Day 11, Week 1 - Into the Halls

[Corporal Light]

Roughly thirty minutes later….

The gunsmith let out a loud groan as he tightened the fabric around the wound, his face stinging as the bandage touched his wounds. He lightly patted the bandage, making sure it wasn’t going to fall off mid travel before standing up, placing his green trapper hat back onto his head.

The green gunner had been spending the last half hour treating his wounds, or at the very least mending them enough that his chest stopped feeling like it was being stabbed with a thousand knives every time he took a deep breath. With a quick usage of Omnillium, he had managed to heal the majority of his more severe wounds, and had thought about using more of it to heal himself fully. It then occurred to him that his pygmy partner, sitting a fair distance away, had been making no attempts to tend to his injuries. It didn’t take very long for Ballad to figure out why. He had then begrudgingly took some of his time and Omnillium to conjure up three sets of bandages for the trio; after all, his partner was the only thing capable of getting him back to Nierhin, really.

The battle with the wampa had, indeed, made them look a bit worse for wear. While the inventor’s injuries were more or less cured, his diversion to tend to Danish’s wound meant that not every wound had been healed. He had wrapped one of the bandages he had conjured up around his back, covering up the gashes marked into his skin and coat. He had then done the same to his face and although it still stung like all hell, it was better than being completely blind.

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Danish, on the other hand, wasn’t as lucky. The brief distraction he had served to get the wampa off of him had cost him a part of his face, including his right eye, a chunk of his black beard, and a good part of his cheek. The dwarf probably should’ve felt glad that he hadn’t bled out by the time he got it treated with a bandage, but he had been far more concerned with just how much it HURT. An attack like that had nearly torn off his whole face! He couldn’t imagine how Dane would feel.

Though, knowing Dane, he would probably set up a party in celebration of his first battle scar.

He looked up, seeing that the recruit had finally gotten done with his own injuries. As much as what he had done earlier that day still rang his mind, he couldn’t help but at least be somewhat admirable about his resilience. He had taken on a wampa head on and damn near killed it singlehandedly.

This thought was quickly drowned out by another, more suspicious thought. The recruit had lead the creature all the way from the bottom of the mine to the outside. He had to have realized how stupid a plan that was! What if the wampa had outran them before they escaped? What if the mine crushed them before they could escape? What if the wampa hadn’t escaped itself?! All that effort would have been for nothing!

Slowly standing up, he said “By the way… that was a stupid plan,” to the gunsmith as he walked towards him.

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“I suspected you would declare that..” The gunsmith replied, holding out his hand as the dwarf stood up. The sentry looked down at his hand, clearly confused as to what he was trying to do.

“I require your blade.” He said, quickly pointing to the knife within his belt.

The dwarf grunted, saying “Ya sur’ that hide is worth anythin’? Ya just burnt it to a crisp..” as he pulled out his dagger, bringing it up to the inventor’s hand.

“A matter that I will solve myself.” The gunner answered, taking the knife in his hand before moving towards the monster’s corpse.

The carcass hadn’t changed too much from how it died. Its hide was blackened in various areas, and its entire body seemed to bleed. It was lying face down, its head and parts of its upper body blown into several, red, gooey, and bone-filled pieces. This was definitely not the best pelt the gunner had ever carved, but he hoped Dane didn’t mind. He would probably just have to explain what had happened and hope for the best.

Just as he knelt down and began to plunge the knife into its corpse, though, he heard the growling rasp of his partner talking to him.

“To be quite honest wit’ ya, Ballad, I expected a lot better from ya..” He said, his arms crossed and his head shaking.

“I slayed it and obtain its pelt. My task has been completed.” The gunner replied, trying to keep his attention squarely on removing the wampa’s hide.

“Sur', ya killed it, but the hide is burnt. You’ll be lucky if the leader even gives it a passin' glance.”

“He’ll accept it, if he knows what’s good for him.”

“What?”

The gunner promptly paused, the dagger barely an inch or two into the creature’s flesh. He closed his eyes, sighing as he said, “It would be a shame if he squandered my talents over a hide.”

All was silent for a few moments, except for the sound of the gunsmith slowly slicing his way through the corpse’s skin. Eventually, his partner gave a response.

“Right… of course…” he said, nodding.

“If my answer is problematic, then inform me so. I am busy removing the creature's hide with your blade, and thus do not have time to concentrate on your passive-aggressiveness.”

“Oh, I totally don’t have a problem with ya. I mean,” he said, chuckling a bit even despite his deadpan tone and massive frown, “it ain’t like ya haven’t been flip-flopping between something else to the Ballad we all know ya, huh?"

The gunsmith jammed the knife way too far then needed into the creature’s flesh upon hearing the last sentence, taking a deep breath. He turned back towards his partner, smoke steadily starting to rise from his coat sleeves as the dwarf began to walk towards him.

“I’ve become more, shall we say… adjusted to your civilities,” he answered, the logic spirit inhabiting his form working his diplomatic magic as he turned back towards the carcass, pulling out his knife, “and that is the extent to which you must know.”

“I want more than that if you’re gonna convince me of anythin’, mister I shot a statue of someone’s Goddess to get his buddy’s attention.”

Ballad cringed as those last words were nearly shouted into his ears, the dwarf standing a few feet behind him. His grip on his partner’s knife tightened, his knuckles growing whiter and whiter as his slices became sharper and sharper, pulling the blade in and out as if cranking a chainsaw.

“Danish. I. Am. Not. In. The mood.” He growled, his words matching the rhythm of his knife strokes. The blade slowly moved down the creature’s back to its pelvis.

“Well, I am! And if you don’t tell me what’s goin’ on right now, then by Innanna’s nam-”

“WILL YOU SHUT UP ABOUT YOUR INANNA ALREADY?!” The gunner screamed, the knife poking out the other side of the carcass. Smoke bellowed out of Ballad’s jacket sleeves, very nearly tearing out pieces of fur from the corpse’s body as he stood up to face the dwarf.

The dwarf wisely backed off, as if finally realizing what he was doing. But the inventor moved forward, towering above the pygmy like a statue of one of his goddesses. His previously yellow eyes were now a pale white, and he was shouting out every single word that spewed out from his mouth.

“EXACTLY WHAT HAS SHE DONE FOR YOU, HUH?! WHAT HAS SHE DONE FOR YOU?!”

“Plenty!” The dwarf shouted back, looking up towards the shrieking man, “she’s saved my life!”

“I SAVED YOUR LIFE, YOU DUMBASS! I’M THE REASON THAT WAMPA DIDN’T TEAR YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF! IF ANYTHING, I’M THE ONE YOU SHOULD BE WORSHIPPING!”

“Why would I worship someone like ya when there is someone better?!”

“Oh! I see!” Ballad said, rolling his eyes, “You think Inanna is REAL, DON’T YOU! News flash, Danish! SHE’S NOT!”

The pygmy blinked. Then he blinked again.

“What…?” He whispered.

“Am I getting through?! YOUR GODDESS IS FAKE! THOSE STATUES HAVE NO GODDAMN MEANING! THEY ARE JUST STATUES AND WASTES OF GOOD STONE!”

“No… no, yer lying..” The dwarf whispered, looking to the ground as he shook his head.

“THAT SYMBOL ON YOUR NECKLACE IS ALSO FAKE! YOU’VE BEEN DELUDING YOURSELF FROM THE VERY MOMENT YOU PUT IT ON! ALL IT’S BEEN IS AN EXCUSE!”

The dwarf continued to shake his head, repeating “Yer lyin’..” over and over again like a broken record. Meanwhile, the gunsmith continued to rant and rave, spilling out all of the pent up frustration he had had to endure since he had started this quest. Eventually, after what felt like forever, he began to calm down, taking a deep breath as the smoke that had almost enveloped his form started to dissipate.

It was then he noticed that the dwarf was walking away, map in hand.

“Where are you going?!” He shouted out.

Danish stopped, a fair distance away from the gunsmith. He turned his head towards him, giving the gunner the most rage-filled glare one could possibly give.

“I ain’t helpin’ anyone who disses my goddess. I ain’t helpin’ anyone who refuses to accept that I think she's real. I’ve dealt with people like ya since I refused to enter service, Ballad, and I ain’t dealin' with it again.”

Ballad blinked. Then he blinked again. Before he could respond, the dwarf was already walking away.

Good.

Looking towards the carcass, he started cutting off its hide again, trying not to think about what was said to him.

Quest: Into the Halls
Word Count: 1653

Pelt obtained! Now need the Troll Tusk and The Dwarven Champion!