Out of the Gate and into the Renaissance Fair

[Corporal Light]

Thanks for the heads up. I'll probably have him stop in various places before Minas Tirith, which will take maybe around 2-3 posts.

Roughly twenty minutes later

Ballad had finally found a spot where he could be at peace for at least an hour or so. It was alongside the path, about fifteen feet or so to its left. The spot in question was a relatively open field, with long patches of grass surrounding it and a large tree in the center. Compared to all the others, it was a lot smaller, and was probably climbable. It had green leaves, just like the rest, with plenty of small piles of them littering the forest floor.

Ballad moves his right hand through one of the patches of grass, coming across the field. Looking around, he could see how open it was. Perfect to spot incoming visitors. Plus, the tree could give him some branches for the fire he wanted to make, and he could use the leaves as kindling to be lit by his special wick. Thank goodness he still had plenty of those on his person. He couldn't quite remember how he managed to have so many on his person at the time, but it hardly mattered. It wold be really useful in a lit of things here, just like back home.

Walking towards the tree, he looks down towards the bird corpse in his left hand. The corpse thankfully hadn't rotted in the time it took for him to walk into this field, so that's a plus. He gently set it down next to the tree, hoping nothing proceeds to try to eat it as he gazes up into the tree.

About a few feet above the ground, some small branches were sticking out from the tree. Moving his left hand up to his eyes to block the sun, he managed to get a glimpse of them. Kind of high up, and I don't think I could climb this. Maybe I can knock them down with the pickaxe?

Deciding to risk it, Ballad removes the two straps connecting the Pickaxe to his shoulder, taking around five seconds to do this. Gripping the wooden handle of the Pickaxe in his hands, he raises it over his head. After getting into position, he hops upwards, swinging the Pickaxe at the tree branches.

The force of the swing manages to shake the tree a bit, causing some more leaves to gently float downwards onto the ground. The swing also managed to split off a few branches, tumbling them down and scattering them in various locations around the field. Repeating the process, it takes about a minute for him to knock enough branches off the tree.

Setting the metal end of the Pickaxe down on the ground, Ballad proceeds to breathe deeply in an attempt to catch his breath. He didn't remember his Pickaxe being THIS heavy, especially he's used it for years without trouble. Something is wrong here. First my revolver goes single action, now my pickaxe is heavy as hell. What's next? Will my revolver's bomb setting not work?

Grumbling to himself, he straps the Pickaxe back onto his shoulder, walking around the open field to pick up the fallen branches as well as piles of leaves. After about three minutes, he has a pile of leaves and a few sticks piled up on top of each other. The one thing he was missing now was something to ensure the fire didn't burn down the fucking forest.

Sitting down next to the tree, he leans his back against the bark of the tree, deciding to tap into his omnillium reserves again. Closing his eyes, he holds his hands out, thinking of a bunch of stones that could fit in the palms of his hands. After about six minutes, he opens his eyes, revealing about six stones, all big enough to fit the palms.

Taking his time, mostly because he wasn't too terribly hungry, Ballad begins to work on his campfire. To pass the time, he begins to talk to himself, this time to discuss the nature of the realm he was in.

"This place still blows my mind on how amazing looking it is. I mean, what IS half of this stuff? I've never seen this... green.. parchment-like stuff before. Hope it's good kindling," Ballad says, grabbing some leaves and tossing them into the now finished campfire. It had taken a little under four minutes to set up the campfire. The campfire was surrounded by the stones in a circle formation, with some stick in between the wedges where the stones connected with each other. Around the sticks were the leaves, scattered all over it.

Sitting down next to the campfire, Ballad moves his left hand into his coat, opening up a bag attached to his belt. Pulling out the wick, he takes a moment to gaze at it before striking it against one of the stones, setting it ablaze. Once he did that, he tossed it into the campfire.

The result stunned Ballad completely. The leaves started to slowly burn up, enveloping the sticks as a loud crackling sound formed from the fire. This didn't really happen this way back home. Pretty much every fire made was silent, so one could better appreciate the warmth that came from the fire. This one was just LOUD, and he wasn't sure if that was good.

Whatever. Let's just cook this bird and get to breakfast, or lunch, or whatever. Leaning back up against the wall, it took roughly six minutes for Ballad to obtain a sharpened stick small enough to stab the bird without destroying it entirely. Slowly appearing the bird through its chest, he proceeds to hang it over the fire, and waits.