The polite introductions of two young men and a pretty-faced tiefling’s compliments on the good nature of the hound, begin to set the stranger at ease. His tenseness fades, probably coming to a conclusion that robbers and bandits aren’t well known for respectfulness or manners. Nor would they speak of Suru with such reverence. The skull carried on the head of a staff catches his attention for a moment of course, but it does not trouble him.
Perhaps an ancestor being brought to a true resting-place, or just a fashion of the day.
“Masto is a good soul,” he comments, giving the old dog a final pat on the head,
“saved me more than once.”
“Blessings upon you too,” is said with a nod in the half-orc’s direction.
So unusual, and varied, this pack of hikers. Interesting indeed!
It is then that a bright young fellow speaks of lunch and news from the north. To this, the man stands and waves a hand towards the dwindling fire.
“Please! You are most welcome to camp with us a while, I have fresh bread and hard cheese should you desire some? Viro grains, stone-ground, and mixed with a little milk I managed to procure from small farm on the outskirts. It is no Kalair-bakery loaf, but warm and soft nonetheless.”
As he unwraps some provisions and tidies up the camp a little,
“apologies, I never expected company in these parts, well not such fine company anyway,” he makes space under the shaded cloth for a few of you to rest, and moves some small branches and stones out of the way such that the remainder of you might sit easy upon the forest floor.
“So what takes you to the northlands, are you headed to Viro? I’m from Eyne River way.”
The man’s tale is a sad one. For many years he has lived alone on a small plot nestled between the branches of Viro’s main riverway, a veritable lifeforce for the surrounding ways of agriculture. The land though small, lay at the river’s edge and allowed him to survive an almost self-sufficient lifestyle. Nothing fancy. Just the basics. He admits that his home was inherited, and being an adopted son of two cattle merchants, his brother of course claimed the greater stake. A large working farm somewhere out to Viro’s west. But he was happy enough. You sense that there is much more to this story though. An air of loss and pain seems to emanate from his face as he speaks.
“It became terribly dangerous there. Can you imagine? The quietest and prettiest little parcel of earth, ruined. Horrible creatures were seen from time to time, and quickly I found myself even more alone. Distant neighbours packed their carts and left. Several families mourned losses of the young and weak, and prized stock as well. I was probably the last to go. There were too many, on the way, as hill-dwarves sent us word of what was coming. They were our friends in trade. Our timbers and plentiful fresh nourishment, in exchange for stone-chipped building materials and a good deal of labor too.”
“I headed south along the road with no great aspirations. Folk would let me ride in the back of their carts for a time, or other days I simply walked. Then, when met with the choice of Kalair or an old dusty track to the coast, I chose the latter, thinking that a man such as I might have more value to tree-adoring elves, than to city folk. So a half-circle I have come, and for now, with the little stream nearby and the cool of leaves and shade, I rest here until the next decision is made. Soon, the roads will be filled with armed men, and should the rest of Viro fall into The Sand’s fate, then they will have to march through an army of refugees, bless their souls. Thankfully, I have learned to survive on little, and hope to stay distant from what downfalls may come. Perhaps you think me… a coward?”
He smiles then, draws a small knife, and begins to slice everyone off some cheese.
<Feel free to use Insight to glean more, or do whatever else you’d like to do
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