Out Of The Mist

[Dandelion]

27 Ashan 721

Dan chopped the last of the wild leeks into the soup pot along with fish from his fish trap, and a few stored winter roots, put the lid on the pot, and hung it over the tiny brazier to cook. Even as small as it was, the fire in the brazier kept his tent warm enough, and it meant he needed to gather and store less fuel for it. Gathering anything at the moment in the swirling mist was an adventure in itself. Earlier in the morning, when he had gone the short distance from the slight rise he was camped on, down to the stream to fetch water and check his fish trap, he had taken his spear with him and used it to probe ahead of him as he went. It had, at least, saved him from stumbling off the bank into the stream. Getting back had been simpler, if not easier. He'd followed his own tracks, as if he was hunting.

Now he put the cooking time to use by crossing from his side of the tent, lined with pale felt hangings for warmth, and floored with tanned furs, to the side for his ponies, Cloud and Smoke. They also had the pale felt hangings, but the floor was a thick layer of pine branches instead, sending the crisp scent of crushed pine wafting up with every step. He brushed them down, checked their hooves, and realised that their ears were pricked forward, listening intently to something outside. "What is it?" he signed absently, cocking his head to listen too, and catching the sounds of something fairly large moving around out there.

He grimaced, caught up his spear, snagged his raincloak from where it hung from a hook on a tent pole, and wrapped it round him before he folded back the tent flap and stepped out into the murk. The mist wasn't rain, but it was definitely able to soak you if you stayed out long enough. He vastly preferred to stay dry at this time of the arc - Saun was a different matter.

Outside the mist had grown thicker still since his morning expedition, and the firelight shining through the open tent flap reflected off it to make a bright golden glow. The sounds were clearer too and coming closer - hooves and feet by the sound of it. Someone lost in the mist perhaps. Cloud, the older of his grey ponies poked her head out too, looking like a piece of white mist come to life, and whinneyed. A muffled response came back and Dan sighed. "You would," he told her with resignation. "Well, let's hope it isn't somebody dangerous."

"Signed words" Spoken words

[Brent Forrester]

27 Ashan – Out of the Mist

The last several trials had been atrocious for exploring. Each day Brent had hopefully taken flight on the back of Sinir, his sleipnir, and each day he had been dismally rewarded with a blanket of mist and fog. By this point, he had finally given up hoping for better weather and had packed light to travel the lands on foot.

The cold still gripped at these new lands and Brent wore a thick black cloak over a couple layers of clothing. With his brown winged mount at his side, he walked along the narrow game trails of the thick forest. Mist hung like a dense veil, obscuring his sight lines, and even with this spy glass it was hard to penetrate the fog.

A couple of hours ago, Brent had left the main road to explore some of the intricacies of the land. Yet now he felt the prickles on the back of his neck whenever there was a sudden rustle of leaves or snap of a twig. Despite having a quiver of arrows on his back as well as a bow and a small dagger, he was ill-equipped at both and any attempt at ranged combat would be sorely hampered by the fog.

Heavy boots marked his slow progress, and every so often Brent would pause to listen. Despite the sinking feeling of being lost, he was trying to keep to the main river of the land or at least one of its tributaries. He could still hear some of the familiar babble and splash of the water, but it was certainly fainter than it had been before.

With a frown, Brent checked his compass, but it was more out of habit than to truly reveal some new information. He did not have a proper map of the area on hand, as it had been his intent to make one, and the compass was only so useful on its own. Brent squinted through the swirling white and tried to make out the game trail ahead with minimal success. However, the faint breeze had brought a whiff of smoke with it. Campfire? Brent gave another sniff to be certain he wasn’t imagining it. Sinir, on the other hand, stretched out his wings and pawed at the ground with his front three legs. Brent tried to give the sleipnir a calming pat as it folder its wings back up and he checked to see that the saddle and saddle bags were still properly secured.

“Well, might be someone who knows the area better than I do.” Brent said aloud to himself and continued along the trail trying to keep an eye out for signs of life or people.

It was then that he noticed the occasional footprint in the soft Ashan ground. Was it recent? He had no idea. But it did seem to suggest some sort of human life in the vicinity. However, it was the distinct whinny, seemingly amplified by the fog was the most obvious sign. Sinir, in response gave a loud snort of his own and a whinny in reply, as he opened and closed his wings in dominant manner. Brent shortened his hold on the reins and kept his mount close.

“I am but a traveler,” Brent announced in a loud voice. The last thing he wanted was to surprise an otherwise friendly camp of people. It did leave him more vulnerable to a potential threat, but that was already the case. Even if there was danger, Sinir could get them both out pretty quickly.

Continuing roughly towards where he had heard the whinny, Brent called out again. “I may be slightly lost, too, given all these mists.”

At last he seemed to make out a bit more of the features of the camp. The rough shape of a tent, a couple of small horses or ponies and a man who seemed to be with them.

[Dandelion]

A man's voice called out, not once, but twice, and Dandelion grimaced. Definitely someone lost out there, and it wasn't as if Sign was going to work at this distance, or with this little sight. Instead of yelling back, he stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly. Cloud pricked up her ears and nudged him, hoping for treats or fuss. He patted her neck and tried not to stare as the arrivals coalesced out of the mist. One man and a horse. One man with a bow, and a knife, but nothing bigger in the way of weapons. And a horse... He blinked, looked again, counted the legs, corrected himself. A horse-like-thing with wings and too many legs. And a saddle on its back. Behind him, Smoke emerged too, clearly deciding that the mist was harmless enough that she was going to graze on the new grass anyway. Dan couldn't help wondering whether winged horse-things grazed too, or if they ate meat like an eagle - or both, or something else entirely. He tore himself out of staring at it, and shook himself back to reality rather than woolgathering.

Taking a slow breath that tasted of smoke and fog and horse and the soup cooking back in his tent, he propped his spear against his shoulder where it should be unthreatening but easy to grab if everything went downhill, and held out empty hands, palm up in a near universal sign of peace. Ionlyknowsign he called across the narrowing gap, eyes darting warily to take in every bit of information. He could feel the mist begining to creep under his cloak and soak through his tunic into his shirt. Both were carefully mended and, like all his clothes, a motley medley of undyed beiges and browns. He hadn't been out in this mist nearly so long as the stranger though, and it would be easier to see each other inside. "Do you want to come in?" he asked, accompanying the cautious signs with a tilt of his head to indicate the tent and a raised eyebrow. "Dry off a bit?" His mind was already racing ahead. There was a spare folding stool he could bring out to accompany his box-seat, and the tiny folding table would probably hold two bowls. And there was the writing tablet too - nothing fancy, just a pair of small wooden boards with a layer of wax over one side that words could be scratched into - but it was easier, and more portable than scratching words into a patch of dirt.

"Signed words" Spoken words

[Brent Forrester]

There was a sharp whistle in reply, which seemed favourable, rather than an ambush waiting to be sprung. As Brent moved into sight, the mists were thin enough to look around. The man whose camp this seemed to be, appeared older with dusky grey hair. The two ponies reminded him of his old packhorse he had left back in Melrath. Sturdy and simple, but reliable creatures. Whereas the man was entirely focused on Sinir and his appearance. Instinctively, Brent kept his mount close and the sleipnir eventually decided to fold its wings up.

The stranger had not yet spoken, but held out his empty hands as if not intending to do harm. Although Brent didn’t immediately unstrap his own weapons, he followed suit with a similar gesture and placed his mount’s reins around the horn of the saddle. The sudden tangle of words made Brent take a step back. Not out of fear but from surprise, since it had been like an unexpected outburst. Onlyknowsign… It was only when the stranger made an odd but very specific sort of gesture with his hands followed by a tilt with his head, that Brent realized what he had first meant.

“Oh! Speaking with your hands!” Brent replied in understanding, although completely missing the point. The realization hit him a moment later and his fidgeting of his fingers was suddenly rather inappropriate. When the cartographer looked more carefully at the stranger, using his eyes instead of his ears, it seemed as though he was indicating the tent.

Trying to move slowly and obviously, so as not to startle the stranger, Brent held his hands up and moved towards his winged horse to take the reins.

“I’m just going to put him near some grass or leaves to munch on,” he explained. Usually Brent didn’t like to tie up Sinir but with the mists as thick as they were, he didn’t want to get separated from his mount by mistake. Looping the cord which was the lead over a small branch, he tied it in a loose slipknot. He then walked over to the canvas tent and slowly unstrapped his bow and small dagger to place on the ground outside. If language was going to be a barrier, he wanted to at least make the intention of peace clear.

“Inside?” He asked with pronounced inflection and pointed both fingers towards the tent. Only after the stranger proceeded first and preferably with an inviting hand gesture, would Brent make his way into the tent.

He had a simple leather bag slung over his shoulder which had several papers and pieces of parchment inside, along with simple writing implements. As he looked to find a place to sit, be it a stool or even just on his knees, he very carefully withdrew a map he had of Melrath. It had small sketches of mountains and trees, as well as the main river running through it with towns labeled throughout. With his other hand, he pulled out his compass to try to provide context.

“I am a traveler and this is a map of where I’m from,” he explained although without the expectation of being understood.

Instead, he took out blank page and looked for some surface to write on. With a piece of charcoal in his hand, he made a very rough sketch of what he remembered of his travels along the main river of this land. The Rharne river? His lines bent and curved at imprecise locations, but mimicked the meanders of a typical river. At one end, he made a few quick marks showing it opening up to the sea, and a bit of coastline for context. At the other end, he drew a rough circle to indicate his imprecise knowledge of the lake where the city was.

So intent he was on sharing something interesting or meaningful to the stranger who did not speak, that Brent forgot a few times to look up to see what sort of finger signs the stranger might be making in reply. But by the end of the sketch, he realized his fault. Looking up, Brent intently watched the cotton haired man’s face for signs of expression or reaction and also what he might be doing with his hands.

[Dandelion]

The man, Dandelion noted, thought of, and took care of, his mount before himself, which was always a good sign. And just as clearly didn't speak or understand Sign - which was not a good sign. He suppressed a sigh, nodding when the man pointed to the tent and beckoning him to follow him in. He offered him a stool to sit on, and when the man began to draw, Dan stepped away a moment to retrieve his writing tablets and stylus. He pulled a seat for himself up to the folding table and opened the tablet for easier writing.
[Name Dan] he wrote in the wax, and considered the map that the man had unfolded. [This is my home. Do you need anything?] It wasn't a place that he knew, from the names of the towns written on it. "Your home?" he asked, pointing from the map to the man. His eyes sharpened with interest as the man began to sketch out another map with charcoal. He had never seen a map made before, and hadn't the nels to buy them, though he knew roughly how they and a compass were used to navigate. If a map was like a view from above, and you rode a winged not-a-horse, then perhaps it was easier to get that view in order to draw it. [If Rharne here,] he waved a hand under the man's nose to get his attention, then pointed first to the writing on the tablet, turning it so that it was at the right angle for the man to read, and then the edge of the circle, [we are here.] He drifted his hand along the river? and a little north of it, on the edges of the forest, before he touched a finger lightly down. "Do you understand this much?"



"Signed words" Spoken words

[Brent Forrester]

When the stranger pulled out the wax tablet and started writing, Brent was a little surprised but looked on keenly. He hadn’t been sure whether the man was unable to hear or was mute. But on second thought, neither made sense since the stranger had been able to call out to him, saying that he only understood sign.

Curiously, the cartographer looked at the wax writing. “Dan..” Brent repeated quietly, upon reading the name. In return, he pointed to the bottom corner of his Melrath map where he had signed it. “Brent Forrester,” he spoke aloud and turned the page so that Dan could read it, still pointing to his name at the bottom.

When Dan introduced the tent as his home and asked if Brent needed anything, the cartographer felt a little out of place in terms of answering such a question. So often was it that he strived to be self-reliant, that the possibility of hospitality eluded him. So instead of answering, when Dan pointed to the map and to Brent, the idea of home made itself known.

Brent nodded vigorously to emphasize his understanding. Then he specifically pointed to a small farming town in the middle of his map that was labeled “Alivilda”.

With the rough charcoal sketch of the Rharne river, Dan seemed to have more to say. Brent looked over at the words on the wax tablet and Dan gestured to the lake Brent had drawn. The cartographer nodded, and placed a dot on the side of the lake with the label of “Rharne”.

After Dan had written out the next couple of words, Brent looked at where Dan pointed to the map as to where they were. Again, the cartographer drew a dot, and this time added the label of “Dan’s Home”. Brent looked up with a smile to Dan and then added a quick north arrow near the top of the page for context.

At this point, Brent put away his Melrath map. That wasn’t so important now. They were in the lands surrounding Rharne. Instead he pulled out a fairly ratty page that he could use for notes. Picking up the piece of charcoal again, he wrote the following:

How well do you know these lands? I have some food and supplies, but it’s hard exploring with the mist. I don’t know what I can offer you unless there’s something I can do around the camp that needs another person.

It took him a while to write out his thoughts. It seemed like Dan lived on his own in the wilds, if this was his home. But maybe he had companions that also spoke the way he did. If he was self-sufficient, there wasn’t much that Brent could offer. There would be days where the mist would be clear and Brent could properly chart the lands, but there was always something invaluable about learning the land from a native.

[Dandelion]

The man was apparently, according to the combination of writing and pointing he offered, called Brent Forrester and came from a place called Alivilda. It wasn't anywhere that Dan knew, but he gave a quick smile, somewhere between wary and wry, when his camp was labeled as his home. That was true, and yet not even close to the whole truth. He had all of the wilder lands for his home. His camp was just where in it he was based for now. It was like going into a big house and claiming only one of the rooms was the person's home instead of all of it.

He considered the written questions, head on one side, as he smoothed out the wax with the flat end of his stylus and began to write again. [I mostly stay out of the Stormwastes. Much danger, little food there.] He indicated the general area of them on the crude map with a finger, then trailed a finger down to the opposite end of the river from Rharne. [Cautious here, around Volta. Much lightning, not good to carry metal near. The rest,] He swept his hand back up the map, [is well known to me, is home to me. Travel a lot, move around a lot, learned it over arcs.]

He flicked a glance at the brazier, trying to judge whether it needed more fuel, and then shrugged. [Not much to do with fog here. Have food, have water, have fuel, have dry shelter.] He shrugged, flicking his fingers in turn at the pot of fish soup beginning to waft out a savory scent, at the tiny brazier with its bright, warm coals, and the stack of stored, dried horse apples beyond it that he used as fuel, at the tent roof above them. [What brings you out here, in weather like this? You - explore?] He raised his eyebrows in a question, free hand commenting idly, "You don't look like a fool, but fools are more likely to go out and get lost in this weather instead of sitting tight and waiting it out."


"Signed words" Spoken words

[Brent Forrester]

Dan seemed to pause a moment, but when he started writing again, Brent watched curiously as to the reply. Diligently, the cartographer jotted down the label of “Stormwastes” followed by a small star and the name “Volta”. He had passed the small town by ship when arriving in these new lands, but hadn’t learned of its name, nor thought much of it. Beneath the name Volta, he added the word “lightning” as Dan had noted. Lightning and storms… Brent frowned as he grew thoughtful. There was certainly a theme to this new land. He had not yet been in Rharne for long enough to truly understand the full extent of this theme, yet he would soon learn more of it.

The more Dan wrote, the more it seemed as though he was more than self-sufficient. Brent’s meager dried meat and traveler’s biscuits paled to the smell of hot soup cooking away. The cartographer was but a stranger, with nothing to offer.

When Brent looked over at Dan’s final question, he nodded. There was a bit of movement from Dan’s hands, but no further writing. After a pause, Brent wrote out his own words.

Thank you for your hospitality, Dan. But I should be going. Your directions were very helpful.

Even though Dan didn’t offer any explicit directions to the lost cartographer, the place names and references had helped Brent gain his bearings. He had the option of venturing further abroad to Volta, or to head back to Rharne following the river. All he had to do was travel due south to find the physical landmark of the river once more.

Both abrupt and most certainly acting a fool in the poor weather, Brent gathered his things.

“Thank you,” he said aloud and then decided to add a simple gesture. Placing his hands palm to palm in front of him, Brent bowed his head briefly in a sign of respect. It was the kind of gesture an Aesir, priest of spirits, would make.

Although Brent wasn’t entirely sure how he’d find his way, at least now he had both his compass and a map. He strode over to his winged horse to set about making tracks.

[Doran]

Brent:

Knowledge:
Navigation x4
Cartography x2
Detection x2

Loot: -
Lost: -
Wealth: -
Injuries: -
Renown: -
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: Appropriate to level.
Points: 15

Dandelion:

Knowledge:
Fieldcraft: fuel efficiency matters
Fieldcraft: safer to stay put in bad weather
Fieldcraft: everywhere wild can be home
Fieldcraft: staying dry makes it easier to stay warm
Navigation: pinpointing where you are
Navigation: orienting a map
Navigation: reading a compass rose
Discipline: grounding yourself in reality
Endurance: putting up with soaked clothing

Loot: -
Lost: -
Wealth: -
Injuries: -
Renown: -
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: Appropriate to level.
Points: 15

- - -

Comments: I’m impressed by the way that you write a wilderness PC every time I read one of your threads, Dandelion. You describe what your PC does as well as his environment in so much detail, and that soup that Dandelion cooked in the beginning of the thread sounded delicious, even if it seemed simple!

I see that Brent is still exploring with his sleipnir. I could read an entire thread about Brent just walking around or flying on Sinir. There is something very atmospheric about your posts, about both of your posts, in fact.

I cannot help but wonder where all the mist that led to Dandelion and Brent meeting comes from though!

I had forgotten that Dandelion doesn’t speak, but uses sign language instead. That’s definitely a challenge when there’s mist everywhere. You handled that quite well. Dandelion’s noticing the Sleipnir was amusing to read. I like that you PC didn’t know what it was, but just called it a winged horse-thing. That’s actually pretty accurate in my opinion!

I really enjoyed how Dandelion and Brent communicated with each other. It seems as if they understood each other without really speaking. I thought that Brent’s drawing a map of where he was from was an especially clever idea. My only complaint is that this thread was too short. I would have loved to read more. Maybe, Dandelion and Brent will meet again though?

Enjoy your rewards!