A Single Oar

[someome 2053]

A series of old transcripts found among someones things on Suticas boat to Atlas

 

He lifts his head up slightly, the thrum of a hangover making its way into his eyes, but thank the Creator it's misty, so the sun isn't jabbing him in the damn eyes. He finishes sitting up, and notices alot of things. A little too much for someone who just woke with a hangover to deal with.

 

His armor is gone, just tunic and pants. Someone also stole his damned axe. He just got that from a orcish fellow before his last job, praise the Creator again for orcish weapons. The last job went to ****.

 

He's covered in wounds, and burns. Bruises everywhere, finally realizes his left eye is swollen shut. Hopefully whoever did that doesn't have a jaw in return.

 

He's on a damn BOAT and it's cold. He's looted Johannesburg before, he knows cold, intimately well, so no big concern, but the boat part is an issue. So he sighs and looks around the small boat. The sail is up just no wind seems to be hitting it, so he reaches for a nearby oar an-

 

There is a mali'ker on the oar. Why is there a mali'ker on this oar? The mans barely trousers on and seems equally ruined by whatever led to this situation, so he looks around for another oar and...nothing.

 

The single oar of the ship, is currently being hugged by a unconscious mali'ker.

 

So he backs to one end, and wait. The mists shimmer slightly, so it's likely noon, but they're stuck in a doldrums of sort. He sees no coast, nor any fish near the surface he could feasibly try to rig a makeshift rod and fish for, so he patiently waits.

 

Or tried to. Less than a hour passes before the dwarf literally yanks the oar away, jostling the 'ker awake as he start rowing with the only current he can discern. He's of a farming family, not one of the sea, but he knows enough to not let himself just sit and die on a boat. Seems his companion has a similar curse of the booze, because the first thing he does is vomit off the boat and curse about his head. After taking a moment to assess himself, the 'ker just turns to the dwarf.

 

"Where have you placed my weapons?"
 

His voice is formal, and now that he isn't spooning an oar, his height is showing even as he sits. Even if not compared to the dwarf, he's at least a head taller than most 'ker the dwarf has seen. The question catches the dwed off guard.

 

"Mate, if ye nae noticed, we've no lan' nearby or anyt'ing, so one. W'ere ye damn pants,  an' two, I ain' got ye shite" He'd scowl a little, and keeps rowing. A sigh is elicited from the 'ker before he holds his face in his hands.

 

The silence after drags on for hours, before the doldrums either end, or they got out with that single damned oar. The sail catches wind and now they just sit there, the grey 'ker leveling a stare of pure tire and exhaustion at the stout, who remains looking like someone just killed his favorite dog. Cause he really liked that axe. The silence breaks however, as they try to figure out how they ended up on the boat.

The dwarf is whatever he is hired to be. Typically this entails an elf hiring him to do heavy lifting, which is fine. He merely needs mina enough just to assure himself a warm tavern bed every now and then. His last job was to be a farmer. Unfortunately, the family estate also liked to try and eat people, so it ended with him starving them out and burning the estate. He has standards you see, and trying to each a child for being mixed blood breaks them. Mali'aheral aren't all purists but when they are, he notices.

 

The 'ker is former sellsword. Former as in he won't stab your nan for a handful of coins anymore. He works patrols and escorts people from city to city for small fees. He tired of doing things that shamed him, and settled for the less profitable life of not being an arse. Being imposing and not bad with blade meant he actually got to enjoy what he did more, cause less people died. He just doesn't have a home. He just had a blade and armor, and was having a bad bout of self realization.

 

And so the two miserable sods ended up in a bar. And ended up so miserably, violently drunk, that bar doesn't exist anymore, and the town tricked them onto a boat and kicked them off to sea rather than continue to try and pull them into a cell. They didn't lose their weapons; they broke them fighting each other. Same said for their armors, discarded when too damaged to move around in properly. But they sat there, befuddled as to why people would sacrifice a boat after taking their things, so they thought at the time.

 

A day and a half, maybe, pass, before they hit land. It's even colder out now, the 'ker cursing whomever lost his trousers, but they make their way onto a road. Out of some weird logic, the dwarf has the oar still. They have no weapons and aren't sure which continent they are on, so might as well have something to defend himself with. A disturbed fellow lends the 'ker some pants, then calls the two degenerates. They break down laughing shortly afterwards.

 

The roads cut through most of the snow and ice, but its still a trek on foot and they still don't know quite where they are going, so they just talk. The dwarf talks of human lands, having never been reared by his own kind but the short-lived people instead. Courland, is from where he hails it seems. An aimless sort who just does what pays as long as it feels right. The 'ker, he's not sure where he hails. He's aware of family in Ker'nor but years of being a sell sword has left him disconnected from the world. He just wants to do something other than rend someones head off for a pocket of gold. And they talk, and talk about things that they've heard. A strange kha pair joins them in. One seems to be an alchemist. The other just seems to want to watch things burn down. Shouldn't be an issue. More gather up, and then one day they reach a bridge.

 

The lake is massive, and smells of salt water. They begin making their way across it, stopping once at the sight of something massive slithering under its surface of the sunlight waters. It's sunrise finally, as they approach the city. White, blue, orange, yellow, a colorful looking city with staggered buildings spread across, settled on the center of the lake. Sutica. The dwarf had heard of it but never been, work in Tahn was always more profitable and available. The rest of the tag-along group rush into the city, greeted by guards. Golems walk about, someone of every race seems to be here as well, some getting along, some being asses, but still, the , an woman missing an eye advertising for a tavern nearby. The rest are taken by the prospect of getting warm food and alcohol, and have already entered it.

 

"W'at even is ye name 'ker? Ye ain' said."

"Aerith Oranor. What do you go by?"

 

The dwarf offers out a coarse, worn hand, grinning from behind his beard. Aerith takes it up, a firm handshake.

 

"Hareven Lorenthus. Now le's ge' a drink, an' see if we cannae find some damn work"

 

And so they went to the bar, a strange friendship formed and with luck, they wouldn't burn down another bar.

 

Spoiler

They burned down the Sutica Tavern a elven hour later in a barfight.

 

[Riftblade 856]

Aerith would rub the back of his head recalling that particular memory involving a very drunk night and an oar, he'd then sigh as he spoke to himself.

 

And this..." He'd pause for a few moments. "Is one of the many reasons I've quit drinking..." He'd then start chuckling a bit. "I don't think Hareven or I ever paid for the damages done to that tavern when we arrived in Sutica." 

[Chase 3793]

Evan would chuckle at the transcript, pocketing for various reasons, continuing on his path. 

 

"Seems like something he'd do" he'd mutter to himself.

[Archipelego 2188]

"Who?"

[Chorale__ 2147]

Moved to The Great Library. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.

 

If you feel this is a mistake, please contact myself or any FM and we'll restore it.