04-10-2017, 10:53 PM
"Bah. Can't believe ya just gave up on yer quest! Ya coulda' been sit'n in tha Mithr'l Halls, gulp'n mead with th' King'm self!"
Hogard grumbled. He stares into his tankard, sloshing the cheap ale over the edges with gentle sways. His dwarven gut demanded the brew, but his mind was already too numbed to risk any more debilitation. "I wanted to live." That was the simplest answer, but he doubted his drunken friend would accept it. Hogard was not the most battle-worthy Dwarf, and he knew that. Too many years shirking his training had left him subpar. He had chosen to spend his time sneaking off with friends, sneaking ale before he had even an inch on his chin. Troublemaking, generally, but all in good fun. It was not that he disliked fighting, there was nothing like taking down one of those ugly, smelly, stupid trolls. He was just... a bit short sighted.
The drunken dwarf next to Hogard just laughed. "But wha' kinda life are ya liv'n, if ya just run'n all th'time, ehh?" He was speaking low as he could manage so that no one overheard him. Despite the alcohol causing his whisper to be more a raspy rumble, the commotion in the tavern kept it pretty well cloaked. "All ya need is a good ol' weapon, an' a few hunt'n buddies." The older dwarf brought a hand down against Hogard's shoulder in thundering pats of consolation. "Yer young. You'll find yer place soon anuff."
The force of the gesture shook him, but he was used to it. "I hope so. Here, have one on me. I'm not feeling up to drinking tonight." The tankard was sat in front of his friend as he stood. Hogard gave him a returned heavy-handed thump before turning for the door.
"Jus' remember what I said, m'boy..." The concerned words of an elder, if Hogard ever heard any.
Hogard decided to take a long walk to clear his head. Eventually he found himself standing in the snow. Bitter cold wind gnawed at his cheeks and threatened to pierce the warmth of his short beard to bite at his chin. He squinted to look around, but saw little in the ups and downs of white. A guard here, a rock there... Could have been a guard, if I hadn't been so foolish. He was sure the word he was actually looking for was childish, but in his self-scolding, he did not want even the ability to rationalize. He was a child, childish in any other culture would have been fine. But not here; he was foolish.
Every step crunched in the snow as he walked. The sound, when combined with the roaring of wind in his ears, deafened the world around him. He did not wonder too far, he knew better than that. If a troll band attacked, he could call out to the guards and start a chain of warnings all the way back to Dwarfholm in a matter of moments. Was that why he instinctively came out here? To play Guard? No. He honestly had no idea why he felt he had to be alone. Probably just a melodramatic mood urging him to be... well... dramatic...
Something sundered his thoughts. There was a sound that did not fit. A wet slurp. The next thing he noticed was his foot: it was stuck. His gaze dropped swiftly. Just beneath a thin layer of snow was something thick and squishy. "By all the damned nations! What beast set this trap!" Stepping in dung would have been the perfect way to make this day worse. Luckily, it was not dung. Sadly, it was potentially much worse. The flash of anger quickly turned to fear as the substance began to creep up his leg.
"What trickery is this?!" His first instinct was to step back and try to yank his foot free. The mass follows, pulled free from the snow. It slowly continued to creep up his leg, with something hard and sharp scraping along his thick leggings. "Begone! Begone!"
Panic had set in firm when he heard the faintest whisper. "I don't want to die." All at once, the slime goes limp, its form sliding back down into the snow, after echoing the words of the old scout.
Hogard grumbled. He stares into his tankard, sloshing the cheap ale over the edges with gentle sways. His dwarven gut demanded the brew, but his mind was already too numbed to risk any more debilitation. "I wanted to live." That was the simplest answer, but he doubted his drunken friend would accept it. Hogard was not the most battle-worthy Dwarf, and he knew that. Too many years shirking his training had left him subpar. He had chosen to spend his time sneaking off with friends, sneaking ale before he had even an inch on his chin. Troublemaking, generally, but all in good fun. It was not that he disliked fighting, there was nothing like taking down one of those ugly, smelly, stupid trolls. He was just... a bit short sighted.
The drunken dwarf next to Hogard just laughed. "But wha' kinda life are ya liv'n, if ya just run'n all th'time, ehh?" He was speaking low as he could manage so that no one overheard him. Despite the alcohol causing his whisper to be more a raspy rumble, the commotion in the tavern kept it pretty well cloaked. "All ya need is a good ol' weapon, an' a few hunt'n buddies." The older dwarf brought a hand down against Hogard's shoulder in thundering pats of consolation. "Yer young. You'll find yer place soon anuff."
The force of the gesture shook him, but he was used to it. "I hope so. Here, have one on me. I'm not feeling up to drinking tonight." The tankard was sat in front of his friend as he stood. Hogard gave him a returned heavy-handed thump before turning for the door.
"Jus' remember what I said, m'boy..." The concerned words of an elder, if Hogard ever heard any.
Hogard decided to take a long walk to clear his head. Eventually he found himself standing in the snow. Bitter cold wind gnawed at his cheeks and threatened to pierce the warmth of his short beard to bite at his chin. He squinted to look around, but saw little in the ups and downs of white. A guard here, a rock there... Could have been a guard, if I hadn't been so foolish. He was sure the word he was actually looking for was childish, but in his self-scolding, he did not want even the ability to rationalize. He was a child, childish in any other culture would have been fine. But not here; he was foolish.
Every step crunched in the snow as he walked. The sound, when combined with the roaring of wind in his ears, deafened the world around him. He did not wonder too far, he knew better than that. If a troll band attacked, he could call out to the guards and start a chain of warnings all the way back to Dwarfholm in a matter of moments. Was that why he instinctively came out here? To play Guard? No. He honestly had no idea why he felt he had to be alone. Probably just a melodramatic mood urging him to be... well... dramatic...
Something sundered his thoughts. There was a sound that did not fit. A wet slurp. The next thing he noticed was his foot: it was stuck. His gaze dropped swiftly. Just beneath a thin layer of snow was something thick and squishy. "By all the damned nations! What beast set this trap!" Stepping in dung would have been the perfect way to make this day worse. Luckily, it was not dung. Sadly, it was potentially much worse. The flash of anger quickly turned to fear as the substance began to creep up his leg.
"What trickery is this?!" His first instinct was to step back and try to yank his foot free. The mass follows, pulled free from the snow. It slowly continued to creep up his leg, with something hard and sharp scraping along his thick leggings. "Begone! Begone!"
Panic had set in firm when he heard the faintest whisper. "I don't want to die." All at once, the slime goes limp, its form sliding back down into the snow, after echoing the words of the old scout.