Oro
Fledgling Freddie
- Joined
- Mar 3, 2004
- Messages
- 691
Kingal sprinted through the lush grass of Breifine laughing to himself. Another kobold dispatched by the clever elf. No matter how hard they tried, neither Albions or Midgardians could catch him, for he was indeed a very clever elf, skilled with his bow, and a truly cunning stalker of the hills and valleys.
Slowing as he reached a small forest, he found a shady spot to rest and sat with his back against a tree while he caught his breath again. He smiled to himself as he thought of the rest of the kobold's patrol searching fruitlessly for him. He absently picked at loose bits of grass that had stuck to his green silk shirt. He was always very mindful of his appearance.
It didn't do to return to Tir Na Nog dishevelled with the appearance of a vagabond - the ladies just wouldn't appreciate that.
Checking his quivers, he saw he was running low on arrows now but for almost every arrow used there was a new notch in his bow to mark another victory, such was his prowess with the weapon. He had two choices as he saw it. He could roam the woods to find materials to fletch new arrows or he could leave the dangerous frontier regions to restock which would take longer but had the advantage of bringing him into contact with young ladies bound to be impressed with his good looks, well dressed manner and breezy charm. Yes, it had been a month or so since he'd visited Tir Na Nog. Back to share his stories with willing listeners!
With his short rest over, he stood up and dusted himself down, quickly inspecting himself before setting off. Kingal began to trace a route just slightly off the centre of the forest, aiming for the low lying hills where he would be able to spot any enemies long before they could see him - he was also a very practical elf. He knew these lands like the back of his hand, and delighted in the varied and lush vegetation. Even in the rain, these lands held beauty for him and was it not an elf's duty to take delight in all these things too? Of course it was! And so he did, while keeping a careful eye out for any possible enemies roaming.
The forest gradually gave way to rolling hills. Kingal still moved cautiously, eyes darting all around. He sniffed the air and frowned. Trolls. How they thought they could sneak up on anyone he did not know. Wrinkling his nose in disgust he decided he'd bear more east. He had a feeling there were more than a few of them. Avoidance was also part of a ranger's skills. The change in direction took him off his usual routes, giving him a wider berth of the troll... what? patrol? raiding party? Who knew, he would have to leave it for now anyway.
Passing close to a clump of trees, he stopped dead in his tracks. He'd never noticed that there before. Nestled in between them in such a way that you'd have to almost be on top of it to see it, was a little thatched cottage. It was a rough stone building with a straw roof but in front of it was a meticulously tended garden, with vegetables growing in neat rows. Kingal recognised most of the vegetables, but there were some dark hued ones he didn't know.
Automatically hunching down, Kingal started to circle the cottage. There shouldn't be anything here. Nobody was stupid enough to place a dwelling in the frontier areas. The door to the cottage opened and Kingal immediately lay flat in the tall grass and was completely still. It creaked a little as it gently swung ******ds and there revealed in the doorway was a massive troll. The troll had a basket in its huge hands and went straight to the neat rows of vegetables and crouched down, apparently busy with weeding the garden. Kingal edged a little closer for a better look. He could hear the troll rumbling deep in its throat. It took a few moments for Kingal to realise the troll was humming a tune to itself.
Kingal was very puzzled. A troll in a cottage on the Hibernian frontier. Inwardly he shrugged and slowly unslung his bow.
Only good troll's a dead troll. Pulling two arrows from his quiver he put one between his teeth and notched the other. He drew back the bow and waited for a clear shot. Eye-shot would be best, only sure way to take down these thick skinned brutes.
The troll puttered around in the garden, oblivious to the lithe ranger targetting him. It wasn't long before the troll shuffled around and presented a reasonable shot. Kingal drew the bowstring back the whole way. He was about to let fly when out of the corner of his eye he noticed a small sign at the edge of the garden. The sign read "Ham Fisted - Tailor". The thing that stopped Kingal from releasing the arrow was the sign was written in Hibernian. It was rough, lacking the clean strokes an Elf or Celt might produce but nevertheless, it was clearly written in his mother tongue.
Kingal eased the pressure off the bowstring and pondered this a few moments. Nodding to himself he pulled the bowstring fully back again and shouted out in Hibernian, "Greetings tailor, how goes the gardening this fine day?"
The troll slowly stood, and rubbed his back, as if it ached after bending over in his garden and boomed back in a rock-cracking approximation of Hibernian, "Garden doin' well. Make nice soup tonight."
The troll peered into the undergrowth, trying to work out where the voice had come from.
"Tell me troll," shouted Kingal, "as an enemy of Hibernia why I shouldn't put this arrow through your eye where you stand?"
Ham peered back into the undergrowth, but now seemed to have worked out where the voice was coming from.
"Your skin itchin' yet little elf? You're lyin' in Slowgrass. Ham can make cure but if you don' wan' it, you might make it to Ligen before you drop dead. Some strong ones make it there before the poison eats 'em through but still to late for druids to be healin'."
Kingal froze. Sure enough, he could feel a prickling on his skin. He'd ignored it thinking it was just one more discomfort that a ranger had to suffer when stalking his prey. He glanced down at his hands and saw a rash beginning on his wrists. He felt a slight fluttering of panic.
"How can I trust you troll?"
Ham absently scratched his neck, "Ham made promise long time ago. Won't be bad to any Hibernian that doesn't try to be bad to Ham. You nice to me, I nice to you."
Kingal paused miserably. The troll had him. He could feel the itching rising and his fingers were starting to tingle. He relaxed the bowstring and put this arrows back in their quiver. Slinging the bow over a shoulder, he stood up and faced the troll. Putting on his best bravado to to hide any fear he said, "Then well met Ham, I will accept your hospitality."
Ham made a noise like distant thunder which may or may not have been a chuckle, "Well met little elf. Come in we fix 'at rash and we see if I got anything you want to buy."
Kingal rolled his eyes up to the sky, shook his head, and followed the troll inside the cottage. The interior was dim, but not too dark. Kingal noticed immediately the place was immaculately tidy. To one side there were neat racks of clothes. Some hanging, some carefully stacked by type. Jerkins, trousers, shirts, cloaks, scarves... if it could be worn and made of cloth it was likely in there somewhere.
Ham noticed Kingal stopping to look, "Browse after, first we cure."
Kingal allowed himself to be led through to what seemed to be the kitchen. There was a stove but other than that it seemed to be more of a store room for all manner of herbs and vegetables. On the stove, a cauldron bubbled away, pieces of carrot and potatoe showing floating here and there.
"Making stew?" asked Kingal.
"Soup." rumbled Ham, as he started rifling through his shelves, "Is only stew if has meat in. Don't hunt, so no have meat very often."
Kingal visibly paled.
"Don't worry little elf. I won't harm what won't harm me."
He paused wistfully, and continued rummaging until he found a small stone jar,"Aha! Hmm not much left. Get lots of elves trying to be clever in the Slowgrass. Have to cure 'em lots. I make more tomorrow."
Kingal was only half listening to the big troll's musings. Aside from the itching becoming almost unbearable, he was looking around the place. Mostly the decor was rough and basic but here and there were hints of Hibernia - a vase too fine to have been made by rough troll hands or some wine bottles showing Hibernian vineyard markings. A curious troll this.
Ham rubbed his chin, looking at the elf then the stone jar in his hand, "Two spoons. You only little elf."
He picked up a metal tankard and dipped it in a pail of water, and took a wooden spoon to ladel out into the tankard from the stone har. Kingal eyed it suspiciously. He wondered if it was fresh water or if it used to belong to Ham. Ham thrust the tankard under Kingal's chin.
"Drink." he commanded.
Kingal wrinkled his nose and gingerly took the tankard. It smelled foul but at least it didn't smell like troll piss.
"One gulp works best. Gets through you fast." rumbled Ham.
Kingal finally worked up the courage to drink it and tipped up the tankard. He coughed as he drained the last drop.
Ham guffawed and slapped Kingal on the back, "Good medicine, eh?"
Kingal looked at Ham but said nothing, feeling a little queasy.
Ham smiled good naturedly at Kingal, "Tummy will be a little upsy-dupsy for a few hours but itch will go fast and the tingle fade soon. You will live little elf."
Ham inspected his soup, giving it a token stir and a satisfied sniff, then beckoned Kingal out of the kitchen, "Wanna see what I been making? Ham is good tailor!"
Kingal decided he wanted to be on his way as soon as possible. The ego of this clever and practical elf had taken a knock being caught out by something as simple as poisonous grass. Best not upset the troll though, he was obviously proud of his tailoring.
"Surely, but I must be on my way soon though."
Ham's eyes twinkled with obvious pride as Kingal began to browse through the clothes.
"Careful, little elf. Ham uses pins to keep the sleeves folded, don't catch yourself."
Kingal nodded and continued browsing. There was nothing of real elegance or style here. It was all rustic and colourful, but nothing that would impress the ladies in Tir Na Nog. He continued longer, and made false appreciative noises every now and then but he quickly grew bored. Time to seek an exit.
"These are fine wares to be sure, friend Ham, but not really the type of things I would wear back home. Unless you have other wares?"
He was fairly sure the answer would be no then he could be on his way. To his surprise Ham, knotted his hands and looked slightly wretched. Kingal's curiousity was immediately piqued.
"Well...", said Ham and then his voice trailed off.
"Go on, friend?" cajolled Kingal.
"Well, I have special clothes, the finest silks and sylvan cloths."
AHA! Thought Kingal to himself, the rough stuff was a front, to ward off thieves.
"But, well, lots of people try to rob Ham, so I lock them up."
"Well you saved my life friend Ham, you can trust me." said Kingal, more oil dripping into his voice than he meant. The troll seemed oblivious and after appearing to wrestle with himself a few moments, led Kingal through to a small room. The room was empty, except for a large wardrobe, that filled nearly the whole of one side of the room. Ham reached inside his jerkin and pulled out a large brass key and unlocked the wardrobe. He gestured to the wardrobe and motioned for Kingal to open it.
Kingal stepped forward and slowly pulled back the doors.
The contents were clothes which the finest elven tailors could only hope to match. Shirts of silk so fine they glowed when the light caught them, cloaks with such cunning weave they moved as water beneath the fingertips. Kingal was awed. His mind whirled. Surely this slow troll couldn't make appareil of such quality. He lightly ran his fingers over the edge of each item as he looked along. To show these clothes at their best would take an elf such as Kingal. He would have to find a way to convince the troll to part with the items he wanted.
There was a hissing noise from the kitchen. Immediately, Ham lumbered off, "Soup boiling, got to take off stove. No touch until make trade with Ham anything you like."
Kingal nodded assent but as soon as the troll was out of sight and in the kitchen he selected a cloak and a shirt that he'd particularly fancied and quickly removed them. Opening his pack he shoved them in, hurriedly closing it again. He heard Ham's heavy footsteps on the stone floor as the troll returned. As he entered the room, the troll was wiping his mouth, "Soup ready, I eat soon. Not wishing to hurry elf, but you see anything you want to buy from Ham?"
"Well," said Kingal, suddenly feeling dizzy," nothing I couldn't get in Tir Na Nog and I don't have much coin with me."
Kingal staggered slightly and the troll's beaming grin turned into a disappointed frown.
"You stole." said Ham simply.
Kingal's legs went out from under him and he began to fall.
"I tell you not to touch and to ask Ham first," said the troll as he caught Kingal before he hit the floor. Turning Kingal over he inspected him and on the palm of Kingal's hand, there was a small clot of blood.
"Told you I use pins to keep the clothes folded right. Pins in this room got poison to stop thieves."
"But.." said Kingal, as his breath started to come laboured and ragged, "you showed me the wardrobe so I'd steal from you?"
Ham looked unhappy, "No, I always hope one will come that won't steal. All steal."
Ham stood up and began to drag Kingal through to the kitchen.
"And its not wardrobe. It trophy cabinet. Nice shirt on your back, elf."
Kingal's breathing was hoarse now, he could feel darkness closing in on him.
"And looks like Ham having stew after all."
Slowing as he reached a small forest, he found a shady spot to rest and sat with his back against a tree while he caught his breath again. He smiled to himself as he thought of the rest of the kobold's patrol searching fruitlessly for him. He absently picked at loose bits of grass that had stuck to his green silk shirt. He was always very mindful of his appearance.
It didn't do to return to Tir Na Nog dishevelled with the appearance of a vagabond - the ladies just wouldn't appreciate that.
Checking his quivers, he saw he was running low on arrows now but for almost every arrow used there was a new notch in his bow to mark another victory, such was his prowess with the weapon. He had two choices as he saw it. He could roam the woods to find materials to fletch new arrows or he could leave the dangerous frontier regions to restock which would take longer but had the advantage of bringing him into contact with young ladies bound to be impressed with his good looks, well dressed manner and breezy charm. Yes, it had been a month or so since he'd visited Tir Na Nog. Back to share his stories with willing listeners!
With his short rest over, he stood up and dusted himself down, quickly inspecting himself before setting off. Kingal began to trace a route just slightly off the centre of the forest, aiming for the low lying hills where he would be able to spot any enemies long before they could see him - he was also a very practical elf. He knew these lands like the back of his hand, and delighted in the varied and lush vegetation. Even in the rain, these lands held beauty for him and was it not an elf's duty to take delight in all these things too? Of course it was! And so he did, while keeping a careful eye out for any possible enemies roaming.
The forest gradually gave way to rolling hills. Kingal still moved cautiously, eyes darting all around. He sniffed the air and frowned. Trolls. How they thought they could sneak up on anyone he did not know. Wrinkling his nose in disgust he decided he'd bear more east. He had a feeling there were more than a few of them. Avoidance was also part of a ranger's skills. The change in direction took him off his usual routes, giving him a wider berth of the troll... what? patrol? raiding party? Who knew, he would have to leave it for now anyway.
Passing close to a clump of trees, he stopped dead in his tracks. He'd never noticed that there before. Nestled in between them in such a way that you'd have to almost be on top of it to see it, was a little thatched cottage. It was a rough stone building with a straw roof but in front of it was a meticulously tended garden, with vegetables growing in neat rows. Kingal recognised most of the vegetables, but there were some dark hued ones he didn't know.
Automatically hunching down, Kingal started to circle the cottage. There shouldn't be anything here. Nobody was stupid enough to place a dwelling in the frontier areas. The door to the cottage opened and Kingal immediately lay flat in the tall grass and was completely still. It creaked a little as it gently swung ******ds and there revealed in the doorway was a massive troll. The troll had a basket in its huge hands and went straight to the neat rows of vegetables and crouched down, apparently busy with weeding the garden. Kingal edged a little closer for a better look. He could hear the troll rumbling deep in its throat. It took a few moments for Kingal to realise the troll was humming a tune to itself.
Kingal was very puzzled. A troll in a cottage on the Hibernian frontier. Inwardly he shrugged and slowly unslung his bow.
Only good troll's a dead troll. Pulling two arrows from his quiver he put one between his teeth and notched the other. He drew back the bow and waited for a clear shot. Eye-shot would be best, only sure way to take down these thick skinned brutes.
The troll puttered around in the garden, oblivious to the lithe ranger targetting him. It wasn't long before the troll shuffled around and presented a reasonable shot. Kingal drew the bowstring back the whole way. He was about to let fly when out of the corner of his eye he noticed a small sign at the edge of the garden. The sign read "Ham Fisted - Tailor". The thing that stopped Kingal from releasing the arrow was the sign was written in Hibernian. It was rough, lacking the clean strokes an Elf or Celt might produce but nevertheless, it was clearly written in his mother tongue.
Kingal eased the pressure off the bowstring and pondered this a few moments. Nodding to himself he pulled the bowstring fully back again and shouted out in Hibernian, "Greetings tailor, how goes the gardening this fine day?"
The troll slowly stood, and rubbed his back, as if it ached after bending over in his garden and boomed back in a rock-cracking approximation of Hibernian, "Garden doin' well. Make nice soup tonight."
The troll peered into the undergrowth, trying to work out where the voice had come from.
"Tell me troll," shouted Kingal, "as an enemy of Hibernia why I shouldn't put this arrow through your eye where you stand?"
Ham peered back into the undergrowth, but now seemed to have worked out where the voice was coming from.
"Your skin itchin' yet little elf? You're lyin' in Slowgrass. Ham can make cure but if you don' wan' it, you might make it to Ligen before you drop dead. Some strong ones make it there before the poison eats 'em through but still to late for druids to be healin'."
Kingal froze. Sure enough, he could feel a prickling on his skin. He'd ignored it thinking it was just one more discomfort that a ranger had to suffer when stalking his prey. He glanced down at his hands and saw a rash beginning on his wrists. He felt a slight fluttering of panic.
"How can I trust you troll?"
Ham absently scratched his neck, "Ham made promise long time ago. Won't be bad to any Hibernian that doesn't try to be bad to Ham. You nice to me, I nice to you."
Kingal paused miserably. The troll had him. He could feel the itching rising and his fingers were starting to tingle. He relaxed the bowstring and put this arrows back in their quiver. Slinging the bow over a shoulder, he stood up and faced the troll. Putting on his best bravado to to hide any fear he said, "Then well met Ham, I will accept your hospitality."
Ham made a noise like distant thunder which may or may not have been a chuckle, "Well met little elf. Come in we fix 'at rash and we see if I got anything you want to buy."
Kingal rolled his eyes up to the sky, shook his head, and followed the troll inside the cottage. The interior was dim, but not too dark. Kingal noticed immediately the place was immaculately tidy. To one side there were neat racks of clothes. Some hanging, some carefully stacked by type. Jerkins, trousers, shirts, cloaks, scarves... if it could be worn and made of cloth it was likely in there somewhere.
Ham noticed Kingal stopping to look, "Browse after, first we cure."
Kingal allowed himself to be led through to what seemed to be the kitchen. There was a stove but other than that it seemed to be more of a store room for all manner of herbs and vegetables. On the stove, a cauldron bubbled away, pieces of carrot and potatoe showing floating here and there.
"Making stew?" asked Kingal.
"Soup." rumbled Ham, as he started rifling through his shelves, "Is only stew if has meat in. Don't hunt, so no have meat very often."
Kingal visibly paled.
"Don't worry little elf. I won't harm what won't harm me."
He paused wistfully, and continued rummaging until he found a small stone jar,"Aha! Hmm not much left. Get lots of elves trying to be clever in the Slowgrass. Have to cure 'em lots. I make more tomorrow."
Kingal was only half listening to the big troll's musings. Aside from the itching becoming almost unbearable, he was looking around the place. Mostly the decor was rough and basic but here and there were hints of Hibernia - a vase too fine to have been made by rough troll hands or some wine bottles showing Hibernian vineyard markings. A curious troll this.
Ham rubbed his chin, looking at the elf then the stone jar in his hand, "Two spoons. You only little elf."
He picked up a metal tankard and dipped it in a pail of water, and took a wooden spoon to ladel out into the tankard from the stone har. Kingal eyed it suspiciously. He wondered if it was fresh water or if it used to belong to Ham. Ham thrust the tankard under Kingal's chin.
"Drink." he commanded.
Kingal wrinkled his nose and gingerly took the tankard. It smelled foul but at least it didn't smell like troll piss.
"One gulp works best. Gets through you fast." rumbled Ham.
Kingal finally worked up the courage to drink it and tipped up the tankard. He coughed as he drained the last drop.
Ham guffawed and slapped Kingal on the back, "Good medicine, eh?"
Kingal looked at Ham but said nothing, feeling a little queasy.
Ham smiled good naturedly at Kingal, "Tummy will be a little upsy-dupsy for a few hours but itch will go fast and the tingle fade soon. You will live little elf."
Ham inspected his soup, giving it a token stir and a satisfied sniff, then beckoned Kingal out of the kitchen, "Wanna see what I been making? Ham is good tailor!"
Kingal decided he wanted to be on his way as soon as possible. The ego of this clever and practical elf had taken a knock being caught out by something as simple as poisonous grass. Best not upset the troll though, he was obviously proud of his tailoring.
"Surely, but I must be on my way soon though."
Ham's eyes twinkled with obvious pride as Kingal began to browse through the clothes.
"Careful, little elf. Ham uses pins to keep the sleeves folded, don't catch yourself."
Kingal nodded and continued browsing. There was nothing of real elegance or style here. It was all rustic and colourful, but nothing that would impress the ladies in Tir Na Nog. He continued longer, and made false appreciative noises every now and then but he quickly grew bored. Time to seek an exit.
"These are fine wares to be sure, friend Ham, but not really the type of things I would wear back home. Unless you have other wares?"
He was fairly sure the answer would be no then he could be on his way. To his surprise Ham, knotted his hands and looked slightly wretched. Kingal's curiousity was immediately piqued.
"Well...", said Ham and then his voice trailed off.
"Go on, friend?" cajolled Kingal.
"Well, I have special clothes, the finest silks and sylvan cloths."
AHA! Thought Kingal to himself, the rough stuff was a front, to ward off thieves.
"But, well, lots of people try to rob Ham, so I lock them up."
"Well you saved my life friend Ham, you can trust me." said Kingal, more oil dripping into his voice than he meant. The troll seemed oblivious and after appearing to wrestle with himself a few moments, led Kingal through to a small room. The room was empty, except for a large wardrobe, that filled nearly the whole of one side of the room. Ham reached inside his jerkin and pulled out a large brass key and unlocked the wardrobe. He gestured to the wardrobe and motioned for Kingal to open it.
Kingal stepped forward and slowly pulled back the doors.
The contents were clothes which the finest elven tailors could only hope to match. Shirts of silk so fine they glowed when the light caught them, cloaks with such cunning weave they moved as water beneath the fingertips. Kingal was awed. His mind whirled. Surely this slow troll couldn't make appareil of such quality. He lightly ran his fingers over the edge of each item as he looked along. To show these clothes at their best would take an elf such as Kingal. He would have to find a way to convince the troll to part with the items he wanted.
There was a hissing noise from the kitchen. Immediately, Ham lumbered off, "Soup boiling, got to take off stove. No touch until make trade with Ham anything you like."
Kingal nodded assent but as soon as the troll was out of sight and in the kitchen he selected a cloak and a shirt that he'd particularly fancied and quickly removed them. Opening his pack he shoved them in, hurriedly closing it again. He heard Ham's heavy footsteps on the stone floor as the troll returned. As he entered the room, the troll was wiping his mouth, "Soup ready, I eat soon. Not wishing to hurry elf, but you see anything you want to buy from Ham?"
"Well," said Kingal, suddenly feeling dizzy," nothing I couldn't get in Tir Na Nog and I don't have much coin with me."
Kingal staggered slightly and the troll's beaming grin turned into a disappointed frown.
"You stole." said Ham simply.
Kingal's legs went out from under him and he began to fall.
"I tell you not to touch and to ask Ham first," said the troll as he caught Kingal before he hit the floor. Turning Kingal over he inspected him and on the palm of Kingal's hand, there was a small clot of blood.
"Told you I use pins to keep the clothes folded right. Pins in this room got poison to stop thieves."
"But.." said Kingal, as his breath started to come laboured and ragged, "you showed me the wardrobe so I'd steal from you?"
Ham looked unhappy, "No, I always hope one will come that won't steal. All steal."
Ham stood up and began to drag Kingal through to the kitchen.
"And its not wardrobe. It trophy cabinet. Nice shirt on your back, elf."
Kingal's breathing was hoarse now, he could feel darkness closing in on him.
"And looks like Ham having stew after all."
