Earthwalker
11-20-07, 04:09 AM
Closed to Herald
Note: Any bunnying that occurs in this thread was probably worked out ahead of time, for the sake of keeping the plot moving.
The man in Radasanth who had given Leander his letter had been a shady character – not the kind he would have normally accepted a job from – but jobs had been scarce at best lately, and he couldn’t afford to turn it down. The letter still smelled of alcohol and other, more esoteric scents, cloying and sickly, that Leander couldn’t even hope to identify. He hoped fervently that the scent wouldn’t linger in his bag after he had delivered the message to “Raphael” in the small mountain town of Borough. “This guy, Raphael, you see?” the trapper who had hired him had said, exhaling strongly after each statement. “He’s thin, you see? You probably find him in a bar or inn, you see?” Leander shuddered at the thought of his employer’s rancid breath. He couldn’t understand how a man could let himself grow so fetid and rotten. The man’s preliminary pay, however, had allowed Leander to restock his dwindling supply of hunting arrows, and pick up a good-sized chunk of bread and cheese at the local market, assuring his ability to eat for a good time to come.
And Leander was certainly feeling the effects of his purchases now. His entire body felt alive with energy, despite the fact that he had spent the morning running up the foothills that led to Borough’s farming community, two days travel out from the South Road. Perched atop a raised section of earth, the town over-looked large pastures used for raising sheep, as well as a few crop-farmers further east. The land to the north of the town was largely rocky and unusable by the farmers, and thus was relegated to a romping ground for the local youth. A stream of some considerable size ran through the stones of the area, providing the town with its fresh water. To the south, a small stand of trees grew, which edged up the ridge behind it to disappear into a tendril of the great Concordia Forest. The town itself was a thrifty combination of the elements of the land around it – rocks from the north formed the foundation, while the rare two-story building incorporated a wooden upper level crafted from the trees to the south. The majority of the roofs were thatched with heather and brush harvested from the mountains, though some small number of the houses sported tacked slate atop their frames, adding to the town an integrated feel – this was not a town set down upon the foot of a mountain, but a town built into the foot of a mountain.
As his legs propelled him along the dirt track into Borough, Leander kept a lookout for the inn or tavern his unkempt employer had bid him seek. Spying a battered and weathered sign outside of one of the town’s two-story buildings, he jogged closer – further scrutiny revealed it to be a faded representation of something purple; grapes, perhaps? Pushing the door open, he found the familiar atmosphere of a mountain tavern, rugged, perhaps a mite bit unclean, but full of the scent of fine ale, brewed by men who knew their craft. Perhaps some villages had weak ales and pitiful brews, but Leander could tell by scent that this was not one of them. To overdrink, his father had always said, was a gross wrong – but to enjoy a fine beverage now and then was nothing more than expected. His mother had not said so much on the subject, but he’d seen her swig down harder alcohols than his father ever touched more than once or twice, and wink whenever she caught him looking.
However, the message came first. As his eyes adjusted to the fire-lit interior of the tavern, he spied only three other individuals besides himself in the bar. The first, who appeared to be the barkeep, wore a stained apron that accentuated a moderately-sized beer-gut. He was conversing with the other two, who sat together on the other side of the bar, wearing matching longswords and tunics. The closer of the two was gesturing in the air while explaining something to the barkeep, who was listening intently. The further of the two, shorter by a fraction of an inch but with hair down to his shoulders to compensate, had an amused expression on his face, which broke out into a slow chuckle as the first man concluded his tale. The barkeep stared for a moment, and burst out into a hearty round of laughter before slapping the both of them on the shoulders and offering them another drink. As the two men drank up, the longer-haired one murmured something to the other, of which Leander heard only a name – “Raphael.”
What luck! Leander had hardly expected to find a lead on his delivery so soon – he had been prepared to wait until close to nightfall before hearing anything of Raphael, and here he had heard the name before even being in the town for four minutes. Striding over to the men, he addressed the two of them in a polite tone. “I just heard one of you mention the name Raphael – if its not a bother, would one of you mind directing me to him?" He indicated the red sash over his shoulder, proclaiming his status as a courier to those before him, "I’ve got a message for him.”
Note: Any bunnying that occurs in this thread was probably worked out ahead of time, for the sake of keeping the plot moving.
The man in Radasanth who had given Leander his letter had been a shady character – not the kind he would have normally accepted a job from – but jobs had been scarce at best lately, and he couldn’t afford to turn it down. The letter still smelled of alcohol and other, more esoteric scents, cloying and sickly, that Leander couldn’t even hope to identify. He hoped fervently that the scent wouldn’t linger in his bag after he had delivered the message to “Raphael” in the small mountain town of Borough. “This guy, Raphael, you see?” the trapper who had hired him had said, exhaling strongly after each statement. “He’s thin, you see? You probably find him in a bar or inn, you see?” Leander shuddered at the thought of his employer’s rancid breath. He couldn’t understand how a man could let himself grow so fetid and rotten. The man’s preliminary pay, however, had allowed Leander to restock his dwindling supply of hunting arrows, and pick up a good-sized chunk of bread and cheese at the local market, assuring his ability to eat for a good time to come.
And Leander was certainly feeling the effects of his purchases now. His entire body felt alive with energy, despite the fact that he had spent the morning running up the foothills that led to Borough’s farming community, two days travel out from the South Road. Perched atop a raised section of earth, the town over-looked large pastures used for raising sheep, as well as a few crop-farmers further east. The land to the north of the town was largely rocky and unusable by the farmers, and thus was relegated to a romping ground for the local youth. A stream of some considerable size ran through the stones of the area, providing the town with its fresh water. To the south, a small stand of trees grew, which edged up the ridge behind it to disappear into a tendril of the great Concordia Forest. The town itself was a thrifty combination of the elements of the land around it – rocks from the north formed the foundation, while the rare two-story building incorporated a wooden upper level crafted from the trees to the south. The majority of the roofs were thatched with heather and brush harvested from the mountains, though some small number of the houses sported tacked slate atop their frames, adding to the town an integrated feel – this was not a town set down upon the foot of a mountain, but a town built into the foot of a mountain.
As his legs propelled him along the dirt track into Borough, Leander kept a lookout for the inn or tavern his unkempt employer had bid him seek. Spying a battered and weathered sign outside of one of the town’s two-story buildings, he jogged closer – further scrutiny revealed it to be a faded representation of something purple; grapes, perhaps? Pushing the door open, he found the familiar atmosphere of a mountain tavern, rugged, perhaps a mite bit unclean, but full of the scent of fine ale, brewed by men who knew their craft. Perhaps some villages had weak ales and pitiful brews, but Leander could tell by scent that this was not one of them. To overdrink, his father had always said, was a gross wrong – but to enjoy a fine beverage now and then was nothing more than expected. His mother had not said so much on the subject, but he’d seen her swig down harder alcohols than his father ever touched more than once or twice, and wink whenever she caught him looking.
However, the message came first. As his eyes adjusted to the fire-lit interior of the tavern, he spied only three other individuals besides himself in the bar. The first, who appeared to be the barkeep, wore a stained apron that accentuated a moderately-sized beer-gut. He was conversing with the other two, who sat together on the other side of the bar, wearing matching longswords and tunics. The closer of the two was gesturing in the air while explaining something to the barkeep, who was listening intently. The further of the two, shorter by a fraction of an inch but with hair down to his shoulders to compensate, had an amused expression on his face, which broke out into a slow chuckle as the first man concluded his tale. The barkeep stared for a moment, and burst out into a hearty round of laughter before slapping the both of them on the shoulders and offering them another drink. As the two men drank up, the longer-haired one murmured something to the other, of which Leander heard only a name – “Raphael.”
What luck! Leander had hardly expected to find a lead on his delivery so soon – he had been prepared to wait until close to nightfall before hearing anything of Raphael, and here he had heard the name before even being in the town for four minutes. Striding over to the men, he addressed the two of them in a polite tone. “I just heard one of you mention the name Raphael – if its not a bother, would one of you mind directing me to him?" He indicated the red sash over his shoulder, proclaiming his status as a courier to those before him, "I’ve got a message for him.”