Quest The Bound and The Burdened

[Boar Boresoil]

"Bind him with fire steel chains in the heart of the mountain and leave him to rot. We'll see how long his precious faith last when even his god is dead." -Queen Erida Yovan


"I don't like it, Ox." The man said, his voice like gravel tossed under a mill stone. "Crop's not as good as last year."

The short round farmer turned to look at the old mule. His bald pate beaded with sweat and streaked with black soil rubbed in with dirty hands.

"Don't talk like that." The man continued despite the mule not saying anything, "We'll be fine. Just tighten the belt a bit for winter is all...Yes, I know how to eat light! Stubborn ass!"

The man shook his head and bent down again as he continued to pull fat round potatoes from the ground one by one and inspected his produce. Boar knew potatoes like a soldier knew swords. In fact, he didn't really claim to know much else. His slate grey eyes drifted over each dirt caked tuber one by one and dropped them into one of his two sacks. One for sale and one for seed tubers for next season. He had to finish today, and it was already getting on to mid morning. If he didn't hed be late for market for certain. He couldn't afford to be late again. He needed iron for new tools and sundries he just couldn't make on the farm. If he wasn't on time he'd have to settle for lower prices again. He really needed another pair of hands for harvest but he knew as well as anyone he was hard to put up with even on his good days.

"I'm not brooding!" He yelled at the mule, "You're brooding."

 

[Farzad Oldsummer]

The morning light shimmered and shaked along the long stretch of plains and farmland. Midmorning. Farzad's greatest rival. As well as morning-morning, after-morning, afternoon and a few hours of the dusk. Pretty much if their was light it was Farzad's greatest weakness. He formed long beads of sweat that curled, rolled than dissipated into his many scarves. He took a deep breath as he came out form the cover of a trees shade picking up his hefty backpack, it matched him. A million colours, trailed by scarves each one etched and runed with subtle writings in near matching colours. Tapping his staff into the ground he began the dreadful trudge beneath a mid-morning sun.

And so he came upon the workings of a humble townsfolk. Or at least he assumed that to be the case he wasn't ready to go and make awkward judgements about men digging in the dirt since the last time he did it turned out to be some witch that had lost her wand. He got closer and closer, unphased by the possibility the boulder shaped man was actually a witch in disguise instead deciding to approach as he listened to the humdrum goings on and complaints. He heard the trail end of the man whispering and muttering to himself, he took two digits and pulled the scarf from around his mouth, a long wispy smile peering down as he stood around two foot away from the mass of muscle and power.

"Why, I'm not brooding, you're brooding!"​

 

[Boar Boresoil]

Boar lifted his head slowly and eyed the mule. His grey eyes blinked a drop of sweat from his eyes and swallowed audibly.

"Did you just mock me, Ox?" He said with quiet rage. "I'm not falling for that again. There's no one here but us... No I won't look. You're a filthy liar and you kicked me last time."

The man began going back to his work as he spoke. His heavy frame draped with a rough spun sleeveless tunic. Dust and soil ran black and brown down his arms as his sweat continued to leave clean track on his ruddy skin. Dumb mule, was alway trying to trick him. His big thick knuckled hand reached down to dig another potato from its row when the slightest flicker of a shadow caught his eye and made him freeze. He was sure he didn't have any flappy clothes. There was no need, it wasn't winter yet.

He slowly stood up straight to the chorus of popping joints and muscles. He slowly turned his head causing his thick neck to pop and crack as he held tightly to his potato as if it was a weapon handle. There not two feet away, well within his personal space, was a person. Colorful and draped with rich clothes. It had finally happened. He'd gone completely crazy. Now he was seeing things.

"You're not real." Boar said flatly as he bent down to continue harvesting.

Farzad Oldsummer

 

[Farzad Oldsummer]

He was almost offended at that. "Not... Real?" It always warranted inspection, he swear he was told that a million times before that very line but it never hurt to check. First he tugged at a scarf, that was still there bound and knotted through his clothing. Than he dragged a hand along the rim of his brow, speckles and droplets of sweat pooled and dragged hanging with loose grip in the soft drawn wind. Finally he turned around and checked inside his pants before turning back around with a disappointed smirk. "Well. I seem to still be here in all my lacklustre glory." He replied, tapping at the ground in a quick repetitive three tap on the ground.

He looked and peered at the crystalline water, raising it high as the light reflected and danced in the swirl, bouncing and bounding with struggling weight. He looked to the massive muscle "Name's Farzad, and to your disappointment. You will find I am quite real." He raised his sweat dangled hand high letting the beads shift and roll in long trailed rivers through the creases and cracks of his hand before slashing his hand sideways, creating a snaking line of damp soil before him.

"And yours? It seems your work is mundane." Farzad bent down as he brandished his staff, he rolled it over his shoulders until he locked it in place, his arms hanging off the staff, "And if you are insane. Might as well enjoy it." He replied in kind, his disappointed smirk twisted and shaped with kindness, his words ran like honey to match his inflection.

 

[Boar Boresoil]

"That is disappointing." The thick muscled farmer said as the need to harvest overtook his desire to dispel the strange hallucination.

His dirt caked fingers grabbed and brushed potato after potato. His slate grey eyes refused to glance toward the figure that he was certain was either a very crazy ghost or a figment of his over worked imagination. Not that he had ever been considered imaginative. He let out a deep sigh, cavernous nostrils flared as he expelled his stress and ill feelings with that long exhalation of air. What if it's just a traveler? What if they're lost and just trying to find directions? What's the harm in talking to a ghost or an imaginary person? There wasn't much harm. He was sure of it. And he was nearly done. Nearly ready to load the cart.

"Well, Fawzahd." Bore said still not looking up, "The work is almost done, then I'll have to haul the cart load through the hills to market. You can have a seat on the porch in the shade over there if you want. Have some water or something."

He pointedly went back to work with an increased vigour. It didn't take that much longer...relatively speaking. With out much more effort the cart was loaded and the farmer brought out bread, cheese, and cold steeped tea for the apparition hoping imaginary people didn't eat too much.

"If you need directions to market I'm going that way. Just need to grab some travelling gear."

Farzad Oldsummer

 

[Farzad Oldsummer]

He cocked a head with a satisfied grin."Ah see? Reality can sometimes be comforting." He stated, it was at the time an empty statement, he had put his backpack against the edge of the cart slipping a hand into the deep backpack as he pulled out a folded sheet of fabric on a three part stick. He slipped his quarterstaff into it's respective sheath, rolling a few buckles over it to lock it into place.

Finally, doing something for the lumbering man he cracked the stick, a slick motion of interlocking joints and parts turned three sticks into one and the folded fabric expanded wildy. Farzad offered what little help he could, holding the Umbrella over the muscular figure and following him along. He might not have done a hards work day in his life. Well, traditionally speaking but that didn't mean he was about to sit about watching the beefcake. He trailed and followed along until the job was done than resigned himself back to his seat.

"So... Have a name?"​

 

[Boar Boresoil]

The simple fact that no one ever voluntarily entered into conversation with him made Boar all the more suspicious that the person following along was definitely probably a hallucination. The only thing that made him question his assumption was the umbrella. It was odd that an umbrella could so dramatically change someone's perception of a situation, but shade was too welcomed to be doubted.

"Boar." He said a little less gruffly, "Boar Boresoil."

The trail toward town led through the foothills of a small mountain range that held a presumably domant or dead volcano. The trail was rocky but not overly difficult. He'd made the trek once a season for as long as he could remember, even so, there was something different this time. The slight hint of brimstone hung in the air as they drew further into the wooded area along a shear cliff that loomed high along this stretch.

"Did you fart?" Boar said to the mule before looking at the other man out of the corner of his eye and debating asking the same question of the colorful person.

A low rumbling that was felt more than heard made the short farmer pull up short and look around trying to determine where it was coming from. Before he could react, cracks began forming beneath his feet and cart and the rumbling grew louder. The next thing he knew the ground beneath them was falling away and gravity was deciding his heavy body should also.

Farzad Oldsummer

 

[Farzad Oldsummer]

"Well." Farzad replied, he wasn't sure what to follow with. It was like being called Farzad Farzad. There was a drawn out pause as his lips pursed beneath his scarf. "Strong name for a strong man I suppose." He finally replied. The guy was the embodiment of, 'Quite strong type'. He seemed to be sharp, precise and to the point. What fun. Farzad thought to himself as he swung his legs on the back of the cart, following the ebb and flow of the natural buoyancy of the cart like a boat on harsh waters.

"Hmm?" Farzad replied, he had heard the question and in truth he had but was certain that smell wasn't him. The way the air wafted, the way it seemed to sizzle and burn the hairs of his nose? No that wasn't his fart. Things seemed off but a fire in a forest wasn't unheard of. Sometimes, mundane things just happen.

Who was to say the fantastical was about to visit?
​

Of course. He forgot this was his life. And it seemed that in it the fantastic was always a bounding step away. The earth seemed to growl out a crack. It looked like an impact point on a mirror, a single snap in reality that outstretched and poured out in long cracking lines, starting in a circle before becoming the tendrils of dark gods. The cart didn't like it the world even moreso. It took fast reactions for Farzad, he dragged a hand beneath one of his bags flap, snapping the buttons up with a crack that was consumed by the rumble of the world. He dug a hand in, pulled out a long sliver of rope and with articulate motions turned it into a noose. He showed himself a little too much in that moment, he picked himself up, a palm smashing into the cart to give him the momentum he needed to bound forward, coming to the lip of the cart and throwing the noose end of the rope to Boar, and tying the other end to his quarterstaff in an attempt for leverage. "Wasn't me!"