Wether's Walk

[Oram Mednix]

60 Ashan 721

”So, is it true what Osric tells me?” Oram asked his goat once he had led it outside. ”Are you…phlegmatic?”

Wether answered only with a glum, mute expression that seemed at odds with his rainbow-colored hair. Oram shook his head as he rolled up the trap-laden wagon he would be taking to Beacon that trial. The goat regarded it mistrustfully.

Wether was the more sedate of Oram’s two goats, but also the less enthusiastic about working. Osric had described the animal as “phlegmatic”, which was not a word the hunter had ever heard used to describe anything before. Osric assured him, however, that it fit Wether’s temperament to a tee. If the word meant “not all that happy to be here” Oram supposed his older brother was right.

The hunter was not much happier to be here himself today. He had risen groggy after another night of strange dreams, dreams of intense cold, and icy rainbow mists, and trees with doors in them. It was not the first time he had had them, and it nagged at him that they were somehow more meaningful than ordinary dreams, even though he could not place their significance. He could have spoken with the Elder in his camp about them; but he saw no reason to bother her. So far, apart from being strange, and leaving Oram feeling unsettled when he rose each morning after having them, the dreams neither posed a problem nor seemed to portend anything ominous. As Oram hitched up his colorful yet expressionless goat to the wagon, he resolved not to trouble himself with dreams any more that trial.

It seemed like a good trial to not trouble oneself with things, Oram thought, as he looked up at the cloudless sky. Ashan had seen its share of intense storms, the latest eight trials ago. But now the weather was as mild as could be. Tomorrow would be Ashan’s Walk, so today was as good a day as any for Wether’s Walk. Perhaps a nice delivery run would help make the goat less phlegmatic.

[Oram Mednix]

Sometimes you just get the shaft...

Two men Oram did not know lounged by the side of the road leading to town, about halfway between the travelers’ camp and the city gates. As he rolled up with his goat-drawn wagon, they rose and approached him, as if they had been waiting for him. Each of them carried a navel-high walking stick. Oram tensed; there was something about the situation, as well as about the men themselves that made him uneasy. His fingers fidgeted on the shaft of his boar spear. Wether watched impassively.

”Hey, Mister!” one of the strangers called out. ”Mind if we take a look at your goat?” As they neared, they separated, one standing in the path squarely in front of the wagon, the other circling around to the side.

The traveler continued to urge the wagon forward, in spite of the man in front of him. ”I’d rather you didn’t,” he responded. ”I’ve errands to run.” Normally, Oram would have been happy to take a few bits to humor a stranger’s curiosity, but this pair did not sit right with him: there was an insolent and menacing air about them that reeked of trouble.

The man in the road pointedly remained where he was, and Oram was compelled to stop just a couple paces in front of him. ”Excuse me…” the hunter said.

”-Excuse you,” the interloper interrupted, hostility starting to edge into his voice. ”We just want to look at your goat. We won’t take long.”

Oram gritted his teeth. ”I’d prefer you not take any of my time at all,” he said tersely. ”As I said, I’ve errands to run.”

The second many, on whom Oram was also trying to keep an eye, had circled around behind the wagon and now stood on the far side of it, looking at the fish baskets in the payload. He prodded one roughly with his stick.

”Don’t do that!” snapped the hunter.

”Why not?” drawled the second man, as he pointed prodded the baskets even harder with his stick. ”What are these things?”

”Fish baskets,” replied Oram.

”Fish baskets? I don’t see no fish in ‘em. You gypsies never can sell honest merchandise. Why call it a fish basket if there ain’t no fish in ‘em?”

Oram bit back several possible responses, some serious and explanatory, others biting and belligerent. He had been just about to retort that he thought it was a better-sounding name than ‘air baskets’ when he noticed that the first man was fiddling with Wether’s harness. The poor goat clearly did not like this, yet bore his mistreatment stoically. Ornot would have raised the Beneath with his protests.

”Stop that!” the hunter barked out, approaching the first man. ”Get away from him!”

”Make me,” the man drawled, gripping his stick.

Oram lowered the point of his spear and jabbed it at the man’s eyes. This appeared to startle him, and he fell backwards on his butt as he tried to rise to his feet and back away to evade the thrust at the same time.

Without rising, the man narrowed his eyes at the hunter. ”That wasn’t nice, gypsy,” he growled. Why wasn’t he making a move to get up?

Out of the corner of his eye, Oram caught movement, and instinctively ducked forward. The second mugger’s stick crashed into his back between his shoulders. Oram felt his knees start to buckle, and pain shot up and down his back, causing his eyes to tear up. Without waiting for his vision to clear, Oram brought back the butt of his spear to where he guessed the man’s face might be, but the wood met nothing. Raising the spear up over his head, Oram swung it around in an arc. The shaft caught the top of the man’s head a bit below the lugs. The wild swing did not strike with the force the hunter wanted, but it did knock his opponent off balance. All three of them now scrambled to recover their footing and position themselves for the next round.

[Oram Mednix]

...and other times you get the other end. The shaft is actually better.

Oram realized that he could not fight two opponents if they were on opposite sides of him; while the pair of assailants regained their footing, Oram stepped out from between them, away from his wagon and several paces off the road. That separated him from his wagon, and from Wether, but it put the two adversaries in front of him, at a manageable angle to either side. His back still stinging from the earlier blow, the hunter adopted a stance as best he could and prepared to keep the two men at bay with alternating thrusts.

The mugger that had been behind his wagon, poking at the fish baskets, approached first, stick raised. ”Did that hurt, gypsy?” he asked jeeringly. ”It looked like it hurt.” Oram just scowled at him and then thrust with his spear, causing the man to step back, smirking. The mugger began to circle around. Rather than turn to face him, Oram side-stepped, so that the first mugger would remain in view as well.

The first mugger was not coming at Oram with his stick; rather, he was at the cart, working Wether lose from his harness and getting ready to lead him away. His accomplice smirked. ”I think we’ll make a lot of money from that goat,” he taunted. ”I hear that rainbow-colored hair fetches a pretty good price. That true, gypsy?”

Oram looked at the first mugger again; that one was already trying to lead Wether away, although the goat was resisting, to the man’s annoyance. The hunter realized that he could not both fend off the mugger in front of him and intercept the thief getting ready to make off with his goat. Growling angrily, he turned his full attention back to the adversary before him. He could at least make this one pay. He began to attack, persistently and aggressively, focusing entirely on this one opponent.

The robber’s expression changed from smugness to alarm as he backpedaled from the traveler’s onslaught; he seemed to realize, whether from Oram’s expression, or by the way he pressed his attack, that the hunter was now intent on taking him down, even if it meant letting the other robber get away with the booty.

”LEAVE HIM ALONE!” bellowed a powerful voice that startled all three of them. Oram took his eye off the mugger for just a split trill to look at who had spoken. A group of men from his camp, including Clem and Wig, were running towards them. The hunter’s inattention could have been costly. In the instant he took his eyes off the mugger, that enemy could have taken the opportunity to strike at him. Instead, when Oram looked back, the man was running away. Oram swore in frustration, though truth be told, he was actually fortunate.

The robber who had been trying to make off with Wether looked around, first at the onrushing travelers, then back at Oram, then at his fleeing associate. Realizing he had no help and no hope of getting away with the goat, he, too, simply ran. Clem peeled off to pursue him. The other men ran to Oram to see if he was alright. Brushing them off, Oram ran to Wether to see if *he* was alright.

The goat seemed none the worse for wear, though he was clearly stressed. Oram stroked the goat’s hair soothingly, as much to calm himself down as Wether. Focused on his animal, he barely remembered to mumble to his friends that he was, indeed, unharmed himself.

A few bits later, Clem came back, panting heavily. ”Lost him,” he managed to gasp out. ”Little shit’s fast, if nothing else.” He looked with concern at Oram. ”He alright?” he asked.

The hunter, misunderstanding the question, nodded as he stroked Wether’s colorful mane. With shaky fingers, he started to re-fasten the harness. ”He’s a bit stressed out, but I think he’ll recover. He’s phlegmatic, after all.”

Clem shot his companions a confused look, whereupon Wig and the others laughed.

[Doran]

Oram:

Knowledge:
Athletics x 1
Combat-Polearms & Staves x 3.
Endurance x 1
Tactics x 1

Loot: -
Lost: -
Wealth: -
Injuries: -
Renown: -
Magic XP: -
Skill Review: Appropriate to level.
Points: 10

- - -

Comments: Do you have any idea how much I enjoyed this thread here? I loved Oram’s phlegmatic rainbow-colored goat – and not just because he’s a rainbow-colored goat. You’ve given Wether a real personality!

I couldn’t help but wonder why those men wanted to take a look at Oram’s goat. I was half-hoping that they just wanted to admire Wether’s amazing rainbow fur, but they turned out to be rather rude!

You really made me dislike them. Good job!

Fortunately, the men from Oram’s camp arrived just in time. I was quite amused when Clem asked if Wether was alright at the end of the thread, and Oram replied, ”He’s a bit stressed out, but I think he’ll recover. He’s phlegmatic, after all.”

I guess being phlegmatic has its good sides!

Enjoy your rewards!

P.S.: I’m nominating you for the following medal:

Lol Worthy

Please link this review in "Medal Nomination Thread" when you submit the nomination.