Private Tales a Day's Work

[Oliver]

Nestled betwixt the evergreen woodland and an abruptly rising rockface, lay the wash-house.

The sun was only rising, the old wooden beams holding up the roof much akin to the surrounding trees with their vibrant gradient of dappled light. A little out of breath for the last stretch of a hike uphill, Oliver took a quick pause upon arrival to catch it, along with a cursory glance at what surrounded.

He was alone yet, having come earlier as for the cool morning air that yet sough to render exhales into visible clouds. It was quiet here, save for the gentle blip of the stream and awakening birds, but damn— Whyever did he manage to underestimate the distance from the monastery each time.

It’s the downhill on the way back. Last impressions and so forth.

In a conclusive sigh, he reanimated and took a sharp turn to the back of the house where some rectangular tubs lay from the day before. The linen had been left soaking in a mix of birch ash and cold water, so today would see the task finished with soap and plenty of rinsing. They’d been a team of three yesterday, consisting of himself, Kaarle and an unsuspecting squire they’d spotted idling about in the yard. He had, however, been informed since that they woudn’t be able to join him for the rest of it — as of something Kaarle had called ‘time constraints’.

Like it wasn’t obvious the man had merely been talked over into instructing the squire on their magical pursuits. Kaarle hadn’t ever been too confident in his ability to teach, so this was rather unexpected, surprising even, if pleasantly so. Figures — Any man was bound to crack under so much direct and genuine enthusiasm he’d witnessed within the course of the previous day.

No harm no foul, naturally. His now absentee company had promised to arrange someone to replace them, in exactly as many words. While he wasn’t against doing things in his lonesome, the consideration was appreciated, not least for he’d been planning to hang all sheets to dry at once. And in as little trips back and forth up this gods-forsaken hill as possible.

Giving a sharp huff, he grabbed onto one of the wooden tubs and pushed it along the rough-hewn floor towards the middle, where a stream flowed within its man-made depression.

 

[Tulgan Egroth]

It was a beautiful crisp morning, quiet and still except for the flitting of little birds that were just waking up as the sun rose higher into the sky. Tulgan had no plans ahead of him, so he would have to direct himself. For the time being he had busied himself with leaning against a tall tree and taking in the scenery of the Wilds. Even though he had been here for years and years now, there was still something about the magical woods that enchanted him.

It was during his early morning contemplation of the beauty of nature that a moving figure caught his eye. An Orc - another knight, likely to be Oliver from the haircut. Tulgan squinted and leaned forward to get a better look at him, watching as he trekked up the hill presumably heading to the wash-house. The wash-house!

With a start he began to follow Oliver's path, walking quickly in a vain attempt to close the distance between them and catch up. He had almost completely forgotten that Kaarle had asked him to help out with the laundry. Hopefully, it would not matter if he was slightly late.

It was a task he had been assigned to or even volunteered for uncountable times since he'd arrived at the monastery. He was good at it, and he enjoyed it. He had fond memories of helping his mother do the laundry back on the farm as a boy, and besides he found it almost meditative. Focusing on getting the job done, on the textures of the wet fabrics under his hands, even scrubbing out a stubborn muddy stain...

Lost in his thoughts of previous trips to the wash-house, it was a surprise to Tulgan when suddenly he found himself at the top of the hill with the building right in front of him. He took a moment to catch his breath, not wanting to let anyone know he had struggled with the climb if he could avoid it, and then entered.

"Sorry to keep you waiting. Kaarle said you'd need some help with the washing up?"

 

[Oliver]

Over the low rumble of his task, he had not heard the footsteps from beyond the beams. But what he did notice was a tall figure standing in his company of a sudden, once he straightened. It had a startling effect, which manifested in a flinch of the shoulders and a soft curse.

What— Oh.

The man explained himself fast, which he could appreciate. In the meanwhile, he just about managed to piece himself back together, straightening and drawing in a lungful of air. His hand rose in a careless gesture as he hurried to arrange a pleasant expression upon his face.

“ No waiting involved — I just got here myself. “ He responded, fingers busy with rolling up his sleeves. “ And yes, Kaarle did indeed delegate his lot with this. “ He has a way about that. His stare dropped at the linens, indicating, tone well-mannered enough despite the disappointment he sheltered yet.

“ But you’re here now and there is to be grateful for that. It can feel a bit menial, but— “ He shrugged one shoulder, bending to pick up one of the sheets and dropping it in short order into the stream.

“ I rather enjoy it here. “ Taking a knee at the edge of the water, he flashed a conspiratorial smile. “ I trust you know where everything is — if memory serves you’re no stranger to any of this. “

 

[Tulgan Egroth]

Tulgan watched carefully as the other man spooked at his sudden appearance, wondering if he should apologize or not. He decided to keep his mouth shut seeing the effort to which Oliver went to appear as if he had been unphased by it all.

It is his turn to look startled when Oliver says he is no stranger here, his bushy red eyebrows raising up high on his forehead for a moment.

"Oh yes, I quite enjoy the task myself" he stretches his shoulders back, and then stretches them forward, bringing each arm across his body and pressing lightly with the other to achieve a good, deep stretch. Seeing how much was in that tub, he would be bent over washing for some time before all the rinsing was done.

"Lots don't like it though, and I don't blame them. The water can be chilly after all," with a flourish of the wrist he pulls one of the linens from the tub and shoves it under the water with one hand, swishing it around. Before long he had both hands involved in the process, working the fabric with his hands to assist the river's current in washing out the birch ash.

Tulgan is silent for a long moment, focused on his work, but then he speaks.

"You said you enjoy it. What about it do you enjoy?" it was, he had to admit, a rather feeble attempt at small talk. When it came to talking to knights pursuant and anyone else with a higher rank than himself within the knightly order Tulgan often felt a little awkward, as if he had to be careful what he said lest he make a bad impression.

 

[Oliver]

He merely nodded to the response, bringing the cloth back up in a splash and giving his entire attention to inspecting the length of it. Rather preoccupied and thusly silent, he stared at the weave for a prolonged moment with the passing impression he’d forgotten something.

Right. The—

The sheet was bunched up and released to the floor in a wet slap just as his company spoke, capturing his attention. To acknowledge the inquiry he gave a preliminary hum, thoughtful, and braced against one knee to get up.

“ What about it indeed, hmh— “ He started, turning on his heel and crossing some steps to a small shelf that lay in the corner, snugly fit against the masonry. On one of the wide boards were three big earthenware bowls, their contents a white pastelike substance. Two of them were given a stir, which released a whiff of lavender.

“ The simpler time of it, maybe? “ He picked up one bowl in each hand and rotated on his heel to return, some distraction in his tone. “ I was supposed to become a farmer, so— “ That one saw a smile delivered in its wake, flashing teeth.

“ Perhaps the enjoyment be equal parts nostalgia and metamorphosis towards one of those aged men I saw so much of. “ With arms open wide, he struck a bit of drama into his gait. It remained for but a couple steps, if leaving him with a faint grin. He put one of the bowls of soap next to his fellow knight, unceremonious.

“ What’s your excuse? “

 

[Tulgan Egroth]

He turned his head back over his shoulder, his back twisting to the side to allow him to track Oliver as he walked across the floor. His dark eyes gleamed with interest as he spoke about his past as a farm boy. There was common ground for the two of them.

Oliver's sudden swagger impressed Tulgan, and for a brief moment he felt that same sort of awe he had felt as a boy when knights and other mercenary types had come swaggering onto his family's farm to throw around their gold in the pursuit of a new strong horse. But then he remembered himself and looked a little embarrassed. He was one of those knights now, he had no reason to be so starstruck.

The clack of the soap bowl as it was placed next to him pulled him out of his thoughts. He took a breath in, enjoying the soft lavender scent. Another reason he didn't mind doing the laundry was it left him smelling as clean and fresh as the laundry itself.

"I was supposed to be a farmer too," he smiled back "so maybe it's something of the same."

"I've also been told I'm good at it. A little bit of encouragement like that goes a long way in increasing the enjoyment." the only thing more satisfying than a job well done, was the extra satisfaction of knowing someone had noticed and appreciated the effort.

"We raised livestock on my family farm, horses especially but chickens and the like too. What about you?" he asks while taking a glob of soap from the bowl and working it into the fabric, taking extra care to work it into any particularly dirty spots.

 

[Oliver]

As the man spoke, Oliver resulted to finishing his ongoing fetch quest. On one of the beams hung a set of washing bats, of which he chose one, picking it off the large nail and turning.

“ Well our lot was nothing as fancy as horses, I’ll tell you that. “ He remarked with enough humour, returning to where he’d abandoned his work. Careful for the sake of his joints, he saw himself knelt back to the floor next to it.

“ No — We cultivated fields. Rye and barley, mainly. “ The explanation was toneless, the kind that described clinically without attachment, terminating into a silence that wasn’t quite intentional. A little guarded, of a sudden, which he remedied with a quick smile like he’d merely forgotten what he’d meant to say.

“ Was a life of its own, in the entire sense of the phrase. All nineteen years of it. “ Look disconnecting from his company, he rubbed a sparing amount of soap into the sheet. It was bunched up again in a haphazard movement and set on the stone like a loaf of bread. Therein, it saw a couple swats from the bat to loose dirt and work the detergent in.

“ You mentioned yours was a family farm. Where’d you keep it? “

 

[Tulgan Egroth]

"Yes. We were lucky" he wasn't too sure about how his family had come to be in such a position, but as far as farms went, theirs was a prosperous one. Someone, somewhere down the line, had probably made a smart investment, hard work paid off over generations... or perhaps it had merely been luck. Tulgan did not entertain the idea that it could have come about due to anything more underhanded than good luck.

He smiles back at Oliver nervously after the silence between them. While he swatted the sheet with the washing bat, Tulgan sat in silence, watching him strike at it.

"Hm? Oh, near Bhathairk," it is his turn to stand and retrieve a bat of his own. Compared to Oliver's hastily bunched-up fabric, there seemed to be a method to Tulgan's actions as he worked carefully. Even his forceful swings of the washing bat had an air of careful deliberation about them.

"Have you ever been there? Wonderful place." he pauses. Was wonderful the right way to describe it? "Very unique."

 

[Oliver]

Bhathairk — Wonderful?

He gave a laugh, a singular, bright Ha erupting in a toss of the head as he struck the sheet again. The mirth was true, remaining in his tone as he spoke therein.

“ I have not been. “ He responded, if hardly lamenting the fact. The bat gave a little clatter as it connected with the floor, released. “ But tales of it travel. I’ve personally decided that wonderful might not be the word for rivers of lava and rather draconian conduct when it comes to thieves. “

In a marking wink, he opened the beaten heap of cloth a little and gave it another rinse. The live water splashed, made milky by the soap that slowly dispersed into the flow. Amidst his task, he remarked his company’s meticulous manner of going about theirs, the lot of it considered and practiced. Choosing merely to appreciate it for what it was, if unhurried, he said naught.

“ But unique — Definitely. “ He added with delay, like a man abruptly awakened. “ I haven’t much fondness in my heart for large cities and their excitement, but I imagine it can be an acquired taste. It is quite different here, no? “

His head keeled in question,

“ Not necessarily quieter, for oh — There be plenty a racket and ones who’ll talk your ear off every chance they get — “ It was with self-awareness, made evident in the flashing of a grin.

“ But the rest. Altitude, woodland, sequestered community and whatnot. “