Open Chronicles On the path to Crobhear

[Sigrun Flintfeet]

Sigrun peered in a stupefied manner at the production of a mirror. A luxury she had rarely seen, even in Belgrath. How had this young man not gotten himself robbed yet? She frowned to herself. It was also curious that Ispir had decided to flee so far north. But who could guess how humans thought?

"Well, we're headed for Crobhear Keep, as you might have heard. I'm certain they could find some use for you there, earn your keep." She shrugged and cracked her neck audibly. "Music and archery alike would go the rounds. Gloomy walls could use a bit more singing in my book." Her mouth downturned, nodding towards where he stowed the mirror. "You can take the time there to sort yourself out."

She slapped her knees and rose abruptly, tearing out of the somber, thoughtful atmosphere with the brisk task of packing and preparing.

"To Crobhear it is, then. Lucky you found us, truly." She slung a sack of gathered pots and pans over her shoulder. "Any cult-buggers appear, and we'll set them straight." She traced a splitting line with her hand to the middle of her own brow, grinning. "Axe between their eyes 'fore they can so much as spit an unholy word."

Irman Harefoot
Ispir Sione

 

[Irman Harefoot]

"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[/CENTER]

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing, not having to kill or maim a man. We ain’t murderers kid, won’t go lookin down on you for not having blood on your hands.”

Irman kicked dirt onto the makeshift fire as he wiped off the face of his frying pan. Soon after the trio was back on the path, with Sigrun’s turn to take the lead this time around.

The trek was beginning to lean upward as the path took the cart from the midlands into the chilly highlands. Crobhear was located on the opposite side of a line of peaks, that didn’t open for several miles save for a singular narrow pass. It would take the rest of the day to reach that pass, then from there most of a day to get through the pass and make for Crobhear on the other side.

The wind grew louder as elevation climbed and the vegetation was growing thin.

“Good thing we aren’t having to do this in winter, I can tell just by looking around this place must get buried in snow during the colder months.”

Irman reclined in the back of the cart but perked up when he heard a strange sort of scraping noise buried beneath the wind.

 

[Ispir Sione]

Ispir was overjoyed at the support from his new friends. Both Sigrun's encouragement that he was safe with them and Irman's reassurance that never having taken a life was not a bad thing brought a rosy hue to his cheeks as he nodded in thanks. Genuinely grateful for the wisdom and largesse of the two of them as he spoke.

"Thank you both so much. I must profess I didn't expect to make friends on this lonely road but I'd gladly count you both among that number now. So I would be honored to bring some joy and music to Crobhear Keep."

Giving an emphatic nod Ispir would not hear the noise Irman's superior senses detected and would simply hum a soft tune to himself until a new sound, and sensation, joined the relative quiet of their journey. A low, ominous rumbling would begin to quake the cart from above as an artificially triggered avalanche crashed down into the path like the deafening shout of a god of thunder, coming perilously close to making jerky of poor Honey Pepper.

But the ambush was expertly sprung by their assailants as, no sooner had the cart cased shaking than an arrow THUNKED into the wood of the cart within a hair's breadth of giving Irman Harefoot an unwanted ear piercing. A second arrow, even as Ispir jerked his attention to the arrow that had nearly hit Irman in pure shock, suddenly lodged itself in the Minstrel's thigh and he simply.... screamed.

It was not a measured grunt or a suppressed howl, but a true, genuine cry of astonished agony as blood soaked into the otherwise pristine white pants he wore. In the cacophony of Ispir's screem two more creatures, snowy and furred but not that large, reptilian and malicious, would drop from the mountainside with shortspears in hand, one landing upon and the other beside, Sigrun Flintfeet to jab at her with spears and slash at her with claws, before Ispir simply flung himself down into the cart beside the covered.... whatever it was!​