Alden
01-16-13, 07:10 AM
(Closed to Chibimon Blue)
It was noon-time in Scara Brae, where the thriving island city, bustling with life, truly began to shine. Merchants, selling their exotic trades from the frontier, captured their voice with renewed vigor. Travelers and entertainers alike enjoyed the city’s many sights. Housewives sang as they hung their clothes out to dry, their children played in the streets.
And the local taverns pushed out their best meals.
In such a tavern Alden sat, accompanied by Petyr, his old friend from the Guard who had first found him when the half-ling had woken up in the Brokenthorn Forest half-crazed and with no memories. The tavern was called, The Sea’s Salt, a favorite among the local sailors and dockhands of the city. Petyr himself had been a hand before the mast, long before he met his wife and settled that life aside.
The air was filled with jovial conversation and laughter, the clinking of mugs and the scent of good food. The half-ling looked around at the various patrons, most were tanned seamen, others were old codgers with no other place to go. Alden even spotted another guardsman; an elf wearing a red scarf, and what looked like a small winged creature atop his shoulder. They laughed heartily with a few others nearby, and the elf took small sips of his ale.
“I’m telling ye, Alden,” Petyr continued, “It may be the only way.” The man rubbed his face with a thick calloused hand, and sighed deep. “I’m too stressed, is all. I can barely get a’ ounce o’ sleep with all the worries I’m carrying.” Alden kept silent, listening intently, letting his friend unravel his thoughts.
“The cap’n has been cracking down ‘ard, what with the Scourge coming back in force. We got gods know what coming in from the frontier these days, and worse o’ all” – the man threw his hands wide – “we got a baby on th’ way!” The man slumped in his chair, heavy with the burdens he carried.
“What do I do, Alden?” he asked softly. He looked at the half-ling with pleading eyes. “What do I do if I’m hurt, or I go an’ get m’self killed? Who’ll look after Freda an’ the little ones then?” The man kept looking a question at Alden, and the half-ling could tell he wanted a response.
He took a moment to collect his thoughts, and answered. “You leave something behind. Something that could help them get through the pain of your loss.” The guardsman started nodding, clearly already at the same conclusion, though Alden knew they didn’t have the same answer in mind.
“Aye,” he said. “That’s what I've been trying to tell Freda all along. This so-called tournament could set us up for life! ‘It’s dangerous,’ she said. ‘You haven’t had a true fight in years,’ she said.” The man threw up his hands in dismissal and took a gulp of ale. “Bah! I can still fight.” Alden looked at the man. He doubted his friend’s ability, but not his conviction. Petyr had more fire than any one man he knew.
“Come,” the half-ling said with a smile, “let’s leave these thoughts behind.” The half-ling stood up from his chair, met by his friend’s skeptical eyes. But the man relented with a chuckle, a snort and another gulp of ale, then he too rose from his seat.
The pair left their payment on the table, and met the midday sun with a smile.
It was noon-time in Scara Brae, where the thriving island city, bustling with life, truly began to shine. Merchants, selling their exotic trades from the frontier, captured their voice with renewed vigor. Travelers and entertainers alike enjoyed the city’s many sights. Housewives sang as they hung their clothes out to dry, their children played in the streets.
And the local taverns pushed out their best meals.
In such a tavern Alden sat, accompanied by Petyr, his old friend from the Guard who had first found him when the half-ling had woken up in the Brokenthorn Forest half-crazed and with no memories. The tavern was called, The Sea’s Salt, a favorite among the local sailors and dockhands of the city. Petyr himself had been a hand before the mast, long before he met his wife and settled that life aside.
The air was filled with jovial conversation and laughter, the clinking of mugs and the scent of good food. The half-ling looked around at the various patrons, most were tanned seamen, others were old codgers with no other place to go. Alden even spotted another guardsman; an elf wearing a red scarf, and what looked like a small winged creature atop his shoulder. They laughed heartily with a few others nearby, and the elf took small sips of his ale.
“I’m telling ye, Alden,” Petyr continued, “It may be the only way.” The man rubbed his face with a thick calloused hand, and sighed deep. “I’m too stressed, is all. I can barely get a’ ounce o’ sleep with all the worries I’m carrying.” Alden kept silent, listening intently, letting his friend unravel his thoughts.
“The cap’n has been cracking down ‘ard, what with the Scourge coming back in force. We got gods know what coming in from the frontier these days, and worse o’ all” – the man threw his hands wide – “we got a baby on th’ way!” The man slumped in his chair, heavy with the burdens he carried.
“What do I do, Alden?” he asked softly. He looked at the half-ling with pleading eyes. “What do I do if I’m hurt, or I go an’ get m’self killed? Who’ll look after Freda an’ the little ones then?” The man kept looking a question at Alden, and the half-ling could tell he wanted a response.
He took a moment to collect his thoughts, and answered. “You leave something behind. Something that could help them get through the pain of your loss.” The guardsman started nodding, clearly already at the same conclusion, though Alden knew they didn’t have the same answer in mind.
“Aye,” he said. “That’s what I've been trying to tell Freda all along. This so-called tournament could set us up for life! ‘It’s dangerous,’ she said. ‘You haven’t had a true fight in years,’ she said.” The man threw up his hands in dismissal and took a gulp of ale. “Bah! I can still fight.” Alden looked at the man. He doubted his friend’s ability, but not his conviction. Petyr had more fire than any one man he knew.
“Come,” the half-ling said with a smile, “let’s leave these thoughts behind.” The half-ling stood up from his chair, met by his friend’s skeptical eyes. But the man relented with a chuckle, a snort and another gulp of ale, then he too rose from his seat.
The pair left their payment on the table, and met the midday sun with a smile.