“Maybe you are just here to get to Gennopolis and become a famous musician, Carric. Maybe the book is wrong. Or, maybe, you just haven’t been in the right situation yet to show your worth. But you are worthwhile. I say this as your friend.”
Carric looked doubtful.
“Just trust me, Carric. We all have our own special worth. Now take off your pants, and let’s see what we can do about those insides.”
***
The stars twinkled and blinked in the dusky dark as Yenrab stalked stormily through the wilderness. The rugged barbarian looked up at them in appreciation, for the darkness was lasting longer and the moon had gone on vacation. Steam huffed from his mouth and nostrils as he moved without sound. Heel-toe, heel-toe, the march of the night huntsmen could be heard by nothing but the gods. Even in his confused and irritated state of mind.
There was a crackle not so far to his right. The night was poorly lit, with just the friendly stars to aid him, but Yenrab had another trick up his sleeve. As a product of his mixed heritage the barbarian was the beneficiary to a sort of dark vision that worked well along the same principles as for cats. If the light hit his eyes quite right, it would reflect in an eerie fashion, and without such providence, no prey would see him coming until he was well too close to escape.
His pupils widened as he scanned for the direction of the sound. There! With pinpoint accuracy, Yenrab found and identified a family of wild boars moving through the night in search of food and new shelter. Moving silently, Yenrab slid behind a squat and ragged pinyon tree, crouching down and pausing to hide his proximity. The boars moved as quietly as they could, as well, but were relaxed and unaware of the predator in their midst. The half-orc grinned, but it was grim and not a mark of joy. He gave a quick and manual thanks to the Bear, and then judged his distance with measured and patient sight. The process was slow and methodical, but it was also deadly. Having finished doing the necessary arithmetic upon his fingers, the man crouched, his powerful calves ready to spring. Then, with a silent, but tremendous, jump, he was on the largest boar’s back, and with a quick twist, he ended its life. The other boars oinked and squealed as they streaked away, seeking escape from this monstrous being.
“I just wanted to make sure we are on the same page, friend Yenrab,” Yenrab whispered to himself in a mocking voice. Bah, he thought as he put the pig over his shoulders. All of this constant embarrassment was going to be the death of him.
Then his thoughts softened. But, hey, the past is past and the pork is soon.
No bad day can survive a pork barbecue.
Chapter 10: Getting Berned
How to be an Adventurer—Making a Party You Can Be Proud Of
Do not judge people by their profession, but rather by their souls. Remember that the best people for your group do not always have hearts of gold, but rather, when push comes to shove, they know not just to do the right thing, but also what the right thing is. Too often, even the most noble of characters chooses left when he or she should have chosen right, and the consequences are generally lethal.
***
As an observer from afar, you might expect their expedition to be eventful. You might look from your omniscient perch and rub your hands in anticipation of danger and battle. The adventurer’s tome well notes that the land is filled with many more dangers than just wildlife. As the party marched forward through the hills of the Western Republic, Yenrab, Carric, and even Tracy paged through the tome, its pages opening up more and more secrets as they continued on their way. The tome told them of a great many aberrations and mutations. It didn’t tell much about them individually, as was its nature, but it did refer them to a text. The History of the Naranian World—A Thesis upon the Cycles That Harm Us by Jerold Frey. Something to look for in the future to come.
Perhaps, without the tome at hand, they would have battled through the land. Perhaps, they would have been like so many novices of their calling are—adventurers eager for combat, felled early to bloodlust and a lack of tactical acumen, their bones lost forever in the wild borderlands of a less than settled nation. Or if Yenrab were not a skilled guide who had taken such trips many times, mayhaps they would have ended their quest speared through a dozen times by wooden spikes at the end of a dugout pit, the worms and insects making sure to use all of them out of respect to their gift of a meal.
Instead of bumbling through the wilderness like so many of their unexperienced ilk, the adventurers moved forward with caution and intelligent acumen. They hid when they needed to be hidden and ran when they needed to run. They hunted and trapped whenever the moment afforded it. Without battle and fear, the time was quite enjoyable.
One evening, though, they missed something. The sky was shading over, and the shadows were long, each of them silent and lost in thought as they made their way ever forward towards the capital, when a voice sounded from nowhere.
“What do we have here, then?” the voice mocked. “A few young tikes with decent gear and no mother to protect them.”
The voice could have been coming from anywhere.
Yenrab was the first to speak up as each looked about, investigating their surroundings.
“Well, now, you know it isn’t polite to talk to strangers when, you know, they can’t see you.”
“I’m polite enough in the right setting. But certainly not stupid enough to jump out and say hi to an orc and his minions. Ha,” the voice said in a firm and smug way.
“Well, smart guy, I’m Yenrab, and these are my companions, Tracy Riley and Carric Smith.”
There was a long pause as the hidden man contemplated the new information.
“No way.”
“Yes way.”
“The Yenrab?”
“In the flesh.”
“Yenrab the Animal Chief, Flee-er from Trolls, and False Hope to Villagers?”
“Um, what?” the barbarian asked in a surprised way.
“News travels fast, Mr. Yenrab. Still, you are a nice guy, or so the songs say. Is it true that you once smashed in a big bad wolf’s head with your fist to tear out the little girl it had swallowed whole not long before? Oh, and her grandmother?”
“Ha ha. Yeah, there’s a lot of hyperbole out there, but ya know, I have done good things for good people. You know who I am. Can you come out and talk now?” Yenrab seemed a bit annoyed.
“I reckon maybe I can, bro. Tell you what, how about I don’t rob you and you help me get to Gennopolis? I’ve been working my way over to get to the underground, and seeing as it really doesn’t concern you, maybe we might have a few braais, help each other out, strength in numbers, ya know what I’m saying?”
“What the heck is a braai? Isn’t that the thing that the upclass ladies wear?” Yenrab asked in consternation.
“It’s a barbecue, mate. Frying meat over an open fire. A braai is good eats; that’s what it is.”
Carric spoke up.
“Rogue, I’m not really sure if you are going to appreciate how we operate. I mean, we aren’t going to waylay any strangers and strip them for gold.”
A figure cloaked in midnight blue stepped out from behind some bushes.
“Don’t assume, friend bard. I may relieve the occasional traveler, but only when custom, foolishness, or the people demand it. I am Bern Sandros, apprentice assassin and child of such conditions as you can only imagine. I only take when I need it more than they do, and as friends, I think perhaps I might share freely between us. And, of course, I will bow to the group’s will until such a time as we part.”
“Tracy, Yenrab, I dunno,” Carric frowned.
“I say we let him in.” Tracy was now well-breasted, bearded, and with a considerable bulge in hir trousers. Hir face yawned up at them all in disinterest. “I mean, if it comes down to it, we can take him. And who knows when we’ll need a good sword arm.”
Yenrab looked the darkly cloaked figure up and down.
“Do you even have swords?”
The cloak was flung open, quickly revealing tw
o short and scythe-like blades and a body tightly banded in grayish-black leather, studded in places for extra protection. Then, just as quickly, it snapped shut.
“I am both handed, as we say back where I am from. It tends to come in handy in this world. I am also quite the bowman and would appreciate having extra people around to keep watch as I hunt. The benefits are many, the harms few.”
And a palm, covered by a leather glove matching the armor they’d seen just previously, flashed out to offer a handshake.
“What do you say? It is, for sure, to our own mutual benefit.”
Tracy intoned, “Yeah. Let him in.”
Yenrab shrugged. “Sure. Why not.”
Carric, Tracy thought, looked quite frustrated and ill at ease as the party quickly decided in the rogue’s favor. Of course, it was good to take the man in. The adventurer’s tome had practically demanded it!
The bard nodded his assent in an exasperated fashion. Tracy frowned but said nothing. The look was very foreign upon his face.
“Just don’t come to me if things go bad, guys,” Carric grumbled in an angry huff.
Tracy nodded. Such a simple expression, a nod, and yet so powerful.
Having a self-proclaimed assassin in the group wasn’t anything that the sorcerer had suspected would occur. It seemed a bit odd. Though the man did extoll good virtues. Perhaps he was overthinking the job?
“Just one thing, Mr. Bern Sandros?” Tracy asked as his ids debated within.
“Yeah, mate?” the rogue responded.
“If you are an apprentice assassin, then where is your teacher?”
“Well, mate, I have already studied the arts. But I am not experienced enough yet for any guild to take me. So, I guess what I am saying is, maybe life is?”
“Not a bad answer,” growled the bard, “but not a good beginning either.”
***
Sandros was a good addition to the band. He was, indeed, quite skilled with his bow. He was also agile. The man used his abilities to scale trees to get his bearings, and he sped up the journey a bit by adding additional tools to the guide kit within Yenrab’s pack. And he wasn’t the evil man that Carric had first picked him out to be. As his story went, Bern had indeed participated in assassin training. But it wasn’t really a manner of preference so much as one of nowhere else to turn. The man had been an urchin of the streets, and a good one at that, but picking pockets and stealing food isn’t a life that leads to prosperity. The assassins always looked so well-to-do and spent money quite freely in the alleys and ghettos of the city, so it was quite natural to go and try to become one when he came of age.
“So you see, Carric, I became an assassin not because I like to kill things, but because I hated living in a place where things were always trying to kill me,” the rogue finished with a self-satisfied smirk.
Tracy sat idly by, listening to the story as Yenrab swore at breakfast over a smoky and unkind fire. He waved his uncovered feet through the dewy grass as he thought it all over. It was like the lesson of the books. The elder, with his long beard and mellow robes, would lead the children to a hut filled with novels and tomes. And he would ask them to choose one. The unlearned and unwise would pick cheery covers while the more mature students, having already learned this lesson, would first open them and page through them a bit. Invariably, the happiest covers held the driest and most boring of texts.
His cover was a trained killer, but Bern’s text was jolly to the point of being humorous. Perhaps it is too early to tell, warned his female id. It always is, affirmed the hir persona, its mixed male and female, still in charge of the body as the others lay relaxed but interested.
“So, Bern, what city are you from?” asked Tracy with curiosity.
“Well, my life is not so much about where I am from, but rather more about where I am going,” replied Bern. “Someday, I am going to be rich and powerful. But you want to know something?”
“What?” Tracy replied with hir pleasant general sense of curiosity in others.
“I am not going to forget where I came from or the people who helped me get there,” Bern deadpanned, staring ahead with cold, steely eyes. “I believe there is plenty for all if we just let people alone to get it.”
Carric shifted uncomfortably.
“Not me,” he sighed, thinking back to the horrors of his own childhood and the bullies of his pampered past.
“I look around, and I see all of this magic all over the place, and I just think, hey, why are people still hungry? Why do they still get sick? You know, if that book can make us all adventurers, we can each land a big pile of treasure, and mine, well, mine is going to go back to where I came from and give everyone something to keep them going. It’s a rough life starting from the bottom.”
Tracy nodded and smiled, feeling warmth spread through him as he did so. “If you ever want to talk about it, rest assured, I would keep any secret you told me.”
“Sounds great, man. Or, er, woman?”
“Right now, I’m both,” Tracy explained in a patient and helpful way.
“Right. Well, I’ve got no problem with that. A bloke’s got to be what they’ve got to be,” the assassin said in an offhand manner. He seemed to be losing interest and thinking about something else.
“I made eggs!” yelled a soot-streaked Yenrab, having finally cracked the code of the damp wood and lighting a good cooking fire for morning victuals.
The companions all looked once at each other with hunger before sprinting off to be first in line.
Chapter 11: Hail to Destiny
A week later, the day held a hard chill. The color of the leaves had fled, leaving the world a bit dark and quite depressing. On sunny days, the sky no longer held the blessed promises of warm thrills nor of pleasant strolls. And, in this rocky and poor place of hills and stunted growth, the sky promised nothing but hate, with dark clouds roiling and seething with the promise of icy loathing.
The party of adventurers weren’t happy about it, but their time together had made them a more familiar and cohesive unit. Their response felt quite practiced and rehearsed.
“None of this looks like it is going to be any good,” Yenrab said with a bit of a growl. “Options?”
As if on cue, rain began to fall, turning to ice almost as soon as it hit the ground. It didn’t start with a gentle patter but, rather, put all of its considerable fury into the opening round.
“We need to find a way out of this storm,” Tracy said, looking about with a bit of worry. He thought back to the time when, having gone out with a friend to pick berries, the weather had turned violent. They had run back to their commune only to find it empty, as their fellows had fled to the emergency cave. With a funnel of cloud and wind forming in the sky, they had seen no choice but to take to the ground and hope for the best. The man shuddered.
Yenrab took a deep breath, huffing in the air as he tasted its contents.
“This isn’t good at all, guys. I sense hail coming. Soon.”
The half-orc leaped up atop a large slippery stone and started giving directions. Tracy’s face streamed with frozen celestial waste, but he refused to turn away. The move gave him confidence, and he looked on with approval. The command position suited the barbarian.
“Bern, can you pop up to the top of one of those stunty trees and take a look around?”
The rogue shook his head to the negative, but then realized his fellows might not understand the gesture or might not see it through the murky spill.
“This rain is pretty slick, mate,” Bern Sandros replied shakily, feeling a shiver tear through him. “I don’t think I can get a firm handle.”
Carric Smith piped up, yelling through the tremendous patter of winter’s warning, “I think I see something over there!”
Carric was excited, damp, and steaming fog as a minor heating cantrip tried to keep him warm. Tracy felt disappointed as the man failed to give him any thanks for accomplishing the task.
“Look, up top of that large hill in
the distance!” the bard continued, genuinely proud of his accomplishment here in the field.
The characters all looked about. This icing tundra was decorated minimalistically with rough rocks and boulders, scraggly stunted trees, and large, towering hills. It was getting hard to view through the mess that was the storm. However, with hands up to keep the rain out of their eyes, they could, indeed, see something vaguely, well, building shaped. It was distant, for sure, but maybe if they took the lead out of their boots, they could, really, truly, make it there before the cumulonimbus clouds above turned this horrendous sleet into life-threatening hail.
Plock. Too late. They heard it. The unmistakable sound of a reconnoitering hailstone, probing the land for victims. Too soon, hard balls of vengeful ice would be battering this landscape and anyone unfortunate enough to be caught within it.
“Run!” cried out Yenrab.
They ran. Yenrab plodded forward in the lead, stomping down small obstacles to help his following companions. And they all weaved, skidded, and bobbed as they rushed over slick grass. The tall stalks of it slushed their trousers as they made their frantic way forward. The lot of them took unexpected curves and ridges in the broken ground. At one point in the ice-ridden charge, Carric slipped, and was caught before he fell by an observant, sodden Bern. He nodded thanks, and Bern nodded welcome. It was not a time for words.
Plick. Plock. Bock. The vanguard had arrived. One smashed hard into Yenrab’s shoulder. The massive half-orc grunted and bent into the wind. Bam. A different one, crescent shaped, slapped Bern on the back of his head. He stumbled, and this time, it was the stalwart bard, seizing his hand, that kept him on his path. A concentrated ball of icy mass smacked into Tracy’s nose, spilling blood and a bit of mucus besides. But the party continued, and not so long from there, they succeeded.
Running up an old rocky path through the sleet and ice, passed boulders cracked and shattered by age and weather, with thunder now roaring through the sky at its fleeing prey, the party persevered, barely even looking at the immense, old ruined fort before them before slide-falling into its dry interior. A bit dazed, Bern lit a torch, with the others following suit.
How to Be an Adventurer- World of Gimmok Page 8
