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[WeeRLegion]

Soo, it's another one of my attempts at writing something other than raw brains-off comedy.
Well, I've succeeded with a few pages earlier...
This one, I've got some ideas and stuff that I'm planning to write down when I've got time and interest, but well see. .p

So, yeah. Writing serious...
That's a problem, since I don't always want to write something funny, and things inbetween usually turn out boring and lame...
Ehheh, yeah, so I'm shooting for angsty emo-goth crap here.
It's like a lollipop, tastes good every now and then, but you walk around with one all the time everywhere, and people will start thinking you're weird.

So, without further excuses, here's the prologue.



Painted Grey ? Scene 1 - Shock But No Awe


So, that was the beginning.
A death. A death and I killed a little of myself, yet another death. So what is life? Merely a process of prolonged withering and dying.
But, there is something else to it.
Rebirth; how the strong rise from the ashes to paint themselves from their past; they are not made by it, they make themselves by it, only as they see fit.
So for those who know the secret, is death to be feared?
It is not. Without death there is only stagnation, a bleak reflection of what is meant to be life.
If death brings life, why hang onto life, when death is more it's essence than itself? Death, is life. Life, is death.
But life goes on.
We must live on.

***

Valnier sat still beneath the tree. It was early morning, and soft light filtered in through the freshly greened canopies. The sun was rising, and slowly drying up the remnants of the morning mist and the night's rain. The ground and grass still glistered with watery pearls. Valnier found it slightly uncomfortable, that his clothes were just as wet as the ground, but it was to be expected; sitting a night outside in the rain with no cover did tend to have certain trade-offs.
It was not uncomfortable enough however, not enough to get himself moving.
For the moment he couldn't come up with any real reason to; but then, his mind was something of an blank paper with the most curiously drawn celtic knots swirling all over it, and still nothing, nothing he could really take a hold of; so it was understandable, so very... human.
Just, little birds waking up, chirping, flying... and a little bit of thirst... and a little hunger... mmm, something concrete.

Valnier stood up slowly, removed his pack from his back, and began rummaging. Dry bread, dry heavily salted meat... travelling rations.
Eating the tasteless food slowly and reluctantly, his thoughts started clearing up, and he began planning a course of action.
He definitely would have to return to the ambush spot. Someone might still be there waiting for him; they had come for him, not Gorion, but he reasoned the rain would have chased them to shelter, and didn't care to to think further than that.

Having flushed the dull taste from his mouth with a little water, Valnier began making his way back, following the little trail he'd fled by the past night.
The clearing turned out to be farther than he'd imagined, but eventually he still made his way to the trampled scene.
There was the body, as expected; Gorion, right where he'd fallen last night.
There was very little blood on the scene, the rain had washed it all away, and the body had ceased bleeding quickly when the heart had abruptly stopped.
What remained was an agonized grimace, a wet grey robe, pretty much
glued to the body underneath, and a deep pale gash running from the
left collar bone to the lower right ribs.
The broken ribs protruded slightly from the cold flesh on both sides.
Valnier pulled the torn robes to cover the cut, but the mental image proved much harder to hide.

He wiped his brow, and his hand caught a drop of sweat. A wave of light-headedness set in, and he slumped down to sit on the ground. He felt his cheeks; hot as coals, like his face would have been on fire.
"What in the hells?!", he screamed.
He felt somehow singled out. He was quite certain that not quite every male his age had to go through such rites of passage as gutting assassins, and now this...

Had he done something? Offended someone?
No, no, no, everything was still too petty. And the murderer, a massive man in massively spiked armour, eyes glowing yellow in his visor less demon-skull helmet.
Could such people really be merely assassin pawns of money? Hardly, he couldn't believe it, it had been more a demon than a man, it... none of it made any sense.
Drowsily he crossed his legs, supported his elbows on his knees, and
rested his face in his palms and his focus drifted back to the moment; "Dead, dead... Dead... Dead...".
He choked on the name, he could not say it, not even in his thoughts, not without tears. He did not cry., he refused to, though inwards he chuckled bitterly at his determination.
"I won't cry... I won't cry..." he kept whispering as the first tears began creeping out of the corners of his eyes.
He breathed heavily, trying to contain the ripping storm within, breaking down more and more the more he resisted. His lips began twitching, he could not keep it in for much longer, he knew, but he kept trying, and trying, swallowing down every bit of a tiny whimper that wanted to escape his mouth.
He kept swallowing, swallowing, and breathing, until it all was just too much to swallow.
He pressed his face to the ground, no one would hear it, he didn't think anyone would be there to hear it even, but it was as if though the forest was watching his shell crack, he had to hide it, he
couldn't let it out, it was just too... weak.

Then he heard what he least wanted to at the moment, a cautious 'Heya!' from somewhere, he couldn't place it, his head felt too jammed up; he could barely identify the voice, barely identify it as a voice even.
In an animal panic he leapt up, looked around, and spotting Imoen at the edge of the clearing, turned to face the other way, swallowed quickly a few times, stood up, and pretended staring at the sun; conveniently still the other way; "Ah, heya Immy!", he cut it at that, his voice being far more fragile, and shaky, than he was comfortable with.
He swallowed a few more times, his head was quickly unjamming, his train of thought quickly feeding more coal to the fire than it should, heck, his thoughts were racing, once again far beyond reach, but in a very different manner.
"I, ah, didn't expect to see you..." Valnier swallowed "...here!"
He quickly wiped his eyes, and turned around, facing Imoen who by then was standing just a few steps away.

"You ok?", she asked, doing a far better job at feigning a smile than he.

Valnier collected his composure, piece by piece, trying to put it back together, but he still missed a few pieces of the puzzle, leaving him more than a little befuddled.
"Me? Of course, of course, I..." Valnier paused, "I, I can handle myself in the wilds, yes, yes!", so stupid, he had to confess to himself, yet... relaxing, he felt instantly better.... not too much, but a little bit.

"Aw, c'mon, you..." Imoen suddenly turned quiet, and looked around,
"We gotta get moving, still a few shady people combing the forest a little, er, north? Er, that ways."

Valnier quickly scanned the forest around them, almost happy to have something to focus on other than himself, "Yeah... That's north you're pointing...? he paused, ?Don't worry, I'll be alright soon. Let's get a move on."

"The quicker the better!"

As swift and quiet as they could, they began making their way through the forest eastwards, every now and then halting in cover to listen, but they could not catch anything but the birds chirping.
Still, just to be safe, they kept moving until midday, eventually pausing for a break behind a moss covered boulder near the road.

Valnier was feeling much better by then.
The hike had brought back a little feeling of strength to his limbs, and loaded his brains with endorphins.
Though he knew he wasn't really over it all yet, for the moment, the night and the early morning seemed an eternity away.
So, chewing on a hunk of bread, he asked, "So Immy, how come you're here, and not washing dishes at the inn? safely on the better side of the walls..."

"Oh, oh, yes... Couldn't let ya get out to see the world all by yourself, could I now, huh?"
She grinned.

"So how'd ya even make it through the gate?"

Imoen grinned, "Heehee! Ever heard of such an thing as 'rope'? Heehee, you're really clueless for being such an 'old' and 'wizened' vizier of the forests!"

Valnier snorted, then turned to look back the way they'd come, "Heh, well, I never called myself either 'old' or 'wizened'..." he drifted in thought for a moment, and continued a little hollowly, still trying to keep up the near-cheery mood spike with a few empty chuckles, "Old and wizened, heh, never been quite the match for my description, rather... Heh, only one I ever called anything was you, and that was 'Cheeky Little Doodad Girl', heh..."

Imoen wrinkled her mouth, not at the memory; the returning cloud of moodiness simply irritated her.
"Hey, cheer up! We're in the clear now! So now we'll just... run off somewhere and go adventure! Yeah!"

Valnier rolled his eyes, "I THINK I've had plenty enough adventure to last me a while..."

"Nuh-huh! You just need a hug."

"Can I get one without itchy-powder down my neck? Or other places for the matter. Please?", Valnier chuckled.

Innocent as ever, Imoen pouted, "Aw, I wouldn't..."

"Heh... Yeah, I know... Not now...", Valnier turned to look elsewhere, and repeated mellowly; "Not now..."

Imoen seemed undecided on what to say, and a moment of nervous silence ensued, but eventually she decided to rather go ahead with something than nothing, ?Look, I know you were close, but you know, bad things just happens... c'mon, it's not your fault.?

Valnier stared dully at her for a moment, then answered irritatedly, ?Yes, some bulky demon of a man traipses out of the woods with his eyes glowing yellow and ogres and all hell's armies trailing at his back. Of course it's my damn fault when he decides to gut my mentor then.? he paused for a thought, then went on wryly, ?In Candlekeep, Gorion could have cooked anyone's balls in butter and no one could have done a damn thing about it, and that yellow-eyed freak is... he was, after me... ah... dammit...?

Imoen fiddled her thumbs for moment, then chirped in her cheeriest yeah-let's-talk-about-something-else tone; ?So you said on the way there were some friends of Gorion's waiting in The Friendly Arm, right? We should go there! Right? Right-right!?

Valnier chuckled, ?Right-right... We'll make it there for the evening if we go through the forest. I'd prefer to avoid roads for the moment.?

Edited by WeeRLegion, 08 June 2008 - 11:28 AM.

[WeeRLegion]

Well, thought this might be quick, and here it is. It's still, kinda 'prologueish', what with only little meaningful character interaction happening, still just establishing who's who, and who does what. But eh, it's a start.
Hope ya like it.

Painted Grey - Scene 2 - Unfriendly Arms at the Friendly Arm

I wanted to be strong then. I had to.
For myself, for her, for everyone. I never thought she had it in her.
Had I had a choice, I never would have taken her along, she just did not seem the type...
The type to melt people's faces with fire and slit their throats when they were screaming out their lungs in blinded agony.
She was reluctant, but still I don't think I've seen anyone forget it all so quick, to simply accept it, move on and smile again, as bright as ever for the next day.
Was she anything like me? Smiling only for others, thinking she had to hold it all herself?
Smiling to be smiled at, laughing to be laughed with, being the fool when nothing else helped? Could she? Could she hold the same weight with so little effort?

***

?One sheep, two sheep, three sheep...? Imoen counted. It did not work, so she quickly turned to experimenting; ?One handsome male, another handsome male... one handsome male with another handsome male... teehee...?, she found that experimental approaches rarely worked, and in a fit of goofiness her eyes scanned the room just to make sure no one had seen her thinking such.
Failing to catch sleep, she begun contemplating her options, and being rather a person of action than contemplation, she soon found herself standing ready and prepared to invade the main hall of the massive fortress-turned-inn.
While she did not quite expect anything to happen, she still checked that her dagger was secured at her belt, and stowed the magic wand, that she in the spirit of adventure had pillaged from candlekeep, into her sleeve.

The time was slowly approaching midnight. Valnier and Imoen had reached the Friendly Arm Inn early in the evening despite making their way through the worst terrain Valnier could find.
That to a good part had served to encourage Imoen to retire for sleep earlier; unlike Valnier, who on occasions had wandered the woods around candlekeep with the guards, she had little feel for travelling longer distances by foot, even less with a heavy backpack.
And so she had retired, under the excuse of combing off the frogs and squirrels, but also to skip watching Valnier getting increasingly frustrated with asking around for Khalid and Jaheira, and as a side effect, drunk.
She definitely liked the elf, more than that even, but she felt no obligation to do that everywhere and at every time.
Ordinarily he seemed like a fairly nice and tolerant person, but while drunk, well, he could be anything, and everything considered, Imoen guessed it would not be anything worth hanging around this time.
On one hand she didn't like leaving a friend alone with his troubles, but seeing there was very little she could do to begin with, and even less when he was drunk, she had decided to wait for a better moment.

Stepping down the stairs from the second floor, and into the drinking hall, Imoen to her disappointment found that most of the civilized people had withdrawn for the night.
What remained was a selection of caravan guards drinking down their mid-way wages, lonely hunters busying themselves with pretty much the same business, some local drunkards, and the inevitable handful of pay-to-play escorts, not to forget the few wenches that actually were employed at the inn.

And there, talking with a shady looking, if somewhat handsome, male, was Valnier.
Was that Khalid he was talking to? Imoen wondered, but taking a sharper look, figured the man in question looked nothing like an half-elf, which Khalid was very much supposed to.
She begun moving closer through the crowd, but at the same time, the stranger gestured at the door to the courtyard, and he and Valnier quickly disappeared outside.
Imoen followed, though elbowing her way through a few bunches of drunks took a little time, and she emerged outside barely in time to see the two disappearing out through the main gate.
A tiny spark of suspicion and fear soared through her thoughts; what are they up to? Why are they going out?
Quick and quiet she sprinted through the silent courtyard, and determining that her pink clothing was no good for hiding in the shadows of the gateway, she decided to peek inconspicuously around the corner and see what happens.
The men halted a little distance away, and started talking, she could not make out any words however, as the stranger spoke real quietly, and Valnier's speech was getting slightly slurry, which made listenig particularly difficult at a distance where she still missed a good part of what he said anyway..


Valnier turned to face the stranger.
?Now, we're far enough... you said you knew something about... assassin stuff??

?Yes, yes... Listen closely...?

?I'm all ears.?

?Helé'vétin vitthó per'keele, n'yat thánen kauhúa j'háh akh'hiá!?

Valnier stared at the mumbling stranger for a moment, and groaned drowsily; ?I can't make out a word you're... oh.?.
Then the spell struck him.


Peering at the scene, Imoen saw Valnier suddenly fall down and curl up into a whimpering pile, while the stranger began lazily grasping the sword at his belt and smiling lightly in an unnervingly conceited manner.
Imoen's thoughts fumbled for a suitable reaction, quickly coming up with; ?The magic stick thingy!?.
She drew the wand from her sleeve, and grasping it with both hands, aimed, and willed it...
A tingle ran up her fingers and her hair sprung to point sharply skywards as the fist sized radiant globe flared into existence and spiralled at it's target with a loud buzz.
The stranger was surprised, and he only managed to futilely raise his hands against the magic missile, which spiralled upwards, over his block, and slammed right back down into his face with a greasy hiss.

The man crumbled down screaming, loud enough to awake anyone sober enough to hear it in the Inn, and the sword fell from his grasp.
Somewhat shocked, Imoen darted to the scene, grabbed valnier by his shoulders, and screamed ?Wake up! WAKE UP! WAKEUP!?.
Valnier only stared at her dully, trying to wriggle away; not exactly what she'd hoped for.
She turned to face the stranger, who had by then gathered himself.
His right eye was flowing down his scorched cheek, and he was still letting out occasional screams and roars, but he was already fumbling around for his sword.
Imoen quickly leapt up, drew her dagger, and grabbing the stranger's collar, she pressed the blade against his throat; ?DON'T MOVE!?, bshe yelled, ut the stranger kept struggling.
Nearing panic, Imoen yelled again; ?DON'T YOU MOVE!?.
The stranger either didn't care to listen, or was just being incoherent, and grabbed a hold of her sleeve.
She could not think of anything else.
Point first, she rammed the dagger into the strangers neck, kicked herself free and rolled back.

The noise died down, screams turning to gurgles, whimpers to silence. She sat a few steps away, doing nothing but staring while the assassin quickly bled to death.
A moment passed, and coherent thoughts began taking shape in her head again.
She kept staring; on one hand she wanted to just look elsewhere, and maybe be rid of the evening's meal as well, but on the other hand, she could not, not just yet.
That, was a corpse, and she had everything to do with it being there.
Her thoughts were soon interrupted however.

?Um, thanks. Ims.?
The spell of fear had worn off, and Valnier, appearing somewhat sobered by the experience, sat on the road nearby, rubbing his temples.
Imoen glanced at him, but turned back to look at the no more handsome assassin.

?Val. I killed him. That makes me a killer... doesn't it??

Valnier looked about, somewhat hazily, trying to think of an answer. He then stood up quietly, and walked over to the corpse, turning to look at it, keeping Imoen on the other side.
Imoen turned to look at him as he began fumbling with his belt buckle.

?Um, Val? What are you doing? Ew!?

Finished with his business and rebuckling his belt, Valnier turned to look at Imoen.

?There! Pissed on his cold... warm... corpse. If you're bad Immy, I'm worse. Always.?

Imoen chuckled.
?Heh... You're drunk... Geez, have fun digging through his pockets now... Hehheh...?

Valnier stared back blankly and groaned; ?Well, shit.?

Imoen turned her head to look at the corpse again.

?Val, I really didn't like killing him. But I had to. He was going to kill you, right??

Valnier turned to look at the corpse too, then reluctantly crouched down, and began searching for pockets.

?Well.. I don't think it will make you feel much better, but, eh... I had to dispose of two of these sorts back in Candlekeep yesterday... I don't like it either, Immy, but I'm just thinking,... This guy isn't the first and not likely the last either.?

?Oh... I'm sorry, I just didn't think...?

Valnier interrupted her, and holding a piece of paper in his hand he shouted; ?Hohoho! Now look at this! Ink on paper! My head is actually worth something!?

?Hehheh... Oh, it doesn't say anything about my head, does it?.?

?Mmm... No. But... Oh, someone's coming.?

Running steps approached; a pair of guards from the Inn with a few other concerned people.

It took a bit of explaining, but after a moment of waving the assassin's bounty notice in the air and loudly professing to being THE Valnier from Candlekeep, the one and the same with the bounty on his head, the guards either were convinced, or lost interest, and with them, the crowd dispersed.
Watching the guards carry the corpse away, Valnier begun absent-mindedly kicking the bloodsoaked dirt about.
Imoen turned her head to the left, then to the right, and said cheerily; ?They didn't lynch us!?.

Valnier snorted dryly, ?Wasn't too far that either.?

Seeing a further pair of people approaching, Imoen chirped; ?Ooo! More people! Let's see if our luck holds!?.

Valnier looked appraisingly at the approaching pair of people. Male and female, half elves both of them. The woman kept eyeing them with an almost suspicious look on her face. The man seemed slightly nervous, but friendlier.

?That's not much of an lynch mob they've put together, Immy.?

?They're both armed...?, Imoen replied, noting the matching tunics of plain scale-armour and the scimitars the two carried.

Valnier shrugged and hollered dryly; ?You folks here to lynch or murder us??

The half-elves looked at each other, then the female spoke, ignoring the question; ?I am Jaheira, this is Khalid, my husband, and you two have made enough noise about who you are already.?

?H-Hello!?, Khalid managed to stutter, and that was about it, as Jaheira went on.

?Gorion is not with you? Then we must assume the worst and go on without him. I will not pressure you for details, though we might have to talk about that later.?

Before she could continue, Valnier irritatedly, and still somewhat drunkenly, interjected; ?He's dead. Some 8 to 10 hours fast march, if you don't take too many breaks, right that way. He was killed by an easily recognizable large man with glowing yellow eyes. You probably won't find much of him there though, as we had no time to arrange a burial, what with the forest crawling with shady people with knives and bows.?

Jaheira merely blinked, ?Well that is cleared then. We'll take time to mourn him later. For now I think it is best if we rest for the night, and start making our way to Beregost as early as possible in the morning.?

Still irritated by the commanding tone of Jaheira's voice, Valnier felt like objecting, but lacking any reasonable reasons to, he forced the hints of a grimace off his face, leaving only a wry smile and slightly narrowed eyes.
He opened his mouth, just in time to be cut off by Imoen.

?Sounds great! I'm feeling tired-as-dead already... mmmm... pillows...?

Valnier gave her a disappointed look from the corner of his eye. What was wrong with her? Oh, the grin on her face; it was just one of those times when she did not like what he was thinking and what he might say as a result.
He rolled his eyes, and mumbled;

?Sounds like a good enough idea.?

Edited by WeeRLegion, 08 June 2008 - 11:29 AM.

[WeeRLegion]

Riiight. Here we go again. I was planning on a bit more, but then figured I should be an ass and cut it where I did. Will spare you some boring travelling descriptions for the next chapter that'll be ready... eventually... when it is ready.

Anyways.

Painted Grey ? Scene 3 ? Roadkills


***


Ah! The dawning day!
Ah, the rising sun!
Oh, the chirping birds!
Oh, how I sometimes hate the lot of them...


***

The newly formed party had departed from the Friendly Arm as soon as the sun began climbing up the cloudless horizon.
It had taken more than a little effort to drag out the suddenly noise and light -allergic turned Valnier out from his room, but eventually they had gotten moving, and had kept moving for a few hours by then.

Valnier by no means meant to be a burden, he simply was quite overwhelmed by the unexpectedly heavy hangover, as within Candleeep people had usually held with moderate drinking, moderate tipsiness, and thus, only moderately degraded manners and mere moderate hangovers as well.
So, instead of striding ahead, observing the landscape, making irrelevant comments about present flora and fauna, and generally behaving as rangerish as he could, he was hanging at the back of the group, quietly trying to follow Imoen's shadow to stay on the road.
A backwards thought had also occurred to him; that he actually preferred feeling snot headed and angry, as it kept him from thinking and sinking to overt moodiness.
So on one hand, all he wanted was to borrow a guillotine to sever the aching orb from his body, but on the other hand, he couldn't help snickering wryly about it all.

Eventually he was drawn from his merry circles of irritated thoughts as Jaheira waved for them to hide in the bushes by the roadside.
Valnier wouldn't have noticed otherwise, but he hardly could miss Imoen suddenly tackling him face-first into a ditch and sitting herself on top.

?Sowwy!?, she whispered cheerily, and flashed a smile before turning to look at Jaheira sneaking ahead further along the road, obviously not being sowwy at all.

Spitting out dirt, Valnier groaned; ?The she-beast has found more nuts to crack or what the...?, Valnier spat out a little more dirt and finished, ?...is it??

?Dunno. There's something behind those trees there.?

?What trees??

?Those, oh, she's waving. We'd best get there.?

Imoen sprang up and darted forwards, not so much to obey quick as to evade any flying clumps of dirt potentially heading her way. She was almost disappointed to find none were coming.
Valnier wiped his face clean and followed lazily.

The sight that rudely neglected greeting them did so with good reason; anyone around who might have otherwise waved them a friendly hand had been caught in a pouring rain of arrows, and none of them carried suitably metallic umbrellas.
A small caravan carrying goods that it had been thoroughly relieved of had been caught in a bandit ambush, a little less than a week earlier, Valnier guessed, comparing the smells and looks with the few memories he had of Candlekeep's morgue and the dead rats he'd used to sneak under Imoen's bed when he was really really bored..

?Guess we should take a look??, he suggested in a bored tone.

?Ew!?, Imoen objected, and so did Jaheira, in a very different tone, though; ?No. These people are far beyond any help that anyone could offer.?

Eager to disagree, Valnier retorted, ?Yeah, I can tell that from the crows and the flies. All I'm saying, we don't want to get caught in a silly ambush like them. We might learn something about who did this and how if we sniff about.?

Wrinkling her mouth and holding her nostrils with a sleeve, Imoen muttered quietly; ?We might catch a fatal disease if we sniff about here...?.

Jaheira mostly ignored her, and went on disagreeing,?We won't find anything worth learning here. Bandits did this, and there's little more to say about it. Besides scenes like this attract all kinds of scavengers, not just crows and flies. We don't want to stumble on a napping ghoul with just the four of us.?

?Oh, you think we'll find a ghoul here, do you? While that'd be nice, I really think the worst we might encounter here are gibberlings. Yes, ghouls prefer shadier places, not nearly enough thick canopies and caves here for a Ghoul.?, posing victoriously, Valnier turned to look at the rotting scene, and finished; ?Now, let's get to it! So we won't have to stand around arguing in this vile stench for the rest of the day.?

Jaheira glimpsed at Khalid, who stared back helplessly for a second before finding something less demanding to look at, somewhere where the eagles soar.
Somewhat annoyed, she turned to look back at Valnier, and snapped, ?Fine! If that is what you want.?, she drew a breath, and could not resist adding, ?But it willonly be a needless risk, and an utter waste of our time.?

?That's settled then! You guys start looking around these wagons here. ?, Valnier pointed at the pair of nearest carts.? Me and Immy will, look...?, eyeing the scene, he spotted a pair of cart tracks leading away from the road, into rocky, boulder-littered, terrain, ?...we'll look about over there.?.

Leaving the half-elves to inspect the corpse piles nearby, Valnier began eyeing the odd find.
The tracks weren't quite fresh, but he could still determine that the cart had stood still with a heavy load for some amount of time, then gotten lighter, and been dragged into the woods.

Imoen interrupted his observations, ?Val, do we really have to look about here? Seeing that... man, last night was enough for my stomach....?

Valnier found the clouds particularly beautiful, ?Mmm... Ims, is it really anything special? It's... Blood. You've got it, I've got it. You get a hole in yourself and you'll start losing it. Lose enough of it and you'll stop breathing. Stop breathing and you'll start attracting flies... Really, is a dead person... anything special? Happens to me, happens to you, it's nothing peculiar.?

Imoen grinned, but failed to entirely shake the look of discomfort from her face, ?You're just making poo up to feel comfortable, ain't ya??.

?Well, yes. But I don't think I have many options. Not like standing around paralysed or gargling up the breakfast would do any of us much good.?

?We could have just gone our way to Beregost, you know. Like your 'she-beast' suggested.?

Valnier wrinkled his mouth about, thinking of something to say, then turned back to the tracks he'd spotted, ?Well, we MIGHT actually find something here. Look at these tracks here in the mud. Someone's dragged the cart into the woods there.?

Curiosity got the better of Imoen, and she began eyeing the ground as well, ?Here the wheel's snapped an arrow on the ground. It's been taken after the ambush.?

They began making their way deeper into the roadside woods, noting that the cart had been pulled along a trampled forest path; only the wheel tracks in the softer ground on either side of the path could be discerned.
Soon they made a further discovery.

?Hey Ims, there's a broken wheel here.?

?Um, maybe they had a spare??

Sharing a dubious look, they went on, and a little further along the path, they found the wagon itself, missing a wheel.
Remnants of an oil-cloth roof hung from either side of the wooden bottom piece, which was otherwise mostly filled with broken pieces of inside furniture.
It all looked very much as if something very large and heavy had just fallen on top of it all, miraculously still leaving the wheel axles intact.

?Val, that does not look like the cart full of gold and bandit booty that I'd imagined.?

?Ims, there's a gigantic steaming pile of shit behind that rock there. We should leave.?

?Witt'l uns, u shou'd defn'tly shtay fur dinn'r!?

They did not stay for dinner.

Edited by WeeRLegion, 08 June 2008 - 11:29 AM.