“Yeah, I do think they’d be mad, actually.”
"Bahhhh..." Waving a hand in dismissal, Genthus bit back a retort that they could try and take it from him if they wished. That would cause trouble, and... oh, what was it that Caro had said on the boat... "if you make trouble, you had better finish it?" Er, maybe that had been Magnus so long ago. Or maybe he'd imagined it...
... bahhhhhhh. Little did it matter, but he'd digress. A dragon claw would be a better prize anyway.
Caro's instructions would be heeded with an affirmative grunt and a crack of the reigns on the wagon's horse, Genthus driving it onward as the party split. Driving it further up shaky shale terrain, he would grunt as it halted suddenly, horse whineying, contents shaking. Peering around the wagon, he'd spot the trouble; one of the wheels stuck in a divet between two stones, the ground beneath it getting craggier with every bit of ascending altitude. Hopping off, it would be a few moment's work to find the right position, then with a loud yell at the horse and two massive hands to lift the wagon's weight off the wheel, it would be freed, its lesson taken to heart:
Whatever crevasse they camped in needed to be relatively low, or the wagon would never reach it.
Patting the horse, Genthus would work it forward much more slowly from the ground, scanning the crags as they took a circuitous route. It would take a few detours, burning plenty of time but little distance, before he'd spot a viable crevasse, water running off the edges of the rocks and scattering on the stones below, just wide enough to where that idle run-off left dry space in the middle, just narrow enough to where something the size of a cart itself couldn't swoop down at them and spread its wings to fly back up. Negotiating the cart thence, Genthus would take stock of it from the opening; ragged walls, sheer faces 20 feet up on either side, and a depth of maybe 100 feet, narrowing as it went, ending in a dark joint.
Picking up a melon-sized stone, he would chuck it into the darkness, hollering again, more aggressively this time. When the stone crashed against more stones and nothing so fearsome as a few rats came scurrying out, he would roll his shoulders, satisfied that it would be a safe campsite indeed.
And so he would depart the campsite to the wagon being turned out, the horse hitched to the side with a bit of water, a fire pit dug out in the gravel below, scavenged and sodden wood split fine already piled in the pit and left to dry, a pot atop with water from the cliffsides beginning ready to steam, and earthenware with cheap coffee peaking out of crates from the wagons distributed in a make-shift circle as seats. Greataxe slung across his shoulder, armor being tied knot by knot, he would return to their rendevous point finishing a piece of jerky, pointing over his shoulder with it before shoving the final piece in his mouth, speaking between the chews. "Home for the night is a good 30 minutes yonder, in a crevasse, as expected." Wiping his mouth, he would peer over at Esme's concoctions, humming with approval.
"We don't feed these to the goat, do we?"
"Bahhhh..." Waving a hand in dismissal, Genthus bit back a retort that they could try and take it from him if they wished. That would cause trouble, and... oh, what was it that Caro had said on the boat... "if you make trouble, you had better finish it?" Er, maybe that had been Magnus so long ago. Or maybe he'd imagined it...
... bahhhhhhh. Little did it matter, but he'd digress. A dragon claw would be a better prize anyway.
Caro's instructions would be heeded with an affirmative grunt and a crack of the reigns on the wagon's horse, Genthus driving it onward as the party split. Driving it further up shaky shale terrain, he would grunt as it halted suddenly, horse whineying, contents shaking. Peering around the wagon, he'd spot the trouble; one of the wheels stuck in a divet between two stones, the ground beneath it getting craggier with every bit of ascending altitude. Hopping off, it would be a few moment's work to find the right position, then with a loud yell at the horse and two massive hands to lift the wagon's weight off the wheel, it would be freed, its lesson taken to heart:
Whatever crevasse they camped in needed to be relatively low, or the wagon would never reach it.
Patting the horse, Genthus would work it forward much more slowly from the ground, scanning the crags as they took a circuitous route. It would take a few detours, burning plenty of time but little distance, before he'd spot a viable crevasse, water running off the edges of the rocks and scattering on the stones below, just wide enough to where that idle run-off left dry space in the middle, just narrow enough to where something the size of a cart itself couldn't swoop down at them and spread its wings to fly back up. Negotiating the cart thence, Genthus would take stock of it from the opening; ragged walls, sheer faces 20 feet up on either side, and a depth of maybe 100 feet, narrowing as it went, ending in a dark joint.
Picking up a melon-sized stone, he would chuck it into the darkness, hollering again, more aggressively this time. When the stone crashed against more stones and nothing so fearsome as a few rats came scurrying out, he would roll his shoulders, satisfied that it would be a safe campsite indeed.
And so he would depart the campsite to the wagon being turned out, the horse hitched to the side with a bit of water, a fire pit dug out in the gravel below, scavenged and sodden wood split fine already piled in the pit and left to dry, a pot atop with water from the cliffsides beginning ready to steam, and earthenware with cheap coffee peaking out of crates from the wagons distributed in a make-shift circle as seats. Greataxe slung across his shoulder, armor being tied knot by knot, he would return to their rendevous point finishing a piece of jerky, pointing over his shoulder with it before shoving the final piece in his mouth, speaking between the chews. "Home for the night is a good 30 minutes yonder, in a crevasse, as expected." Wiping his mouth, he would peer over at Esme's concoctions, humming with approval.
"We don't feed these to the goat, do we?"
06-04-2024, 07:17 PM
