To Pass a Mountain, Writhing
"Writhing? What is that, Dwarfish?" Emil began patting his belt for a tattered Dwarfish dictionary that he knew wasn't there.
"No, that's writhing. After nightfall this mountain comes alive."
The shop keeper was a scrawny old fellow, even for a Dwarf, and his thin elderly frame lacked the stocky form familiar in their kind. His skin was riddled with wrinkles and bright pink veins that throbbed with every heartbeat. Two thick glass lens, acting as bifocals, were suspended before him on six spidery legs that extended to the counter-top to keep up their weight. It was an odd, almost tragic sight that made Emil wonder how many times the lone merchant's stall had been ransacked before. There was no one else for miles.
"Is that liveliness dangerous? I don't see an immediate pass around it, and it is a straight shot to the next town." Emil had asked because of the fleeting day. The songs of birds had long faded and the air now rang with chirping crickets. The sun had sank into the horizon and an orange blanket had fallen over the land. In the eastern sky there was a bounty of stars spread thin across its black expanse. One couldn't even rush before nightfall.
"Quite dangerous. No, you'd better stay here until sunrise. There's an extra bed for rent behind the stall." The frail keep gestured behind him and Emil laughed.
"I couldn't fit on a dwarf's bed!" The comment was every respect a joke, but invalid. Emil was small enough for a pixie's cot. "How much?"
"On a night like this... 800 Gold Pieces." The crooked old man must have tried to size him up financially, but missed his mark by a long shot. Emil attributed that to the twin telescopes the old man had to look through.
"I don't have that kind of money... no one does!"
"Oh... How much do you have?"
Emil tugged the edges of his cloak over his shoulders sternly as he set down the mountain's pass. The night had continued its growth and he somewhat regretted not purchasing a lantern from the dwarf, but the erratic prices had put a bad taste in his mouth. Besides, mountain was easily Emil's preferred travel terrain, much better than the swamps he'd been stomping through for hours. Writhing or not, dirt and pines beat out mud any day. Tree sap scented the whole way like Elven cologne, and a chilly breeze blew through the layer of grime and sweat on Emil's neck in a most refreshing way. The only thing writhing was that shop keep's wallet.
Pushing just past the mouth of the pass, before Emil had adjusted to the creeping darkness, a light appeared in the converging trail to his right. The orange flicker danced and, lantern or torch, made Emil hopeful. He had yet to be concerned with the potential of highway men and looters on his travels and always saw another wanderer as an opportunity. Sometimes they were potential allies, mentors, and, in this case, Emil hoped a guide. Sweeping the iron sole of his boot back and letting the weight of his belongings rest in a familiar place, the fisherman let weight onto his lead foot and began trotting up the trail to where the fork appeared. He wanted to appear just ahead of the other travel, as not to approach like a threat from behind. Odd, perhaps, that Emil didn't concern himself with the inverse.
(Partner quest, reserved)