04-01-2016, 11:20 AM
The green gunsmith followed Dane out of the luxurious tavern and into the outside world, where they walked towards a towering building in the middle of town. The building housed a bell tower on its roof and unlike most of the other structures in the village, the town hall was comprised of stone and brick. The duo walked up a small flight of stairs, moving towards two large twin doors where several guards stood. With a silent wave of his hand, the dwarven leader brushed them aside and moved towards the door.
Ballad set foot inside first, the leader holding the door open for him. He found himself inside a long corridor that was as high as the building itself, with interconnecting hallways to his left and right that led to stairwells. To his front was a large room filled with long wooden benches, all facing towards a single table with an array of items stacked upon it. He noticed that, aside from small rays of sunlight shimmering through a set of rectangular windows, it was dark and dingy within the room. The air had an old, musty scent, as if he had stumbled upon an ancient tomb.
He heard the door slam shut as Dane walked past him, eyes never diverting from the table. The sounds of their footsteps echoed around the corridor as they drew closer to it. The virescent gunman quickly noticed something else about the table: it had skulls lining the front of the table, all facing towards him. They were fractured, the marrow of their skulls split in half on some while others contained knife-sized holes inside their craniums. Their most distinguishing feature, however, were their long canines within their jaws.
The sharpshooter felt a cold sweat run down his forehead, wiping it away with his hand. The chief seemed to smile as he walked behind the table and pulled out a chair. He slid the chair towards the inventor's side before moving back, sitting down as he stared at Ballad in complete silence.
The gunsmith slowly pulled the chair back as he sighed nervously. He sat down before looking at the dwarf, who was still peering at him. His glare was gone, replaced by a completely stoic and deadpan expression.
“So..” he said, his monotone voice little more than a whisper, “ya wish to help us fight back against the trolls, is that correct?”
The gunner let out a frustrated sigh as he leaned forward onto the table, placing his hands on his face, “Yes, that is correct... that is exactly what I desire...”
“Well, ya see, ya got a problem,” the leader replied, ignoring the annoyed groans coming from his guest, “fer starters, ya don' have the best reputation in all the Omnivers'. Let's jus' leave it at that, shall we? Secondly, ya pissed off Camelot, o' all people. The same people whom had been helpin' US fer quite a while up until Diablo came and blew everythin' up.”
Of course. These guys HAD to have been friends with the people I've hurt the most... he mused, letting out a sigh. He lifted himself off of the desk, taking care not to touch the beaten and crumbled craniums.
“If I am to postulate...” the gunsmith said, “my character stays my eligibility for recruitment.”
“Pretty much.”
“Alright... is there anything I can do to fix that?”
“Normally, all thos' thin's combined would be mor' than enough reason to kill ya...” he replied as he reached towards a skull. He lifted one up into the air, looking at it blankly for a few moments, “...but we're desperate. The king'll take anyone who can swin' a hammer... even someone like ya, Ballad.”
The gunner felt a wave of relief wash over him. Finally, some progress! He leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms, saying “Okay.. so what is the complication?” in a somewhat eager, if not impatient tone.
“We don' just let anyone in, even if their reputation spoke fer itself. Yer gonna have to PROVE that yer serious in what yer doin',” he said as he slid his other hand behind the table, pulling out a piece of parchment. He set the paper in front of the sharpshooter, who promptly grabbed it and pulled it up to his face.
The parchment contained an approximately 64 by 64 sized grid as well as a key with various symbols written inside it. Near the middle of the map was a drawing of a village that took up around eight squares of the map, labeled 'Nierhin.' To its west were scribbles of trees and inclines, which according to the key meant that area was marked by forests and hills. The area in particular was labeled as 'The Hills of Maidens Blessing.' The gunsmith also noticed that the area was circled with black ink.
“Allow me to predict my assignment's goal: You desire for me to travel to these hills-”
“and collect som' stuff. Exactly,” Dane said, finishing his sentence. The cucumber green man couldn't help but smirk at his educated guess. It was easy to do when you had all the knowledge in the world that you could pull from the back of your mind at a moments notice.
“Now, the stuff in question is as follows,” the dwarf said as he set the skull in his hand on top of another, keeping its face facing his guest, “first, collect some cobalt. Second, collect a wampa hide. Simple?”
“On the contrary, it is impossible for it to be simple.”
“Ya guessed right. Ya see, we had a bunch o' villages around those hills when we first got here. Some, particularly us, used to use those hills as a place wher' ya could go out and mine and hunt. For som' reason, those hills wer' a giant matin' ground for tauntauns, so we decided to take advantage o' that little piece o' luck. Not only that, but it was also filled with minerals in the caves, so we set up minin' camps there.”
“However, that only lasted a short while. We just had to pull out all o' our miners cuz the mines were growin' unstable.”
“From excessive mining, I presume?” Ballad interrupted.
The dwarven leader bit his lip, shaking his head slightly, “that's what most believe. Personally, though, I think foul play was involved. Those damn thins' were fine the day before and were droppin' like flies the next.”
“In any case, I highly doubt we got everythin', so you got a free ticket to kill two birds with one stone. Go over there, get some cobalt, then just walk around till you kill a wampa. Skin the wampa and bring back the hide. Then, and only then, will I consider ya fer recruitment.”
The green gunner glanced from the map to the leader as he chuckled under his breath. All the pygmy wanted was for him to kill a creature, take its hide, and collect some raw materials. No other fighting necessary. His reputation definitely preceded him, just without the respect that would normally imply. For once, though, he was happy that he was known as a cold-blooded killer with a penchant for violence.
“I proffer you my gratitude, o dwarf,” he said, rolling up the map and stuffing it inside his jacket.
He was about to get up and walk away when he heard the leader speak again.
“One more thin', before ya go: Yer gettin' a guide. Ya know, fer the travellin' and all that.”
“A guide....”
“Trust me. He knows the land inside and out. He'll do plenty o' great thins' fer ya. I'm sure he will.”
Ballad set foot inside first, the leader holding the door open for him. He found himself inside a long corridor that was as high as the building itself, with interconnecting hallways to his left and right that led to stairwells. To his front was a large room filled with long wooden benches, all facing towards a single table with an array of items stacked upon it. He noticed that, aside from small rays of sunlight shimmering through a set of rectangular windows, it was dark and dingy within the room. The air had an old, musty scent, as if he had stumbled upon an ancient tomb.
He heard the door slam shut as Dane walked past him, eyes never diverting from the table. The sounds of their footsteps echoed around the corridor as they drew closer to it. The virescent gunman quickly noticed something else about the table: it had skulls lining the front of the table, all facing towards him. They were fractured, the marrow of their skulls split in half on some while others contained knife-sized holes inside their craniums. Their most distinguishing feature, however, were their long canines within their jaws.
The sharpshooter felt a cold sweat run down his forehead, wiping it away with his hand. The chief seemed to smile as he walked behind the table and pulled out a chair. He slid the chair towards the inventor's side before moving back, sitting down as he stared at Ballad in complete silence.
The gunsmith slowly pulled the chair back as he sighed nervously. He sat down before looking at the dwarf, who was still peering at him. His glare was gone, replaced by a completely stoic and deadpan expression.
“So..” he said, his monotone voice little more than a whisper, “ya wish to help us fight back against the trolls, is that correct?”
The gunner let out a frustrated sigh as he leaned forward onto the table, placing his hands on his face, “Yes, that is correct... that is exactly what I desire...”
“Well, ya see, ya got a problem,” the leader replied, ignoring the annoyed groans coming from his guest, “fer starters, ya don' have the best reputation in all the Omnivers'. Let's jus' leave it at that, shall we? Secondly, ya pissed off Camelot, o' all people. The same people whom had been helpin' US fer quite a while up until Diablo came and blew everythin' up.”
Of course. These guys HAD to have been friends with the people I've hurt the most... he mused, letting out a sigh. He lifted himself off of the desk, taking care not to touch the beaten and crumbled craniums.
“If I am to postulate...” the gunsmith said, “my character stays my eligibility for recruitment.”
“Pretty much.”
“Alright... is there anything I can do to fix that?”
“Normally, all thos' thin's combined would be mor' than enough reason to kill ya...” he replied as he reached towards a skull. He lifted one up into the air, looking at it blankly for a few moments, “...but we're desperate. The king'll take anyone who can swin' a hammer... even someone like ya, Ballad.”
The gunner felt a wave of relief wash over him. Finally, some progress! He leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms, saying “Okay.. so what is the complication?” in a somewhat eager, if not impatient tone.
“We don' just let anyone in, even if their reputation spoke fer itself. Yer gonna have to PROVE that yer serious in what yer doin',” he said as he slid his other hand behind the table, pulling out a piece of parchment. He set the paper in front of the sharpshooter, who promptly grabbed it and pulled it up to his face.
The parchment contained an approximately 64 by 64 sized grid as well as a key with various symbols written inside it. Near the middle of the map was a drawing of a village that took up around eight squares of the map, labeled 'Nierhin.' To its west were scribbles of trees and inclines, which according to the key meant that area was marked by forests and hills. The area in particular was labeled as 'The Hills of Maidens Blessing.' The gunsmith also noticed that the area was circled with black ink.
“Allow me to predict my assignment's goal: You desire for me to travel to these hills-”
“and collect som' stuff. Exactly,” Dane said, finishing his sentence. The cucumber green man couldn't help but smirk at his educated guess. It was easy to do when you had all the knowledge in the world that you could pull from the back of your mind at a moments notice.
“Now, the stuff in question is as follows,” the dwarf said as he set the skull in his hand on top of another, keeping its face facing his guest, “first, collect some cobalt. Second, collect a wampa hide. Simple?”
“On the contrary, it is impossible for it to be simple.”
“Ya guessed right. Ya see, we had a bunch o' villages around those hills when we first got here. Some, particularly us, used to use those hills as a place wher' ya could go out and mine and hunt. For som' reason, those hills wer' a giant matin' ground for tauntauns, so we decided to take advantage o' that little piece o' luck. Not only that, but it was also filled with minerals in the caves, so we set up minin' camps there.”
“However, that only lasted a short while. We just had to pull out all o' our miners cuz the mines were growin' unstable.”
“From excessive mining, I presume?” Ballad interrupted.
The dwarven leader bit his lip, shaking his head slightly, “that's what most believe. Personally, though, I think foul play was involved. Those damn thins' were fine the day before and were droppin' like flies the next.”
“In any case, I highly doubt we got everythin', so you got a free ticket to kill two birds with one stone. Go over there, get some cobalt, then just walk around till you kill a wampa. Skin the wampa and bring back the hide. Then, and only then, will I consider ya fer recruitment.”
The green gunner glanced from the map to the leader as he chuckled under his breath. All the pygmy wanted was for him to kill a creature, take its hide, and collect some raw materials. No other fighting necessary. His reputation definitely preceded him, just without the respect that would normally imply. For once, though, he was happy that he was known as a cold-blooded killer with a penchant for violence.
“I proffer you my gratitude, o dwarf,” he said, rolling up the map and stuffing it inside his jacket.
He was about to get up and walk away when he heard the leader speak again.
“One more thin', before ya go: Yer gettin' a guide. Ya know, fer the travellin' and all that.”
“A guide....”
“Trust me. He knows the land inside and out. He'll do plenty o' great thins' fer ya. I'm sure he will.”
Quote:Quest: Into the Halls
Word Count: 1,275
Amount left: 1,178
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