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