Gargulec
impact!
- Location
- a garden
Yup. She is offering you to show the place where the madwoman used to sleep.
Itinerant: A Pilgrim Quest
Yup. She is offering you to show the place where the madwoman used to sleep.
- Location
- scrabbling
[X] "Take me there."
7.4 Sentinel Rock
Gargulec
impact!
- Location
- a garden
Take me there was your decision. And an update! Short one. But I don't like long ones. Sometimes.
The world around you was rendered in greys. From the leaden sky to graphite waters, pale haze swirling above, and gravel-strewn lakeside, what little colour there was around faded into grey, no longer distinguishable from it.
"She used to sleep here" the fisherman's wife said, pointing to a heap of sticks and refuse. You crouched by it, and started picking through it. It wasn't a good place to live. An elevated outcropping of rock overlooking the lake, exposed to the wind, offering no shelter from the elements. One could endure here through the spring and summer, but past it, it was a place to wither, not thrive. But it was a good seat for a sentinel, watching the waters flow on and on, waiting and awaiting. You turned away from that.
The pile of sticks was a collapsed shack, crudely woven from branches and grass. Ashes and coals, long extinguished, indicated where she had made herself bonfires. In the night they must had been visible from far out into the lake, like a light atop a watchtower. You picked through them with the butt of your spear, and found nothing of interest. The place was dead, and abandoned. Within weeks, there would be no trace left of it, on the lonely, jutting rock. You stood up.
"I don't know what happened to her" the woman that led you here murmured. "She just stopped coming one day."
She paused, and looked at you, almost without flinching.
"Did you know her?"
You considered.
"It's possible."
The woman nodded. Once again, you noticed her twiddling with the bone needle, its sharp tip scraping against calloused skin.
"Some days ago…" she finally said "five men came through here. My husband didn't like the look of them, so we took our boat and sailed out into the lake, so that they would not harm us. But we did not see the madwoman after they moved on."
She made another pause, followed by a gesture of devotion.
"There is… there is a village nearby. They had to pass through it. Maybe someone there will tell you more about them. Maybe there you will learn something."
She didn't say anything more, but instead started walking away from the lake, towards the woods. You followed her close, not saying anything. Even the greens, you noticed, seemed grey to you. The forest was monochrome. You wished you could look at your shield, see if the bright-blue pain too seemed so washed off as the world around. But you just walked.
The woman took you to the edge of the forest, to a narrow, but well-visible trail.
"If you take it" she explained "you will reach the village before night. But wicked people live there, and they may not want to help you."
She made a step back.
"I… I need to go. My husband will return soon. I need to be home for him."
Stumbling, she turned away, leaving you alone. You took a step towards the woodland trail, but hesitated. There was a chance to turn away from it. Move in any other direction, look for the city that does not exist, or at least for someone to help you on your quest. It was an opportunity you had to consider. Avoid whatever this trail leads to, wicked people and their swords and knives.
But the hesitation lasted only for a moment, and you…
[ ] …took the woodland trail.
[ ] …turned away from all that.
7.4 Sentinel Rock
The world around you was rendered in greys. From the leaden sky to graphite waters, pale haze swirling above, and gravel-strewn lakeside, what little colour there was around faded into grey, no longer distinguishable from it.
"She used to sleep here" the fisherman's wife said, pointing to a heap of sticks and refuse. You crouched by it, and started picking through it. It wasn't a good place to live. An elevated outcropping of rock overlooking the lake, exposed to the wind, offering no shelter from the elements. One could endure here through the spring and summer, but past it, it was a place to wither, not thrive. But it was a good seat for a sentinel, watching the waters flow on and on, waiting and awaiting. You turned away from that.
The pile of sticks was a collapsed shack, crudely woven from branches and grass. Ashes and coals, long extinguished, indicated where she had made herself bonfires. In the night they must had been visible from far out into the lake, like a light atop a watchtower. You picked through them with the butt of your spear, and found nothing of interest. The place was dead, and abandoned. Within weeks, there would be no trace left of it, on the lonely, jutting rock. You stood up.
"I don't know what happened to her" the woman that led you here murmured. "She just stopped coming one day."
She paused, and looked at you, almost without flinching.
"Did you know her?"
You considered.
"It's possible."
The woman nodded. Once again, you noticed her twiddling with the bone needle, its sharp tip scraping against calloused skin.
"Some days ago…" she finally said "five men came through here. My husband didn't like the look of them, so we took our boat and sailed out into the lake, so that they would not harm us. But we did not see the madwoman after they moved on."
She made another pause, followed by a gesture of devotion.
"There is… there is a village nearby. They had to pass through it. Maybe someone there will tell you more about them. Maybe there you will learn something."
She didn't say anything more, but instead started walking away from the lake, towards the woods. You followed her close, not saying anything. Even the greens, you noticed, seemed grey to you. The forest was monochrome. You wished you could look at your shield, see if the bright-blue pain too seemed so washed off as the world around. But you just walked.
The woman took you to the edge of the forest, to a narrow, but well-visible trail.
"If you take it" she explained "you will reach the village before night. But wicked people live there, and they may not want to help you."
She made a step back.
"I… I need to go. My husband will return soon. I need to be home for him."
Stumbling, she turned away, leaving you alone. You took a step towards the woodland trail, but hesitated. There was a chance to turn away from it. Move in any other direction, look for the city that does not exist, or at least for someone to help you on your quest. It was an opportunity you had to consider. Avoid whatever this trail leads to, wicked people and their swords and knives.
But the hesitation lasted only for a moment, and you…
[ ] …took the woodland trail.
[ ] …turned away from all that.
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- Location
- scrabbling
[X] …turned away from all that.
I still don't really care about RHM. And I sort of want to know what the pilgrim will do without direction.
I still don't really care about RHM. And I sort of want to know what the pilgrim will do without direction.
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Gargulec
impact!
- Location
- a garden
It's a good question if the pilgrim cares about some madwoman who could maybe be someone from her past, or is just terrified of drifting without a course.
- Location
- United States
[X] …took the woodland trail.
If it is the RHM, I'd like to save her. And if the city does not exist, we need to find new purpose. Setting out to save a person and bring light to a dark place is a good start. Maybe we can metaphorically create Step within ourselves along the way.
If that doesn't sit well with any of you, consider that the RHM might have some more answers about what happened to us.
If it is the RHM, I'd like to save her. And if the city does not exist, we need to find new purpose. Setting out to save a person and bring light to a dark place is a good start. Maybe we can metaphorically create Step within ourselves along the way.
If that doesn't sit well with any of you, consider that the RHM might have some more answers about what happened to us.
Scify
It always starts with a lighthouse.
[X] …took the woodland trail.
Whether or not we end up helping her, if it even is her, I'm curious about what's going on.
Gargulec
impact!
- Location
- a garden
Another update:
The Christmas/festive season is still holding, but the lack of updates should be attributed to a main causes: a continuing difficulty with writing anything I've been experiencing over past days; I've been badly struggling to get certain projects moving for past week and a half, and to no avail. This unfortunately means that the Quest falls down the ladder of things I try to force myself to work on (because university and related work is, alas, more important). I apologize for the delay, and, well, let's just call it a Christmas break, okay?
The Christmas/festive season is still holding, but the lack of updates should be attributed to a main causes: a continuing difficulty with writing anything I've been experiencing over past days; I've been badly struggling to get certain projects moving for past week and a half, and to no avail. This unfortunately means that the Quest falls down the ladder of things I try to force myself to work on (because university and related work is, alas, more important). I apologize for the delay, and, well, let's just call it a Christmas break, okay?
8.0 A Wild Bunch
Gargulec
impact!
- Location
- a garden
You took the woodland trail! The road calls, no matter what is at the end. Is there anything? You chase a city that does not exist. Does it mean that the road never ends? Who knows. But there are still people to meet on the way.
At the end of the trail, at the edge of the village, you found a bonfire, and around it, three men, busying themselves with a roast. They noticed you, and at first paid you no attention, their focus on stoking the fire and turning their improvised spit. But as you moved past them, towards the night-covered village, one of them, a wiry man wrapped in a ragged cloak, raised his hand and stopped you.
"There is nothing there" he said, shaking his head. "They are all dead."
He paused and allowed you to take a look yourself. It was no lie; the homes ahead were run-down and cold. No dogs barked and no children cried to announce a stranger. No one came out to face you, and you could see no smoke rise above the slanted roofs. In the quiet, you could hear the forest rustle, and fire crackle – and beyond it, nothing. The village was grave-silent.
"Plague" the man who hailed you said, creeping up behind you without a sound. "Fresh graves around the shrine, homes abandoned. Saint Orno did not listen to their prayers, it seems."
It wasn't that strange. Sometimes, a fever or a disease came over a town or a village, laying low all that it touched. And sometimes, those who remained did not want to linger. They fled away, from their home and their land, to some other place, to leave death behind. And sometimes, they would later return, and pray to Saint Orno, skewered by heathen spears, who was the patron of the afflicted, and the one who shielded against the arrows of ill air. But not here.
"Only the lord remains, I think" the man continued speaking, and pointed to a hill on the horizon. A tower stood on it, surrounded by a wall, overlooking the land. "Maybe he allowed his servants with him?"
"I doubt it" you heard another voice come from around the bonfire. It belonged to gray-garbed, cold-eyed man. He did not turn from the roast while speaking, watching it as if the was the entire world for him. His head was shaved in the manner of a monk, but he carried a sword with himself, and did not seem much of a man of religion.
"I think it's about done" said the third one. He had an axe slung over his shoulder, and a gaping hole where an eye should be on his face. He bared his arms, and they were thick with scars and blots of ink. "Let's eat."
You sat with them around the fire, and ate. It was a good roast, juicy and filling, although you did not know what manner of animal provided it to you. Without wasting words, you tore the meat, and ate it, and then, sucked the marrow from the bones and threw them into the fire, to crackle and crack. Around you, the night fell unnoticed, and moon peeked through the cover of the clouds, bright silver.
"Who are you?" asked the wiry man. "Not many come from the direction you wandered."
"Look at the face" the scarred man scoffed. "Isn't it obvious? A warrior sits among us."
"A woman" said the not-monk, still not looking at you. Whatever he saw in the fire, fascinated him utterly.
"Travels alone, with a spear and a shield, and a scar that speaks for itself" replied the scarred, and shrugged his wide arms. "A warrior, I say."
"Or a runaway" the not-monk scoffed back.
You remained quiet, sticking your hands out towards the fire to warm them. The night was colder than the summer would suggest.
"Aren't we all?" the wiry man sighed. "What use is this mistrust?"
"Wake up with a knife in your gut" the not-monk suggested. "Be killed and robbed by an exile."
"Fate abides as fate must" the scarred one replied. "I've lived a good life."
"Part with it, then, but on your own" the not-monk glanced at him, so quickly that you barely caught the motion. "I say that we kill her, and take what she has."
"It is an option to consider" the wiry man agreed. You reached for the Rye-stalk and placed it across your knees, hands wrapped around the shaft. It still felt heavy to lift. But you were getting used to it.
"We broke bread with her" the scarred man noted.
"That we did" the not-monk hesitated before agreeing, and then chucked a bit of wood into the fire. Sparks showered into the night. "That is unfortunate."
They went quiet, all of them, perhaps lost in their own thoughts, or considering what to do with you next. You too, considered, but as was your custom, not for long.
You straightened and…
[ ] …walked away into the night without a word, leaving a coin behind.
[ ] …turned on your side, wrapped yourself in your cloak, and went to sleep by the fire.
[ ] …took your spear in your hand and…
8.0 A Wild Bunch
At the end of the trail, at the edge of the village, you found a bonfire, and around it, three men, busying themselves with a roast. They noticed you, and at first paid you no attention, their focus on stoking the fire and turning their improvised spit. But as you moved past them, towards the night-covered village, one of them, a wiry man wrapped in a ragged cloak, raised his hand and stopped you.
"There is nothing there" he said, shaking his head. "They are all dead."
He paused and allowed you to take a look yourself. It was no lie; the homes ahead were run-down and cold. No dogs barked and no children cried to announce a stranger. No one came out to face you, and you could see no smoke rise above the slanted roofs. In the quiet, you could hear the forest rustle, and fire crackle – and beyond it, nothing. The village was grave-silent.
"Plague" the man who hailed you said, creeping up behind you without a sound. "Fresh graves around the shrine, homes abandoned. Saint Orno did not listen to their prayers, it seems."
It wasn't that strange. Sometimes, a fever or a disease came over a town or a village, laying low all that it touched. And sometimes, those who remained did not want to linger. They fled away, from their home and their land, to some other place, to leave death behind. And sometimes, they would later return, and pray to Saint Orno, skewered by heathen spears, who was the patron of the afflicted, and the one who shielded against the arrows of ill air. But not here.
"Only the lord remains, I think" the man continued speaking, and pointed to a hill on the horizon. A tower stood on it, surrounded by a wall, overlooking the land. "Maybe he allowed his servants with him?"
"I doubt it" you heard another voice come from around the bonfire. It belonged to gray-garbed, cold-eyed man. He did not turn from the roast while speaking, watching it as if the was the entire world for him. His head was shaved in the manner of a monk, but he carried a sword with himself, and did not seem much of a man of religion.
"I think it's about done" said the third one. He had an axe slung over his shoulder, and a gaping hole where an eye should be on his face. He bared his arms, and they were thick with scars and blots of ink. "Let's eat."
You sat with them around the fire, and ate. It was a good roast, juicy and filling, although you did not know what manner of animal provided it to you. Without wasting words, you tore the meat, and ate it, and then, sucked the marrow from the bones and threw them into the fire, to crackle and crack. Around you, the night fell unnoticed, and moon peeked through the cover of the clouds, bright silver.
"Who are you?" asked the wiry man. "Not many come from the direction you wandered."
"Look at the face" the scarred man scoffed. "Isn't it obvious? A warrior sits among us."
"A woman" said the not-monk, still not looking at you. Whatever he saw in the fire, fascinated him utterly.
"Travels alone, with a spear and a shield, and a scar that speaks for itself" replied the scarred, and shrugged his wide arms. "A warrior, I say."
"Or a runaway" the not-monk scoffed back.
You remained quiet, sticking your hands out towards the fire to warm them. The night was colder than the summer would suggest.
"Aren't we all?" the wiry man sighed. "What use is this mistrust?"
"Wake up with a knife in your gut" the not-monk suggested. "Be killed and robbed by an exile."
"Fate abides as fate must" the scarred one replied. "I've lived a good life."
"Part with it, then, but on your own" the not-monk glanced at him, so quickly that you barely caught the motion. "I say that we kill her, and take what she has."
"It is an option to consider" the wiry man agreed. You reached for the Rye-stalk and placed it across your knees, hands wrapped around the shaft. It still felt heavy to lift. But you were getting used to it.
"We broke bread with her" the scarred man noted.
"That we did" the not-monk hesitated before agreeing, and then chucked a bit of wood into the fire. Sparks showered into the night. "That is unfortunate."
They went quiet, all of them, perhaps lost in their own thoughts, or considering what to do with you next. You too, considered, but as was your custom, not for long.
You straightened and…
[ ] …walked away into the night without a word, leaving a coin behind.
[ ] …turned on your side, wrapped yourself in your cloak, and went to sleep by the fire.
[ ] …took your spear in your hand and…
[ ] …thrust it between the not-monk's legs.
[ ] …thrust it between the wiry man's legs.
[ ] …thrust it between the scarred man's legs.
[ ] …thrust it between the wiry man's legs.
[ ] …thrust it between the scarred man's legs.