Open Chronicles On the path to Crobhear

[Irman Harefoot]

OOC: this is a sequel thread to Hellboars on the Highlands and broken noses at the Crooked Noose. Feel free to read those if you want additional context

It was morning in Quarry Hill. The trading town was quick to rise as there were hundreds of people with places to be and even more with things to do. Irman Harefoot was one of the former, currently waiting for someone he hoped was only just one of the latter.

“Who’d a thunk lazy ol Irman would be the first one up for once. I swear though if that miniature gorilla seriously spent the past six days prodding me awake only to sleep in the first chance she got at an actual bed, then…”

Irman huffed and smoked his pipe. He was feeling anxious, but didn’t want to get himself too worked up after the brawl he went through just the night before. At least he wasn’t particularly feeling hung over, so there was that.

Merchants and travelers began to swarm the town’s main road in greater numbers as Irman was forced to watch from the inn’s stables.

He must have looked particularly upset as Irman felt a nudge on his head from something just beside him.

It was a riding elk by the name of “Honey Pepper”. Most of the Hellboar money had gone to buying her since Irman had turned down the idea of him pulling the cart personally. She had proven to be a wise investment and took to her job as pack mule rather swimmingly. Regardless of how regrettable her name was.

“I know girl, you probably want to head out too since you’re already all hooked up to the cart. But we gotta wait for Sigrun, she actually knows where our destination is after all.”

 

[Sigrun Flintfeet]

Sigrun staggered unto the main road with a black eye and an even blacker temper.

This was why she avoided towns as much as possible. Mornings of pounding pains and cursed cretins. Every crunch of a cartwheel and every hollering worker grated on her patience further. She held a damp cloth she'd plunged into the nearest barrel of rainwater to her swollen face.

She found Irman by the elk and cart, puffing away at his pipe in a slightly agitated manner. She still had to reconcile his whiskers, brown fur and the slitted dark 'T' of his nose with the extremely human gesture of a pipe in his cleft lip.

The pause was short-lived, and after wiping her face with the cloth - as if to help wipe away her own perplexity - Sigrun strode up next to him. She gave Honey Pepper a fond clap and ruffle on her back. The beast grunted and turned its head, as if briefly acknowledging her presence.

"Morning."

Short and clipped, like her glance at the pipe. The smell scratched her nose.

"What're you fuming?"

Irman Harefoot

 

[Irman Harefoot]

The juxtaposition of Sigrun’s candid tone and busted face caught Irman off guard. He inhaled sharply to avoid laughing in his companion’s face, only to begin hacking and coughing as he brought in more smoke than air.

“*huah* *kuh* *kuh* T-Tobacco my dear Sigruu*kuh*n. I-“

Irman paused a moment to clear his throat.

“*ahem* I’m quite fond of it as way to occupy my mind and *kuh* ease my breathing when I have to stay in one place over long. My comfort comes when my legs are moving.”

Across the street a gaggle of children on their way to school had stopped to gawk at the colorfully dressed rabbit and the colorfully painted dwarf.

“Been that way for a decent while.”

 

[Sigrun Flintfeet]

Sigrun looked blankly at Irman while he had his coughing fit. Faint lines of concern formed between her eyebrows, her neck tightening slightly, wondering if the sight of her had caused it.

Perhaps she looked worse than she thought.

Irman paused a moment to clear his throat.

“*ahem* I’m quite fond of it as way to occupy my mind and *kuh* ease my breathing when I have to stay in one place over long. My comfort comes when my legs are moving.”

She nodded briskly. The undertone of impatience pinned his choice of words, and she couldn't agree more. It was about time to make a move out of Quarry Hill.

With a glance back at the gawking children, she said:

"Aye, about time to get comfortable, then."

She threw her sack of humble belongings in the cart and helped tether Honey Pepper to it. As they took to the road with elk and cart, trundling down the street with the steady stream of other travellers, Sigrun raised her voice over the din, walking beside it for now.

"I tend to cut wood, myself, whenever I feel that way." Another pointed look at the pipe again, before patting her sheathed axes and checking her belongings. "Reckon I could make something like that pipe." A side-long smirk emerged, flashing her eyebrows coyly at Irman. Sadly, only half her face lifted properly in this smarmy expression. "Though I'd be as like to stuff black powder in it as anything else."

Irman Harefoot

 

[Irman Harefoot]

As the cart pulled out from the stable, a grin crept onto Irman’s face. He held his pipe to his mouth in a relaxed fashion before hopping onto a stack of wooden crates in a way that made him seem lighter than air. From atop the crates he then leapt into a twirl, spinning several times over before landing a foot briefly on the side of the cart. In an instant Irman’s momentum changed as he repelled off the cart in a backflip which landed him just where he had began.

Irman tipped his hat across the street as the school children stood there in stunned amazement. Sigrun on the other hand looked at Irman with a deeply confused expression, likely wondering if her companion was some kind of escaped circus act.

"I tend to cut wood, myself, whenever I feel that way." Another pointed look at the pipe again, before patting her sheathed axes and checking her belongings. "Reckon I could make something like that pipe." A side-long smirk emerged, flashing her eyebrows coyly at Irman. Sadly, only half her face lifted properly in this smarmy expression. "Though I'd be as like to stuff black powder in it as anything else."

“If that’s what you’d like to do I’d suggest making your pipe out of some extra sturdy wood. That when it blows you can find all the splinters a whole lot easier.”

A line had formed of merchant carts headed to the main gate out of town. There weren’t as many as Irman had feared, but there would still be a bit of waiting before the pair could get the cart out of the city and onto the open road.

“hopefully the guards today are fast ones…”

“But honestly, wood though? Gotta say I’m pretty surprised a fine dwarven lady like yourself would carve things from wood rather than rock and stone.”

 

[Sigrun Flintfeet]

Sigrun shrugged, uncharacteristically timid, her shoulders slouching slightly.

"Most of my kin would rather work with stone, true. But as Oksenmjod, trees serve my purposes better."

The pregnant pause hinted at words unsaid. She wondered what her family thought of her prolonged absence, and a sharp stab of guilt wedged into her abdomen. Would word reach to them of a blue-tattooed dwarf causing trouble in Quarry Hill? She hoped not.

No matter. She shook herself out of it, staring ahead at the waving guards. As they lined up in the queue to feverishly exit this stinking town, Sigrun changed tact, partly to mask any signs of regret when it came to speaking of her kin.

"I may not be your . . . typical dwarf. But I wonder . . ."

She licked her lips, searching for words. How was she going to phrase this question that had lingered in the back of her mind? In the end, she decided directness and honesty the best approach.

"What I mean to say is, I have never seen anyone of your kind before. Do you . . . have any kin? Anyone like you?"


Irman Harefoot

 

[Irman Harefoot]

“Oksenmjod”. A dwarven word, but not one that Irman knew. He would have to ask some other time about it, as currently the conversation was becoming a bit too personal for his liking.

Outwardly, there was no change in Irman’s expression or his demeanor. Friendly if a bit aloof, odd for the sudden change in topic. His usually black eyes though had a slight green tint to them though.

“My kin, you say? I like to think they’re still off at the ‘parts unknown’ where I saw them last. Been a long while since I saw them though, couldn’t really give you a clean description even if I wanted to.”

Irman stopped to take a long draw of his.

“Can’t say I’m too bothered being a stranger in a strange land though. People understand beastmen well enough that I don’t get much more than odd looks. Like with those kids back at the stable, it’s got its charms if you know how to use it.”

Before there was time to continue taking however, the cart had reached the village gate.

“License and registration?” Asked one of the guards who was holding a quill and well made log book.

“Ah, course course” Irman responded. He reached into his pack to fish out his adventure’s license, as well as the ownership papers both for Honey Pepper and the Cart.

 

[Sigrun Flintfeet]

“My kin, you say? I like to think they’re still off at the ‘parts unknown’ where I saw them last. Been a long while since I saw them though, couldn’t really give you a clean description even if I wanted to.”

Sigrun's eyes grew somber, her chin dipping down, pondering. No known family? She could hardly imagine that. Hers might be distant, but at least she knew a small army would know her name and face, greeting her warmly.

She suspected this to be an evasion. Perhaps he didn't wish to speak of them. All fair.

“Can’t say I’m too bothered being a stranger in a strange land though. People understand beastmen well enough that I don’t get much more than odd looks. Like with those kids back at the stable, it’s got its charms if you know how to use it.”

Sigrun listened, with the occasional glance his way. She nodded at the mention of beastmen. She had heard scant tales of two-legged, talking beasts, but Irman was the first she had met in the flesh.

She smiled faintly - less at his quip, more at his manner. Still quite evasive. But who was she to demand answers? He owed her none. Likewise, she might prefer not to go into detail about her kin.

Regardless, she didn't get the chance for further questioning before a guard approached them. Sigrun fished out a corresponding, crumpled note.

Soon enough, the guard waved them through with his quill. The cart hit the road, and she was thankful for the space of hills and plains, spreading wide as they escaped the narrow, dirty streets of Quarry Hill.

Sauntering behind the cart, she hopped into the back, checking on their heavily wrapped cargo. It could almost be mistaken for a sack of corn seeds. But she knew that below that humble fabric, an ancient corpse lurked.

"It isn't far to the Keep from here. Two days travel, at most. If we can make speedy progress, we may even get there in one. If you don't mind driving in the dark, that is."

Irman Harefoot

 

[Irman Harefoot]

“Tch, I suppose I could though I’d rather not. That said, sleeping many more nights with that thing in the sack sounds even less appealing.”

Like with most things found across the spine, the path to Crobhear was composed largely of ancient dwarven highways. In times long past roads of chiseled stone connected countless dwarven holds into a veritable empire. And though that age had long since passed the stonework still remains.

In modern times the highways had become arteries for vital trade as dwarven rule began to permit human settlement in valleys across the spine.

Most though remained in a state of disuse. Overgrown, forgotten, and barely even identifiable as roads.

The path to Crobhear was somewhere in between. Comparable to the roads which led to poorer settlements, one would hardly expect that this was the path to Noct Yaegir’s eldest keep.

“There’s another one!” Irman said, pointing at a stone ruin which had a strange marking carved onto its surface.

“ I’m guessing those carvings show we’re still on the right road. Probably a big help if your getting people not overly familiar with the highways.”

“I still remember getting lost a couple times before I knew how to tune out the forgotten roads. Crazy to think there once was a time when all these roads actually went somewhere.”

 

[Ispir Sione]

As the the intrepid pair, their cart, and it's unsavory third passenger made their way down the old ill-cared-for road Irman would be the first to hear the soft voice upon the breeze ahead of them. A voice with an odd quality reaching them over the rumbling and rolling of their cart's wheels as a small figure clad in light-green bardic clothing walked down the road in the same direction as their cart took them. This voice was odd in that despite the distance it reached them cleanly and though the voice was loud, indicating the singer would normally have to be screaming, it maintained a melodic, musical timbre and pace as a lyre gently plucked away behind the words.

"Sing for the lost, for eternal affairs
Sing to raise our spirits in great despair
Through the ashes of oblivioooooon.~
Quick and unseen, like the dragon's offspring!
For we owe no debts and bow to no king!"

In the break of their lyrics the figure's head perked, then tilted, at the sound of the approaching cart and turned. The figure, a human of short stature for their kind, possessing aquamarine eyes and a small band's worth of instruments strapped to their belt would hold the cap to their head and wave at the two of them. He was quite beautiful, if a bit on the thin side, and would smile pearl-white teeth at the two as they rode closer. Though when they spoke their voice was of a completely normal level of volume.

"Hoy there friends! Traveling my way? I don't suppose you'd have any use for music on this lonesome road of ours? Free of charge save for a small ride!"

Lacing their hands behind their back and holding the lyre in their grasp they would flourish a polite bow, obviously rehearsed, and chuckle good-naturedly.

"Though I didn't expect to meet anyone on this path of all places."

Irman Harefoot
Sigrun Flintfeet​

 

[Sigrun Flintfeet]

“I still remember getting lost a couple times before I knew how to tune out the forgotten roads. Crazy to think there once was a time when all these roads actually went somewhere.”

Sigrun kept an even gaze on the ancient road. Indeed, it was strange to consider the rampant civilisation of her ancestors here on the surface. She was loath to admit it, but she wasn't certain she would have preferred such times, favouring instead the peaceful expanse of empty outdoors. Busy Belgrath already made her plenty uncomfortable. She imagined it as crowded out here, and shuddered at the thought.

But it also reminded her that there had been such a time when most of her kind travelled the surface like it was nothing. She would not have been a rare specimen then. A strangely conciliatory thought.

"Aye, best keep your wits about you with our ancient builders. They like to confuse."

Just then, a singing voice travelled to them, borne on the wind - and with its only possible owner still afar.

"What in the under--"

Sigrun's hand fell down to the shaft of belted axe. She peeked at their third passenger, but this strange phenomenon seemed unconnected to it. Raising her chin, she stood up in the cart and regarded this grass-coloured troubadour heading their way.

"Hoy there friends! Traveling my way? I don't suppose you'd have any use for music on this lonesome road of ours? Free of charge save for a small ride!"

A wandering bard, resplendent with magical cantrips and extravagant green velvet. Great. Just what they needed to keep a low profile. If they had heard him from such a great distance, she could only imagine what manner of creatures might hear him come nightfall.

"Though I didn't expect to meet anyone on this path of all places."

"Neither did we," Sigrun stated bluntly, then hopped down from the cart with a gentle grunt. Her weathered leather boots crunched on the dirt road as she approached this mincing minstrel, one hand hooked comfortably in her belt - dangling with a pair of twin axes. Her blackened eye refused to raise, causing her to inadvertently cock just one eyebrow at him.

"And who might you be?"

Irman Harefoot
Ispir Sione

 

[Irman Harefoot]

While the bard carries himself in an innocent demeanor, Irman saw him as anything but. A lithe young man strolling alone across the highlands, appearing well bathed and well groomed with a voice that carries itself further than experience would reason.

The whole thing stunk of magic, and the thought that this might be some fae trickster of the mountain side crossed Irman’s mind and sent a shiver down his spine.

“Let’s stay at a distance for now stranger. Ain’t much need to get closer if we can hear each other fine as is.” Irman spoke in a calm voice while tugging on Honey Pepper’s lead to get her to stop.

“Like you say, didn’t expect to run into anyone else out on these old roads. You should know though that our business is further up. Been aiming to take it quick too, so if you want a comfy ride to the nearest town, best we can offer you is directions and a couple supplies.”

Irman held a firm grasp on his polearm as he subtly gripped a vial of iron shavings which he always kept on his person.

 

[Ispir Sione]

Ispir would continue to beam a pleasant, warm smile as the two seemed immediately suspicious of him and his intentions. Which certainly made sense. After his most recently experience in Alliria he himself should really have been more suspicious of strangers. But the chances of some weird cultists disguising themselves as a dwarf woman and a.... squirrel(?) hardly seemed very high. Taking a moment to dust himself and adjust his cap Ispir would turn his attention to the approaching woman. She seemed to not fear approaching him while the squirrel seemed to want him to keep his distance.

Respecting the squirrel's wishes he would pointedly step back from Sigrun Flintfeet and give her a nod. Electing to answer her shorter, more blunt, question first.

"Ispir. Ispir Sione. Traveling minstrel, novice mage and ehh.... ex-captive of some horrible monster-summoners."

He would scratch a chin awkwardly as, from up close, the minstrel didn't exactly look 'normal'. For better sometimes, and in this case worse, the minstrel before Sigrun was unfairly, possibly unnervingly, pristine. No lines marred their marble-smooth skin. No blemishes, no freckles, no imperfections, nothing so much as even a slightly clogged pore. At a distance they could be mistaken for simply 'symmetrical' or 'aesthetically pleasing' but from up close it may have been a bit uncanny how the minstrel, even on the open road, looked as if they had hours of make-up upon themselves. While technically not impossible for someone to look like this Ispir either took painstaking care of themselves fit to rival royalty or magically enhanced their appearance somehow.

The minstrel would then wince a bit and sigh at the squirrel's words. A sort of somber acceptance settling over his features as his smile waned a bit. Aquamarine eyes turning to the squirrel as he nodded.

"I... I understand. I was rather hoping to simply get as far from Alliria as I could for a while. I recently performed in Belgrath and decided to wander about and entertain what small towns and hamlets I could find. It ummm..."

They cast a sorrowful gaze over the road of literal ruins and the shell of the civilization they all stood, and rode, upon.

".... seems I might have overestimated the number I would find."

Awkwardly clearing his throat he would idly fish out some coins he had earned in playing and give a shrug.

"I don't suppose some coin might change your mind for passage? Traveling with some armed folks would certainly be safer and give me time to work on my next song!~"

Irman Harefoot​

 

[Sigrun Flintfeet]

"Ispir. Ispir Sione. Traveling minstrel, novice mage and ehh.... ex-captive of some horrible monster-summoners."

Sigrun squinted her unbruised eye, looking Ispir Sione up and down. Well, mostly up. She cupped her chin at the mention of "monster-summoners," exchanging a pensive look with Irman over her shoulder.

Not exactly a glowing recommendation. If nothing else, he didn't seem to veil the truth to appear less risky company. Sigrun could appreciate frankness. Her hand further rubbed her tattooed chin and neck in consideration.

"Suppose we could offer him a cart ride, Irman? At least to the nearest town. Courtesy among travelers."

 

[Irman Harefoot]

Expecting his companion to have his side rather than the minstrel’s, Irman glared at Sigrun in utter annoyance.

Sigrun seemed unperturbed by this, so Irman admitted personal defeat with a drawn out sigh.

“Fine, i hope you realize this means we’re probably bringing him with us to Crobhear right? If people have question I hope you trust your answers Sigrun.”

Taking another look at the minstrel, he still seemed particularly suspicious, but his story didn’t sound like the kind powerful fae make up to deceive travelers. Namely, fae are too prideful to even pretend to be half as hapless as this blue eyed musical string bean seemed to be.

He could of course be a demon or devil, but they tended to be far more subtle and theatrical with the craft, going with disguises far more unassuming and putting great care into the “initial meeting” part.

Irman was strongly of the opinion that hunting and mercenary work was 80% proper caution, and yet here he was two for two with members of the illustrious night hunters, the Noct Yaegir, who just seemed to play it by ear when it came to judging character. At least Sigrun seemed actually coherent.

Though, out of annoyance, Irman glared at Sigrun a second time.

 

[Ispir Sione]

Ispir would do his best to try and look not.... sneaky? Honest. He tried his best to look honest as the two shared looks and Irman, evidently the leader of the two, finally relented and gave him permission to join them. A bright smile would overtake the minstrel's features as he cleared his throat softly.

"Thank you both for your hospitality. Sir Irman and Miss umm.... well just Miss for now I suppose."

Peering up onto the cart Ispir would move to wherever he was indicated, or if not specifically given a spot wherever seemed appropriate before glancing between the two of his new travelling companions. Holding a hand horizontal across his brow he would then extend it a bit towards Irman, then Sigrun, and rub his chin thoughtfully.

"Huh. So this is what it's like to be tall....."

He shook his head.

"Can't say I'll ever get used to it ermm....."

Casting a furtive glance at the covered..... thing..... in the back of the cart he would tug anxiously at one of his twin tails before folding his hands in his lap and continuing awkwardly.

"....I take it the two of you are bounty hunters? Or umm.... undertakers perhaps?"

He had thought at first that the sack in the back of the cart was full of corn seed but no, no it was definitely something more person-shaped. Busying himself after his questions Ispir would pull a page of sheet music from his bardic supplies and stick his tongue out in concentration, staring at the empty lines before producing a quill and mumbling to himself.

"Ir-man.... he is not ver-min but is a rather sure-man with a sure-hand aaaaand.... big plans?"

Humming he would write some ideas down on the sheet music and tap his chin with the feather of the quill thoughtfully.

Irman Harefoot
Sigrun Flintfeet​

 

[Sigrun Flintfeet]

Expecting his companion to have his side rather than the minstrel’s, Irman glared at Sigrun in utter annoyance.

Sigrun seemed unperturbed by this, so Irman admitted personal defeat with a drawn out sigh.

“Fine, i hope you realize this means we’re probably bringing him with us to Crobhear right? If people have question I hope you trust your answers Sigrun.”

She blew hair out of her face, shaking her head and turning away from Irman, waving her hand, casually dismissive.

"Calm your furs, sure he won't cause a stir at the fort." Sigrun glanced at Ispir questioningly, as if to get his affirmative on the matter. Now will you? "Long as he can keep quiet at night, we'll be fine."

She turned to embark back on the cart. At the second glare from Irman, she threw her arms wide in a big shrug and screwed up her face, as if to say: What? What do you want from me? Eventually, with now a fourth body to the tally, she climbed aboard.

Sigrun kept only to a few basic codes, but among them she held hospitality among strangers to be sacred. Ancestors knew she had enjoyed the courtesy of many a farmstead or lonely campfire in the past. This, in a manner of speaking, felt like paying those kind souls back.

Soon enough, they were trundling down the road again, Irman at the reins, Ispir and Sigrun at the back. She sat with her back against its railing, arm slung over it, alternating between watching Ispir curiously and the terrain ahead.

Casting a furtive glance at the covered..... thing..... in the back of the cart he would tug anxiously at one of his twin tails before folding his hands in his lap and continuing awkwardly.

"....I take it the two of you are bounty hunters? Or umm.... undertakers perhaps?"

Sigrun's olive eyes darkened at his question. She leaned over to tug some more of the fabric over its head, attempting to veil the shape of its skull.

"We're none of your business, that's what." Her face softened slightly, perhaps realising her own brusqueness. She sighed, caught between keeping a secret and extending courteous talk to this fellow traveller. In the end, she decided less talk to be safer. "Best not ask too many questions, Master Sione."

That was the extent of their talk, bolted to death with her finality. A few heavy moments of awkward silence filled the air. At length she stretched her arms over her head and yawned, rubbing her face. Perhaps she would catch some more shut-eye. But the furtive glances of the minstrel kept her vigilance up. And eventually, his rhyming musings filled the quiet.

"Ir-man.... he is not ver-min but is a rather sure-man with a sure-hand aaaaand.... big plans?"

Humming he would write some ideas down on the sheet music and tap his chin with the feather of the quill thoughtfully.

Sigrun snorted with half a laughter, then threw her head Irman's way.

"Oy, you hear that? You're inspiring flaming poetry."

She grinned at Ispir and flashed an eyebrow, her words dripping good-natured irony.

Ispir Sione
Irman Harefoot

 

[Irman Harefoot]

“Truly this is what they mean to be the stuff of legend.” Irman grumbled, pulling out his pipe and striking a match against a passing rock.

He tugged at Honey Pepper’s lead to get her to move and the cart was off with Sigrun and Ispir riding and Irman walking beside.

The traveling was smooth for the next couple hours, save for a couple instances of debris that had to be cleared for the cart to pass. By midday though, honey pepper was in need of a break so the party would have to stop for lunch.

Irman started a fire, heating up a pan and tossing on a couple slices of pork o. To sizzle.

“Hope you don’t mind a lack of variety mister Ispir most of what we got is just pork, cheese, and bread.. and nuts of course but I assume you’ve already helped yourself to some of those”

 

[Ispir Sione]

Ispir would twitch in something approximating a microscopic flinch at Sigrun's harsh tone and narrowed eyes. His hands being held up in a gesture of placid surrender before her features softened and he relaxed the breathe he had not even noticed he had been holding.

"Ah, yes, good point."

He hastily agreed, giving her a nod, before pausing as he stared at Sigrun for a moment. Half expecting her to finally introduce herself but alas it was not to be and he didn't want to be awkward in asking more directly.

Some time later after they had stopped for lunch he would think on Irman's grumbling and would nod, tapping the quill gently into his inkwell and filling the air with the soft lilt of his voice as he murmured.

"Yes yes.... Irman the legen-dary his ear are hairy, blade-work scary and cursed by a fairy!"

Nodding along Ispir would jot down some notes at this truly unintentional guess into Irman's past made purely because 'fairy' was the only word he could think to rhyme into the flow of his words. Ispir would pause mid-writing as Irman addressed him, peeking over the sheet of music before giving a smile.

"Oh! I don't mind at all, truly. Thank you so very much for your hospitality."

Came the heartfelt thanks. Whatever the joke about nuts had been it went entirely over the minstrel's head as he took a single slice of cheese, pork and a small bit of bread and nibbled away. It truly was not a lot of food, whether as an explanation of the bard's small frame or because he was simply being polite, who could say? But after a moment of only light writing would he stow his quill and inkwell away, eat in earnest, and idly bob from side to side to some unsung tune that only existed in his head.

Irman Harefoot
Sigrun Flintfeet​

 

[Sigrun Flintfeet]

"Yes yes.... Irman the legen-dary his ear are hairy, blade-work scary and cursed by a fairy!"

Even Sigrun could tell an obvious rhyme scheme when she heard one. She'd heard more impressive work from passing musicians on the road, dressed in garbs worth a quarter of what this one was wearing. How could he afford these clothes and ink? Maybe she was simply privy to the working process of an artist.

She decided he had to come from money. One of those insulated nobleman falling for the romanticism of 'travelling the wide world.' Likely running from some scandal in Alliria, whether it be from actual monster-summoners or some euphemism for backbiting courtiers.

Their meagre preparations sorted, she returned from feeding Honey Pepper oats, tying the sack as she wandered past, glancing at sheets of music that might as well have been scrolls of arcane lore. Sitting on her haunches to take a more medium-sized portion of food, she glanced up at Ispir from the cinders.

"So. Monster-summoners, eh?" A contemplative chewing marked her pause. It was difficult to tell whether she was sceptical of the truth of his story, but her casual eating belied her careful observance. "Sounds like a hard time."

Irman Harefoot
Ispir Sione

 

[Irman Harefoot]

The pork was sizzling nicely and the cheese was melting well. Irman had been worried about how quickly they were burning through the reward money from the Hellboars, but it felt good to eat well while out on the road for a change.

The elk and cart could probably be resold after the delivery was finished, either to the stewards of Crobhear or some up and coming merchant. Though that prospect stung a little more every time Irman thought of it as the Elk was growing on him, even if he refused to say her name as much as he could help it.

"So. Monster-summoners, eh?" A contemplative chewing marked her pause. It was difficult to tell whether she was sceptical of the truth of his story, but her casual eating belied her careful observance. "Sounds like a hard time."

Irman’s ears perked up though he tried to play deaf to the question. He had wondered about this too, but still had his reservations about getting chatty with the mysterious bard.

 

[Ispir Sione]

Ispir would continue to scribble and nibble as the more experienced adventurers actually tended to the camp, the elk and the wagon. He didn't sit there doing comparatively nothing out of malice but more a naivete that he even should offer to help in the first place. Instead by the time Sigrun sat on her haunches and asked her question Ispir blinked, cheeks full of food as he raised his head from his sheet music and simply... chewed a few times.

Swallowing down the food Ispir would cough gently into a hand, nodding all the while, and pat his chest before shaking out his twin tails.

"A-Ah. Yes, from what the authorities told me. Something about them summoning a demon in an aqueduct that some soldiers fought. Ummm..."

Ispir would dig around in their belongings before fishing out a small book. He would then flip through some pages before holding it open for the two of them to see.

Spoiler: Imagine this in pencil-sketch style

Before snapping the book shut and setting it aside.

"At least that's what I doodled from the report my friend sent me. She's a secretary for some rich guy in Alliria and the one who stopped me from being kidnapped. The umm.. guards said that other kidnappings has taken place too after that."

Huffing Ispir would wince a bit.

"Gosh I'm not telling this story very well am I? Umm so cult of bad guys tries to do some ritual in a new aqueduct to poison the water or something. Get attacked. Summon this thing and from what my friend said some undead spooky things. People kill them. Then later some kidnappings happen at the same time as some weird people try to kidnap me after a performance."

He would shrug, blushing gently, and averting his eyes.

"I-I mean I was pretty used to being sent drinks by people who liked my music so I didn't think anything of it. Well it turns out it was poisoned and I lost my ability to move and talk pretty quick. If my friend hadn't been there they... they umm...."

Trailing off awkwardly Ispir would hug his knees up to his chest and stare at the flames. Aquamarine eyes now more like a glowing bright blue star than placid ocean waters as he murmured.

"A-Anyways I.... I ran."

His voice would drop to something much softer, much more vulnerable, as he finished in a very small voice.

"It scared me. I'm not... a fighter."

Guilt, Fear, Sorrowful Resignation, a lot of emotions punctuated those last two words out of Ispir's mouth.

Sigrun Flintfeet
Irman Harefoot​

 

[Sigrun Flintfeet]

Sigrun examined the sketch, brow furrowing, eyes narrowing. It hardly looked like something spawned from human imagination - and certainly not from this gentile human. That lended some credence to his story. Her sceptical glance travelled up to him as he snapped his book shut.

Either there had been such a demon, or there was a true madman lurking below his harmless exterior. Both fairly disturbing possibilities. Whatever else might happen, it helped reinforce her decision to never visit Alliria if she could help it.

Disturbing as these news were, Alliria was far away. He might as well have told her a legend from centuries ago. Somehow, given enough distance and time, even the most deprave and horrific events lost their fangs.

Speaking of demons, Sigrun filled her stolen, infernal-looking mug from the Crooked Noose with light beer, taking mulling sips as Ispir relayed his story.

"It scared me. I'm not... a fighter."

"Well, it's a good thing we're far from all that, then. Won't have to worry about any junk like that in these parts. Not at all." She sipped again and smacked her lips, her eyes almost darting to the ancient corpse in their wagon, but she caught herself and pretended to regard the sky. "Aye, nothing like that here, just open sky and regular old predators. So you can rest easy, Master Sione. The most you'll have to worry about here is the occasional bear, wolves or . . . boars . . ."

A shard of dark memory lodged into her spine, shivering down her vertebrae uncomfortably. She pulled her cloak a little tighter around her, comforting herself with the thin beer, trying to shut out images of black blood torrenting over her and mutated eye-stalks spearing through withered flesh.

The white lie might help calm the nerves of the bard, but she couldn't help worry all the same. Perhaps bringing him along had been a mistake. Who knew what the artifact might next summon in the vicinity?

It spurred her to afford a little advice, leaning in to give him a meaningful look:

"No need to be ashamed of running. More often than not, it's the smart choice to do so." She afforded him an encouraging smile, though it was brittle at the edges. "And it sounds like to me you did the right thing in getting as far away from there as you could."

Irman Harefoot
Ispir Sione

 

[Irman Harefoot]

“Hey, meat’s done you two if you haven’t filled up on bread and cheese already. Don’t forget we’re going back to walking after this until sundown, so make sure you’ve had enough to keep your energy up.”

Butting in made Irman feel like a bit of a jerk, but Ispir’s story was starting to hit him too close to home. He took one of the slices of pork which he had covered in melted cheese and plopped it onto a slice of bread to eat with his hands.

“Good reason or no Kid, the Spinal frontier’s quite a place to go right after Alliria. Specially for someone of your…. Complexion.”

Irman paused to take a bite of his meal, being careful not to get too much cheese onto his furry face. It wasn’t wholly outrageous however, plenty of people came to the frontier to get away from troubles around the Allirian Strait, but those tended to be the sketchier sort.

“Must have spooked you good if you didn’t just move to somewhere like Dornoch or Elbion or wherever else up The Straight.”

 

[Ispir Sione]

Ispir would nod slowly at Sigrun's words. He could tell SOMETHING was off about the dwarf woman's words but was altogether too naive to truly grasp what her odd cadence and furtive glances were on about. Leading to, in all, two large saucer-like aquamarine eyes staring at her like a puppy awaiting a command from it's owner. Her encouraging smile would earn a comparatively innocent, genuine one from the bard and he would look up as Irman interjected into the conversation.

At the mention of his 'complexion' Ispir would once again blink with uncertainty, suddenly aware of how inexperienced he was compared to these veterans of the world. As such he took a hand mirror out of his belongings and checked his complexion in the mirror, but didn't SEE anything wrong with his face. Maybe Irman was flirting a bit? Ispir was flattered but was not the squirrely type so they laid the mirror in their lap and simply decided to be polite and say nothing in response to the potential flirting.

At the mention of going to Dornoch or Elbion he hummed, considering as he rubbed his chin, and sighed.

"It... It does feel a little silly to say I have no idea of where to go to next. I don't see anywhere east or north of here I would wish to go but it feels very silly to simply turn around. But Elbion may be a safe place...."

He trailed off, shook his head, before then nodding at Irman. Seemingly not at all ashamed to admit when he is, or was, scared.

"Oh yes. I'm afraid I'm not good for much save my words, music and archery Sir Irman. Which, ah, I've never exactly shot a person per-say but..."

He blushed, shrugging sheepishly, and looked down at the ground as his shoulders hunched.

"I at least haven't forgotten how to do that. It just isn't really useful when someone is so close."

Sigrun Flintfeet
Irman Harefoot​