Private Tales Steel and Sinew, A Delving

[Eamon Stroud]

William Dreixmond​

The sun beat down as it ever did upon the land. The rhythmic sounds of hooves and shifting armor filling the now silent air.

The liver-chestnut nag following the gentle pull of the reins down the winding path that she and Eamon tread. It had given way of the typical compacted earth, suggesting a path well traveled by both horse and wagon enough to cut a wide, clear path through the forest around them. But it hadn't lasted long when they had cut to a side path. The scenery and ground changing to something that was far softer and harder beneath boot and hoof with a slight grind with each measured step.

The clear cut of the nags walk changed to an almost dragging sound with each pass of a hoof. Accompanied by a momentary grating as each step caught grit along the ground and pushed them aside in shallow cut troughs. They had only paused to allow Eamon to examine the change once it had become apparent that the shift was perpetual, rather than a strange one-off. Concern mounted for the old mare as the ground continued to become softer. Causing Eamon to travel under his own power for the time being and leading to his guiding her along by the reins. Drawing near enough now to their destination that he guessed he wouldn't exhaust himself in the process.

The helm never moving far from the road as they passed through the diminishing number of trees with each step onward. The heat mounting as they began to approach the place the contract had described.

A changing of environments had passed them by without much notice. The lush greenery that had provided shade now sparce and offering little more than a sliver of shade to either man or mare. In equal measure, the sounds of nature had settled into nothing more than the faint sound of wind passing them by, cool against the sweat across each body that stood in the presence of a strange entryway. A final gathering of greenery that seemed vibrant against the growing amounts of sand.

The town he had taken the contract from offering few details beyond what had been written down on the notice. A need for someone with skill wielding steel to safeguard someone in search of...

The metal fingers once more felt across the belt that crossed the metal chest piece. Sliding beneath the cloak and producing the notice once more.

Materials.

A strange request given the proximity to the desert that lay beyond this final bastion of nature. Thankful he'd filled the long necked water skein before the rivers had bent and twisted away from the fruitless ground. The eyes behind the visor surveyed the area. Aside from the partially visible entrance to the place below, was the extensive stretch of grass about the entrance.

Along with a pair of skinny looking trees adorned in long leaves that rose skyward. The greenery they produced nearly as long as his arm and wide as both his hands put beside each other.

And barely producing more than a few leaves as he squinted at them against the light.

The measurements were at best, a guess since he could do little more than stare skyward at the lofty things. Silently remarking about the poor amount of shade they offered. The notice slid back into the sleeve inside the belt, walking back to the mare and passing a hand along her near side shoulder until he could rest the reins along the horn of the saddle.

The hood and helm surveying once more as the metal covered fingers tightened the straps across his arms and chest.

Drawing his gear from the bundle behind his seat with care. Unfurling the bedding and drawing out the sheathed swords and donning them both. Worry of anyone on his path was something he'd not bothered fretting over. Plenty of knives to use and practice with before the worry of needing either of the dedicated weapons of war. Wrapping the bedding up in a tight roll once more before tying them back down onto the housing of the saddle and smooching at the mare.

Ears pointed forward as Eamon walked ahead of her, and the lazy walk behind him as they cleared the arch of trees toward the entrance of the underground to find their man.

 

[William Dreixmond]

It was through his field journal that William flipped. The sound of the thick paper, beating against the air with each pass of finger and thumb, a familiar sound amidst such an unfamiliar place. A small mage lamp there beside him to help illuminate his dark corner of the ruins they had sheltered in.

"You see, Viktor, its the interior flesh of the tentacle vines that make for such a potent binder," the young man said, stopped at a diagram sketch of a creature that was but a bundle of stalks and tentacles. A maw of teeth ran wide crescent across the center of its mass. Viktor, but a large floating eye the size of a fist who drift suspended amidst a clear glass jar filled with a viscous green liquid, seemed to stare, full of curiosity, at the page William showed them. Amorphous flesh draped around the oculus as it drift. "Without it, the amnion fluid would not be able to sustain the life within it, for as long as it does,"

the steady cadence of steps came from the entrance, and William's eyes widened, as if a mouse caught sound of a cat.

"Ah, Master Eamon," he laughed nervously, half shut his journal, though he kept a finger there betwixt the pages. "Is it time then?" He asked, almost reluctant at the premise of moving again.

 

[Eamon Stroud]

His heavy steps were rhythmic and easily caught. Something he'd learned to help make those around him feel at ease in some sense of the word. His covered features always seemed to bring back that lingering apprehension, but a nervous contractor was a healthy contractor.

Even if they focused on the wrong thing at times.

"Master Dreixmond." As much a greeting as affirming who the man sought. The slits of the visor passed over the jar briefly. Sliding back to the man before him that stood nearly a head shorter. A frail looking being that certainly needed his skills no doubt in this endeavor. But coin had bought his services, and he was ill suited to judgment beyond topical sights.

"If you are ready." He'd been paid for his skills, not so much his time. Whether it was a day or several, he would see the man through.

A hand resting against the two hilts at his side before making two clicks with his mouth, having turned enough to regard the old horse behind him. The mare pricking her ears up before tossing her head at the sounds. The turn further made as a final and louder click came from him and the mare snorted before stepping back and giving a hearty harrumph. Turning back to William

"I am ready."

 

[William Dreixmond]

A tepid smile from the youth as the quiet one scanned the traveling workstation that always seemed to unfold before William. The flat bottom board of a drawer, that slid out from the wooden box that served as his traveling pack until it became a mobile desk.

He slipped a strip of leather there betwixt the pages his finger had saved. Stowed his bits and things away, and looked to Viktor. Undid the alloy lid that screwed on. Pulled a small pouch of things from a pocket along his great coat, and dash-dashed some of the dry flakes inside to float about the viscous fluid in which Viktor hung suspended.

William smiled, as he watched the floating oculus shift, and pivot. Little tendrils of flesh acting like tentacles and fins shift and fluttered to stabilize and pivot its mass. It bloop-blooped towards the flakes. And some of the fleshy folds beneath its massive eye seemed to work like the tiniest mouth.

Pleased, the pallid scholar sealed up the jar, and worked a thick leather sheath about the thick glass that protected his odd pet.

Packed and ready, he slung his traveling case onto his back, and moved toward his hired guide.

"I appreciate the patience," he said with a sheepish smile. "Oft get lost in my own ruminations and quandaries," he looked about the floor of the cave, the light of day still warm against the rocks. Took in one last breath, and turned toward the yawning darkness.

"Well," he stated as he reached for his wand, revealed the shaped branch of old elm. Flicked it too and fro, and beckoned a glow at its tip that cast a soft pale light about them. "After you, Master Eamon," he said with a titter.