funranium: (Default)
After Tristan returns to the Sanctum of Japhus with his new friend...

funranium: (Your Buddy Heyzeus)
Davi wished that the dark elves had screamed at her, berated her, beat her, anything but what they did…they were disappointed with her. They’d graciously removed the cursed Sather sword from her hand, broke her arm for the third time (it had mended poorly on the trip here after the second break it suffered when her mount threw her), and allowed her time to recover in their sanctuary.
They didn’t demand anything of her anymore.  She wasn’t harried from the bed for morning exercises like she’d been before she went down into flatlands. No one demanded she do chores. It wasn’t that they were being cruel and excluding her; they pitied her and that was even worse.  
She made her stay in Kraal Shan as short as possible, but she still had to weather another winter here. She’d been given a mission and had come back without completing it. The news she brought was dire and it had been appreciated, but that’s not why Davi had been sent out in to the world.  They wanted that news from her. The other news could have been sent back with a runner as far as the sanctum was concerned.
Considering the reception she’d received, she often questioned whether it had been a good idea to guide Torgo and Laurel back to Kraal Shan. But Davi knew she never really had a choice. Be their guide back to Kraal Shan since they were going to the mountains, with or without her, or fight her way south with a not quite healed broken arm holding a cursed sword and no food.  Not much of a choice at all.
She was a little surprised that they left Kraal Shan without so much as a goodbye. By the time she’d emerged from the sanctum, Laurel and Torgo had provisioned and left several days earlier, braving the late summer snows. No one seemed to know where they were headed. Davi assumed it was Leifscarkik based upon all of Laurel’s bitching about the good life in the forge back there she’d left behind. 
Not that she’d needed their company, of course. It is far easier and faster for a lone ranger to make their way through the Normark’s forest and tundra than a larger party with supply wagons.  In this way, she’d made it to the outskirts of a city the huntsmen she’d met called Geldstor in a mere two months.
She stopped to camp on one of the low hills to the north, within a day’s ride of the gigantic Home Fires that marked the heart of the city.  Tomorrow she’d get some more orienteering help from whatever folk she could find about the lay of the land in this “Palatinate”.  
It was so much warmer and so flat here that she couldn’t imagine a colony anything like Kraal Shan had been settled this far south.  And there were so many people! Just in the lumberjacks and hunters she’d seen in the woods in the last week…she’d expected Geldstor to be a metropolis and the view from the hill didn’t disappoint.  At least 10,000 people. Huge! It boggled the mind. It wasn’t as big as Old Galatia but an empty city seems small from the lack of action.
She sat next to her elk, who was happily munching on some low branches, and just contemplated it all. I wonder if I shall...*CRACK*
The sharp pain at the back of her head hardly had time to register before she briefly passed out.
Davi groggily came to again looking at the end of an iron shod staff, drawn back like a fishspear by a completely hairless man with dignified, if somewhat scarred and weather worn, features as he spat on her. For some reason, he wore what looked like a stone bird tied to his forehead. His words rang in her ears though that might have been concussion.
“As a Baronsreeve, I pass judgment upon you.  Say hello from Brother Gray Hatch when you see Hathor’s roasting soul, demonspawn.”
Everything went black again.
funranium: (Pyscho)
Sweetfuckingasscrackers is nothing but Words.

His name is an elaborate curse in the local vulgate, but that's just because they are uncultured savages who don't know the Imperial tongue. They called him Ass for short. Sometimes they even used it for a name rather than a description.

He is a drunken rant on incompetence and bloody stupid in a Grundistad bar after the blacksmith gets off duty.

He is the on the lips of bards singing the tragicomedy "Ass of the Interdictor" to the raucous laughter of audiences around the world.

He is a frothing rage from an undead gun toting spirit of vengeance spat forth every time before splitting a petty thief's head open.

He is a guilty story told to dozens of children with red hued skin and a penchant for pyromania when they finally ask, "Where's my daddy?"

He is one of the names on a breach of contract form submitted to Thompson Acquisition & Life Insurance for "collection".

When we pass, all that is left of us are the words of our deeds passing around world in stories and paperwork. Ass is all that and two Words more.

Ringing in his fused glass tomb, humming, whispering, screaming, singing. Two Words, Ass shaped, burning incandescently bright, trapped, heard by no one.
funranium: (Snidely Doright)
“Tea, m’lord?”
“Why yes, certainly. No yak milk please.”
“Do you think the war party will return soon, m’lord?”
He took a moment to gaze into the swirling tea.  “Presently, my pet. Your courtyard will soon be graced by a most…unique…statue. My father-in-law is a most efficient motivator of men, even under trying circumstances.”
“Trying, m’lord? Bad casualties?”
“Remarkably light I should wager. After all, the Alderman isn’t fool enough to bring an elf into the ruins of Galatia.” Not as fool as we were.
They sat quietly for a while longer. Elias sighed deeply as he enjoyed the foot massage for few extra minutes, knowing that life was about to become interesting again.
“Alright, all good things come to an end."  He stood up from the comfy chair.  "Straighten your robes and come sit in your throne. I must be going.”
Elias paused at the door of the room, took the crown off his head and threw it back to the jarl. “Time for you to be my king for the smallfolk again, your grace. I’m off to entertain the wife.”

He could feel the resolve, independence, and dominance of the jarl’s unadjusted personality returning as he walked through the town.  Much harder than Torgo to manage but so much more worthwhile.  Shame the old woman had to die.  Oma was a wealth of pithy hearth wisdom, much like Antler Bear used to be, but she could see the change and didn't like it.  Ah well.
Elias watched the cart with the statue strapped to it roll down the road as it passed by his front window.  He gave his rather pregnant wife a hug. She looked up and gave him a kindly smile
He returned the smile and looked back at the cart.  Despite the tarps, the shape of wings was unmistakable.  “All will be well. We are the innocent and angels shall be our protectors above.”  
But we won’t lose their favor like Galatia did.

December 2012

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