A Minor Inconvenience (July 3010) - [One-Shot]
Feb 27, 2018 10:07:13 GMT -5
Post by Drystan on Feb 27, 2018 10:07:13 GMT -5
This was what Drystan considered a mild inconvenience.
He looked around, hair whipping about his face as a large gust blew from the east, spying the remnants of what had been his camp. The deer he had managed to fell on the plain was gone from the spit. In fact, the spit itself was gone as well. The skin and fur he carried as a bedroll burning on the fire, and the little bag of fruit he had had by the makeshift pillow was gone, one lone strawberry in the dirt all that was left of his purchase from one of the farmers he had passed in his travels.
“Well, not all wasted,” he remarked to himself, adjusted the leather-wrapped package in his arms to stoop and pluck the red berry from the dirt and brush it off on his pants. Truly, the motion was pointless, for his pants still were soaked and caked with the mud of the Snowbourn, from where he had sat in the reeds and hollow of the bank for the last hour as the orc had rabbled by.
His knapsack was missing, though that was of little consequence. That had been his clothes. He had grabbed the quill set, inkwell, and manuscript the moment he had heard the Wolves of Mordor sounding their song upon the plain.
Chewing on what was assuredly the sweetest berry in Arda, Drystan looked down at the leather wrapped envelope, though imagined the parchment and penned words inside. “There now. All safe! Wonder if they got old Ceri…”
Drystan had had very little time to act for how open the plain was. It was not as if he could judge how close the orc band had come. They tracked by scent, he knew; it was why he had doused himself and his loyal steed in mud from the river before he settled himself in the reeds and hollow and hoped Ceri had the sense to run away until they passed. Maybe if she smelled like the Snowbourn, they would not know to look for her.
If they had gotten her…
Well, there was nothing Drystan would be able to do about that. Though, getting to that great Golden Hall of Edoras he had heard so much about was going to prove a bit more challenging now. Well, there was always walking! Who knew what manner of fowl or flora he would find along the way, and with his manuscript and writing things safely with him, he would have no reason to wish to hurry anyway.
A knife hung at his waist, a small axe as well. He’d need to dry both of those off before setting off, lest the rust set in on them. His quiver was trampled, though it looked like one of the arrows had survived the crunching. His bow…
Well, that did appear to be missing.
That made the mild inconvenience a little more…well, just an inconvenience.
“Have to buy a new one! I wonder if Edoras has special ones for horseback…” Drystan began to muse aloud, walking the rest of the bones of his camp. There was very little to salvage, but that was quite all right. He had very little to begin with, and it was nothing that could not be replaced with proper coin. Edoras had plenty of shops and wares, he was certain. Meduseld marked the city the capital of the Riddermark, and he still had coin left over from the book repairs he had done in the great libraries of Erebor and the Iron Hills.
The sun was high, the light streaming down and marking near the noon-hour. It would not take long, he mused, to dry in such a day. There was naught left to do but get to walking, and hope Ceri met him along the way. “To Edoras, then,” he exclaimed aloud, bright eyes reading the sky, and once more adjusting the course he needed to face toward the city. “The land of the horse lords, and home of the Golden Hall of Meduseld itself.”
He already had a list of things he wished to document of the hardy, fair-haired folk. The leather work for their tack, the breeding practices of their prized and famous mounts. He wished to see the Eored, fully armored. Now, though, he had plenty of time to think of a greater list! Perhaps this shift of fates was in his favor, for by the time he arrived to start his exploration of Rohan in full from its very heart, he would know precisely what he would want to include in the section of his manuscript concerning the proud Horse Lords.
He looked around, hair whipping about his face as a large gust blew from the east, spying the remnants of what had been his camp. The deer he had managed to fell on the plain was gone from the spit. In fact, the spit itself was gone as well. The skin and fur he carried as a bedroll burning on the fire, and the little bag of fruit he had had by the makeshift pillow was gone, one lone strawberry in the dirt all that was left of his purchase from one of the farmers he had passed in his travels.
“Well, not all wasted,” he remarked to himself, adjusted the leather-wrapped package in his arms to stoop and pluck the red berry from the dirt and brush it off on his pants. Truly, the motion was pointless, for his pants still were soaked and caked with the mud of the Snowbourn, from where he had sat in the reeds and hollow of the bank for the last hour as the orc had rabbled by.
His knapsack was missing, though that was of little consequence. That had been his clothes. He had grabbed the quill set, inkwell, and manuscript the moment he had heard the Wolves of Mordor sounding their song upon the plain.
Chewing on what was assuredly the sweetest berry in Arda, Drystan looked down at the leather wrapped envelope, though imagined the parchment and penned words inside. “There now. All safe! Wonder if they got old Ceri…”
Drystan had had very little time to act for how open the plain was. It was not as if he could judge how close the orc band had come. They tracked by scent, he knew; it was why he had doused himself and his loyal steed in mud from the river before he settled himself in the reeds and hollow and hoped Ceri had the sense to run away until they passed. Maybe if she smelled like the Snowbourn, they would not know to look for her.
If they had gotten her…
Well, there was nothing Drystan would be able to do about that. Though, getting to that great Golden Hall of Edoras he had heard so much about was going to prove a bit more challenging now. Well, there was always walking! Who knew what manner of fowl or flora he would find along the way, and with his manuscript and writing things safely with him, he would have no reason to wish to hurry anyway.
A knife hung at his waist, a small axe as well. He’d need to dry both of those off before setting off, lest the rust set in on them. His quiver was trampled, though it looked like one of the arrows had survived the crunching. His bow…
Well, that did appear to be missing.
That made the mild inconvenience a little more…well, just an inconvenience.
“Have to buy a new one! I wonder if Edoras has special ones for horseback…” Drystan began to muse aloud, walking the rest of the bones of his camp. There was very little to salvage, but that was quite all right. He had very little to begin with, and it was nothing that could not be replaced with proper coin. Edoras had plenty of shops and wares, he was certain. Meduseld marked the city the capital of the Riddermark, and he still had coin left over from the book repairs he had done in the great libraries of Erebor and the Iron Hills.
The sun was high, the light streaming down and marking near the noon-hour. It would not take long, he mused, to dry in such a day. There was naught left to do but get to walking, and hope Ceri met him along the way. “To Edoras, then,” he exclaimed aloud, bright eyes reading the sky, and once more adjusting the course he needed to face toward the city. “The land of the horse lords, and home of the Golden Hall of Meduseld itself.”
He already had a list of things he wished to document of the hardy, fair-haired folk. The leather work for their tack, the breeding practices of their prized and famous mounts. He wished to see the Eored, fully armored. Now, though, he had plenty of time to think of a greater list! Perhaps this shift of fates was in his favor, for by the time he arrived to start his exploration of Rohan in full from its very heart, he would know precisely what he would want to include in the section of his manuscript concerning the proud Horse Lords.