RoE General > The Bard (IC)

The goblin

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DM B:
OOC: Just to give you something to compare with; this piece of text is about two young adventurers from the South Coast, who have been forcibly drafted into the army of a Boeruine noble.

A man has his needs, army service or not, and this evening called for some solitude. Growing up in a noble household meant very little privacy, so Moergan was used to that, but this was different. In the army you never were alone. Never. On or off duty made little difference, you were always surrounded by the same people. Even the odd half-day of leave spent in Ravar offered no relief, since you were not allowed to go alone. And Anuirean cities were filled to the brim with people anyway, and being surrounded by strangers was even worse somehow. Not being one to share his pleasures, no matter how minor, Moergan stalked purposefully towards the sentry lines. 'I really detest being cooped up with all manner of low-life commoners. Perhaps I should just leave this damn army behind? No, I swore the Oath of Service, no matter how unfairly it was forced upon me. Damn my twisted sense of honor; it will get me killed some day, and then I’ll surely curse my Haelynic heritage as I lie dying.'

DM B:
He came up on a pair of guards watching the perimeter. The Captain had four such watchposts manned at all times – single men during the day, and pairs during the dark hours. According to the Captain there were goblins about, and they preferred skulking about in the dark. Moergan doubted that there were any nearby. Clever goblins would stay well clear of an entire company of alert and battle-ready Anuireans. Most likely it was more training for the recruits. That and the fact that this was how things were done. In addition there was another pair on guard inside the perimeter, but their task was different. They watched for trouble inside the camp – drunkenness, fire, that sort of thing – and also checked up on the perimeter guards. And of course the sergeant could be counted on to wander around the camp at odd hours. The bastard seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to irregularities.

DM B:
He was pulled from his thoughts by a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Now there Moergan, wher’d ya think you’re a goin?” There words came out of the mouth of corporal Jaenoues, a man that Moergan had previously seen little of, but heard a lot about. A small fellow, Jaenoues had something of a reputation as a warrior. He supposedly killed three goblins in a knife-fight once and brought down the Ogre of Houndsglen with a spear after it had killed or maimed the rest of his patrol. And that was only a few of his many exploits; come to think of it, most of the stories came from his own mouth, and Moergan somehow doubted they were all completely true. The hand, however, belonged to the mute in the corporal’s file – Olav or some such – a big, scarred man of obvious Rjurik blood. Olav really was a skilled warrior, quick for his size and murderously strong, he was never far from Jaenoues’ side. Moergan could well believe that the silent Rjurik had played a part in the heroic tales of the corporal, even if his involvement was never mentioned. “I have orders to fetch the captain some clean water, he did not fancy the stuff we drew from the well”. The words came unbidden to his lips; growing in a noble household had taught him to use lies whenever necessary. 'That was a truly lame excuse. The rapier wit of the Shaemes is another of my failings.' Shrugging, the corporal let him through with a wave. 'Sarimie’s own luck that they are only commoners; they know it not, but the Blood commands them still.'

DM B:
As he ventured into the woods the noises and smells of the camp slowly faded away. A thick canopy of leaves shielded him from the last rays of the setting sun, already low on the western horizon. The chilling breeze that had been with them since marching from Caer Ravar stilled into nothingness under that dark green canopy. A cool silence, broken only by his own soft footsteps and the faint rustling of leaves, surrounded him as he walked deeper into the shadowy forest. 'Quiet and gloomy these northern woods. Very much like the people that dwell here. Back home the hunting preserves teem with life, birds and small game and deer are always plentiful. It seems that even animals shun this cold and dreary land.'

DM B:
The mighty oaks and redbarks were spaced quite evenly, about ten yards separating each tree, as if some gargantuan gardener had placed them there and carefully watched over them. Very few other plants seemed to thrive in their shadow. The ground was covered with a thick carpet of moss and short, soft grasses and a variety of fallen redbark leaves. ‘Perhaps Aeric really does live in the deep woods. If so, then he must be the most boring god of all.’ The thought was quickly banished – one did not blaspheme the gods, especially not when walking alone in their domain. The ground was gently rolling, but not so much as to make walking arduous or keeping direction difficult. Small streams and ponds were in abundance though. Moergan saw small, slivery fish in several of the larger ones before the light faded and turned the waters the color of jet. The rolling ground, the trees and the deep shadows made it difficult to accurately see anything more than a stone’s throw away. 'In darkness delve the creatures of Evil. In shadows hide the enemies of Light.’ The Book of Laws had a fitting verse for the situation, as it always did.

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