Horace's stomach growled in protest as he took in their bleak surroundings. For the past two days since leaving the highway, he and his companion had been forced to pick their way around increasingly frequent patches of marshland and sump.

They came in search of their friend Skorn, who had gone off chasing a wild pig over a hill and had not been seen since. It seemed a fool's errand at this point, but after all, Skorn had seen them out of many spots of bother in the past and they owed it to her at the very least to try and track her down (hopefully) unscathed. In addition to this, Horace privately enjoyed her company far more than his other companion, Helkar.

As the designated scribe and scholar for the hero's epic, Horace always found that Skorn's recklessness often seemed to lead them to interesting, albeit dangerous adventures.

The elf by contrast, was quite enigmatic and something of a religious zealot for his strange deity; a deity which he would invoke with a hackneyed sort of frequency.

Nevertheless, Horace had to acknowledge that his own personal biases as a half-orc may be clouding his scholarly assessment of the scenario. Anyway, Helkar was far better than Horace in a fight, and that counted for something, lost in the wilds as they were.

The tall, dead looking trees around them had become denser, giving off a feeling of claustrophobia. Pausing to remove his boot and dump out some filthy water which had collected in the sole, he could do little but shudder. He had gotten used to being poor, and the hunger in his belly could never match his thirst for knowledge, but he did miss a good bath now and again. Gazing over at his companion, he wondered how Helkar managed to appear so clean, under the circumstances. The white hair and sallow skin of the elf stood in stark contrast with the surroundings. Horace was privately jealous and ashamed that his oafish orc body could not match the physical grace of his companion.

"Well Helkar, old chum, we seem to have really put our foot in it this time, wouldn't you say?"

"I place my feet only upon the path which Manawan has laid for me. It would be wise of you to do the same."

Horace smiled and shook his head, sighing. "Ever the conversationalist, I see... Well, I, for one am ravenous. Perhaps a rest is in order and we can finish the rest of that dreadful gnomish blackbread from Wot's pack?"

The elf nodded but remained standing where he was. Taking this for acquiescence, Horace dropped the pack from his shoulder and sought out a place to sit. He saw a rounded looking, mossy boulder nearby which would do nicely for a comfortable perch and flopped upon it.

"Bah!" He jumped up nearly as soon as he had sat down, for the rock beneath him had begun to move.

As he scrambled away in fright, he saw that it was no rock at all, but a strange looking... man of sorts. He appeared hideously old and stooped, barely a yard tall, with an unkempt grey beard that stretched to the ground, where the ends had become caked with mud and straw. His eyes were hazel, covered with cataracts and his large, hooked nose appeared to have been broken and poorly reset several times. A thick green moss had spread across the top of the man’s hooded, grey robes and brown forearms, which served to emphasize just how long the strange man seemed to have been standing in place.

It was a mark of how uncanny the small fellow blended in with his surroundings that even the keen senses of Helkar had not detected him.

"Bah!" The man shouted back and ambled toward a bit of wood lying nearby. He raised it threateningly, brandishing it with two hands. Horace could see that the staff was not detritus jettisoned from one of the mighty trees overhead, but rather appeared to be an oar from a boat, and was nearly twice the length of the wielder, with a broad paddle head at the near end.

In a flash, his elvish companion had notched an arrow from his quiver and drawn the string back in the direction of their assailant.

"Stay back Horace; I shall slay this demon, for it is not of Manawan!"

The strange hermit cocked his head and questioned:
"Mammogram?"

"Manawan!"

"Stay your hand!" Interjected Horace, desperately "we come in peace!"

"No thank you, I have two already, but you may wish to try in town."
Helkar and Horace exchanged a puzzled glance.

"I suspect he doesn't hear well"

"Is that your scholarly assessment?" replied Helkar, raising an eyebrow, still holding the bowstring taught.

Horace turned back to the man, who was squinting toward them and tried again, speaking slowly and clearly:

"We mean no harm, friend"

The demeanour of the man changed instantly from tense, to jovial;
"Ahhh yes, this is my farm, how nice of you to ask!" he gestured behind him to a patch of marsh that scarcely differed from the rest of the outlying terrain,
"Perhaps you have come to buy some root-veg, and you are in luck! I harvested some tremendous looking turnips just yesterday evening. Or maybe I can interest you in some herbs and poultices?"

"I am afraid we are penniless at the moment and have little wont for root-veg when we are endowed with coin," said Helkar, lowering his bow and raising his chin in disgust.

The man's shoulders dropped in dismay.

"But we can trade in tall tales and proper introductions, if you fancy?" interjected Horace "My name is Horace Jacqueline Featherweight V, and this is my traveling companion, Helkar of Lands Far North. We are pleased to make your acquaintance Messr....?"

"Weevil is my name... Steven Weevil.... No.... that isn't right.... Weaving Evil?.. Weevil Kineval!.... Bah! Memory these days; quite a thing, eh? You have it one minute and misplace it the next... No matter. I had a group of friends once who knew me as Whistlewort and you may know me as the same. Welcome to the Boulderblight, Travellers!"
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:40, Wed 01 Dec 2021.