11-16-2016, 06:48 PM
“Halt!”
Brandon and his team of sled dogs came to an abrupt stop, ice and powdered snow scattering under their paws as sharp yips and barks pierced the air. Standing before them was a wide, rectangular shadow— a colossal gate, Brandon realized, lined on both sides by pale pillars that appeared to simply vanish whenever the blizzard raged too fiercely.
Three other teams of dogs and men soon joined him, slicing through the silvery layer of frost with a hiss, their sleds laden down with supplies and materials for camping during the night. An immense tankard of fiery orange-spiced grog was included among their other provisions, and Brandon couldn’t wait to take a hearty swig once they arrived at the gates of Dwarveholm— if the dwarves were amiable enough to let them camp out on their doorstep, anyway. The journey ahead would surely be a long one without that brief spell of respite.
Whistling to his dogs to quiet, Brandon’s fur-lined boots crunched in the snow as he signaled for the leader of his guard, Captain Laurence Tell, to join him.
Captain Tell’s skin was lighter in color than Brandon’s, which made his discomfort in the freezing cold all the more obvious. His nose, ears, and cheeks were painted a bright red, like an apple freshly-picked, and the fur wrappings on his arms and torso flapped in the wind as he strode over. Brandon balked somewhat in the face of the Captain’s sour expression, but quickly regained enough composure to gesture for their light to be brought to the fore.
Tell brandished the lantern they had brought on their journey, the cloth inside already soaked through with oil. With a strike of two dark stones it was set to a brilliant, hungry blaze that lapped against the glass encasing it. Together, the two men stood before the mighty gateway, their lantern flickering in and out of sight like a firefly caught in a thick fog. Then, with not much else to do, they waited. And waited. And waited.
Tiring of this waiting business soon enough, Brandon frowned. “Hello?” he called, then raised his hands and cupped them around his mouth. “Hel-lo!”
After several minutes of waiting, cold and shuddering in the practically knee-deep snow, a dark blur shifted atop the ramparted watchtower settled beside the gate. A voice reached Brandon’s ears, “Hallo! Who’s this?”
“It is I, Sir Brandon Marshall the astronomer, and these are my worthy companions and the finest knights of Camelot. This is Dwarveholm, yes?” Brandon’s words rang out, voice slightly dampened by the falling snow and the cascading shadows of the mountains. His cloth-wrapped hands chafed against his crossed arms, stiff fingers rubbing severely into the numb flesh there.
A weighted pause. Then, “This is Dwarveholm, the domain of King Bruenor Battlehammer.”
Brandon breathed a sigh of relief; they had indeed found their way to the gates of Dwarveholm. The whispering of the scholars held true. His spirit very much improved, Brandon raised his chin to gaze up at the tower’s nest head-on. “Go and tell your king that we have been charged by Omni with a most sacred quest. If he will give us food and shelter for the night, he may join us in our quest for a magnificent artifact.”
“Well, I’ll ask him, but I don’t think he’ll be very keen….” The—dwarven? Was that the politically correct term?— guard replied, a certain hesitance to his words.
Captain Tell shot the astronomer an incredulous look, his lips downturned and brows furrowed. Tell always seemed a little bit angry about something, come to think of it; he was a soldier weathered by many seasons, wrinkles etching a permanent, deep frown across his forehead and chapped lips, and not many of Brandon’s jokes could rustle a laugh out of him. Brandon often wondered if it was a talent that he had acquired with age. The man was a certified hardass.
Shifting nervously under the Captain’s watchful eye, Brandon again raised his voice to be heard over the howling of the winds, “And why is that?”
“He’s already got one, you see?”
“What?”
One of the other warriors standing behind Captain Tell surged forward and, the pommel of his sword swaying against his hip, gripped Brandon by the elbow and whispered urgently under his breath, “He says they’ve already got one!”
The dark-skinned astronomer exchanged a look with Captain Tell. How can this be?
“Are you sure he’s got one?” Brandon asked, because really— one had to be sure.
“Oh, yes, it’s very nice—“ the dwarf said. He then turned to his companions settled in the watchtower beside him, unbeknownst to the astronomer and his guard. The young dwarf’s mischievous grin was evident through the thick auburn scruff on the lower half of his face, “I told him we already got one.”
Brandon scratched the side of his head, completely at a loss for what to do. “Well, uhm, can we come up and have a look?”
“Of course not! You are…. Camelot-types!”
“Well, what are you then?”
“Ah’m a dwarf! Why d’you think ah haff this ou’tra’geous ac’cent, ya silly ast’rono’mer!”
The astronomer blinked. He hadn’t really noticed much of an accent, at least not up until now. This must be some kind of joke.
“What are you doing all the way up there if you’re a dwarf?” Captain Tell asked gruffly, obviously skeptical of this watchtower-bound dwarf. Brandon noticed that his arms were now folded across his chest, a sure sign that the old captain wasn’t pleased.
“Mind your own business!”
Brandon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He spoke lowly, but just loud enough for his companions to hear, “I believe he is pulling our collective leg, so to speak.”
“You think?” Tell grunted, surprising Brandon by seeming grouchier than he had ever seen the good captain before. “Look, let’s just camp out here for the night. If those bearded hooligans decide to make a move, we’ll give ‘em what for. ‘Sides, it looks like a fresh storm’s rolling in.” He said this while looking up at the mountaintop, his lips twisted downward in that ever-present frown.
A young, female voice called out from behind them, startling the men from their thoughts, “A cloudy day is no match for a sunny disposition!”
Brandon and his team of sled dogs came to an abrupt stop, ice and powdered snow scattering under their paws as sharp yips and barks pierced the air. Standing before them was a wide, rectangular shadow— a colossal gate, Brandon realized, lined on both sides by pale pillars that appeared to simply vanish whenever the blizzard raged too fiercely.
Three other teams of dogs and men soon joined him, slicing through the silvery layer of frost with a hiss, their sleds laden down with supplies and materials for camping during the night. An immense tankard of fiery orange-spiced grog was included among their other provisions, and Brandon couldn’t wait to take a hearty swig once they arrived at the gates of Dwarveholm— if the dwarves were amiable enough to let them camp out on their doorstep, anyway. The journey ahead would surely be a long one without that brief spell of respite.
Whistling to his dogs to quiet, Brandon’s fur-lined boots crunched in the snow as he signaled for the leader of his guard, Captain Laurence Tell, to join him.
Captain Tell’s skin was lighter in color than Brandon’s, which made his discomfort in the freezing cold all the more obvious. His nose, ears, and cheeks were painted a bright red, like an apple freshly-picked, and the fur wrappings on his arms and torso flapped in the wind as he strode over. Brandon balked somewhat in the face of the Captain’s sour expression, but quickly regained enough composure to gesture for their light to be brought to the fore.
Tell brandished the lantern they had brought on their journey, the cloth inside already soaked through with oil. With a strike of two dark stones it was set to a brilliant, hungry blaze that lapped against the glass encasing it. Together, the two men stood before the mighty gateway, their lantern flickering in and out of sight like a firefly caught in a thick fog. Then, with not much else to do, they waited. And waited. And waited.
Tiring of this waiting business soon enough, Brandon frowned. “Hello?” he called, then raised his hands and cupped them around his mouth. “Hel-lo!”
After several minutes of waiting, cold and shuddering in the practically knee-deep snow, a dark blur shifted atop the ramparted watchtower settled beside the gate. A voice reached Brandon’s ears, “Hallo! Who’s this?”
“It is I, Sir Brandon Marshall the astronomer, and these are my worthy companions and the finest knights of Camelot. This is Dwarveholm, yes?” Brandon’s words rang out, voice slightly dampened by the falling snow and the cascading shadows of the mountains. His cloth-wrapped hands chafed against his crossed arms, stiff fingers rubbing severely into the numb flesh there.
A weighted pause. Then, “This is Dwarveholm, the domain of King Bruenor Battlehammer.”
Brandon breathed a sigh of relief; they had indeed found their way to the gates of Dwarveholm. The whispering of the scholars held true. His spirit very much improved, Brandon raised his chin to gaze up at the tower’s nest head-on. “Go and tell your king that we have been charged by Omni with a most sacred quest. If he will give us food and shelter for the night, he may join us in our quest for a magnificent artifact.”
“Well, I’ll ask him, but I don’t think he’ll be very keen….” The—dwarven? Was that the politically correct term?— guard replied, a certain hesitance to his words.
Captain Tell shot the astronomer an incredulous look, his lips downturned and brows furrowed. Tell always seemed a little bit angry about something, come to think of it; he was a soldier weathered by many seasons, wrinkles etching a permanent, deep frown across his forehead and chapped lips, and not many of Brandon’s jokes could rustle a laugh out of him. Brandon often wondered if it was a talent that he had acquired with age. The man was a certified hardass.
Shifting nervously under the Captain’s watchful eye, Brandon again raised his voice to be heard over the howling of the winds, “And why is that?”
“He’s already got one, you see?”
“What?”
One of the other warriors standing behind Captain Tell surged forward and, the pommel of his sword swaying against his hip, gripped Brandon by the elbow and whispered urgently under his breath, “He says they’ve already got one!”
The dark-skinned astronomer exchanged a look with Captain Tell. How can this be?
“Are you sure he’s got one?” Brandon asked, because really— one had to be sure.
“Oh, yes, it’s very nice—“ the dwarf said. He then turned to his companions settled in the watchtower beside him, unbeknownst to the astronomer and his guard. The young dwarf’s mischievous grin was evident through the thick auburn scruff on the lower half of his face, “I told him we already got one.”
Brandon scratched the side of his head, completely at a loss for what to do. “Well, uhm, can we come up and have a look?”
“Of course not! You are…. Camelot-types!”
“Well, what are you then?”
“Ah’m a dwarf! Why d’you think ah haff this ou’tra’geous ac’cent, ya silly ast’rono’mer!”
The astronomer blinked. He hadn’t really noticed much of an accent, at least not up until now. This must be some kind of joke.
“What are you doing all the way up there if you’re a dwarf?” Captain Tell asked gruffly, obviously skeptical of this watchtower-bound dwarf. Brandon noticed that his arms were now folded across his chest, a sure sign that the old captain wasn’t pleased.
“Mind your own business!”
Brandon sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He spoke lowly, but just loud enough for his companions to hear, “I believe he is pulling our collective leg, so to speak.”
“You think?” Tell grunted, surprising Brandon by seeming grouchier than he had ever seen the good captain before. “Look, let’s just camp out here for the night. If those bearded hooligans decide to make a move, we’ll give ‘em what for. ‘Sides, it looks like a fresh storm’s rolling in.” He said this while looking up at the mountaintop, his lips twisted downward in that ever-present frown.
A young, female voice called out from behind them, startling the men from their thoughts, “A cloudy day is no match for a sunny disposition!”
Quote:This is what the refrance
1,049/40,000
Attempting the quest with user Amber Veritz.
New to the Omniverse? Don't be afraid to PM me for assistance!
Gamzee Makara Wrote:S’aight. After all, dogs have a tendency to motherfuckin’ bite.