womenfolk, Rôhn appraised the group and rose to his full four feet, foam teacup in one hand, lit pipe full of earthy smelling leaf in the other, and regarded his audience pensively with his stone-gray eyes beneath a furrowed, bushy brow, as if composing a dirge of great import.

His wet riding cloak was now open at the neck clasp and draped over his broad, armored shoulders.  His hood was pulled back, revealing the pommel of a sword rising behind his back.  Droplets of evaporating rain trickled down his breastplate which glimmered in the dim light.  His helm was removed and lying alongside his warhammer and small round shield, which leaned against each other by his feet.  His features were ruddy, rounded and sun-baked.  His long, wild red mane was revealed, parted in the middle and intricately plaited with leather cords, as was the bushy mustache beneath his bulbous red nose and the thick beard that draped below his belt buckle.  The wide, black leather girdle it clasped was adorned with a panoply of tools that jingled in unison when he shifted self-consciously on his feet.  Graven runes adorned much of his gear and weaponry. Continue reading