Trast and Kal at Ft. Resolute

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 2 AM – Trollkill/Ft. Resolute]

> “This whole tale does remind me of an old story I read,” Isebridien
> blinked a little muzzily. “Anni may not know,” the younger woman
> nodded uncertainly. “She was never an adventurer, either. But she’s
> got all the standard references to go through. The Monster Manuals,
> all 15 volumes of the Monstrous Compendium, even some of the more
> obscure tomes like the sage Turnbull’s ‘Fiend Folio’ A bit dry for my
> tastes, but Anadrieniel is the scholar in the family.”
>
> “Give her some time, and I bet she can figger somethin’ out,” Seaweth
> predicted. After that hopeful note, everyone said their good nights
> and headed off to their beds.

The next morning, after a hearty breakfast, Trast loaded up his horse in
the courtyard in front of the inn. Moving around to the Stoneskipper’s
head, Trast whispered in his ear, “Do worry pal, this is going to work
out just fine.”

Saying a quick prayer, the druid reached out and touched his horse on
the neck. Quick as a wink, the horse and everything on it shrank down to
about 4 inches tall and became a perfect stone figurine. Kneeling down,
he attempted to stroke his badger companion Niska, who shied away and
bared his teeth at it’s partner.

“Oh stop that! You can see for yourself he is perfectly fine. I told
you this is exactly what would happen and nothing is going to happen to
either of you. But if you would rather stay here and I find another
animal partner, that is totally your choice.”

Grudgingly, the badger approached Trast and allowed the same spell to be
cast on him. As before, except this time there was a perfect miniature
stone statue of a badger standing there. Carefully wrapping them in
protective hides, Trast placed them in a pouch on his belt.

Amazed, Isedibrien said, “Well if that don’t beat all. But how are you
going to get to Resolute if you dont have a horse?”

Smiling, Trast said, “Lady, you ain’t seen nothing yet!"

Closing his eyes in concentration, The druid’s body and gear began to
melt and flow together and shrink down in upon itself. Shortly a goose
stood before the assemblage.

Laughing, Seaweth turned to her friend and said, “better close your
mouth Isebridien, you're gonna draw flies. Have a good flight, my friend.”

Nodding his head at them both, the goose raised one wingtip to gauge the
wind. Turning slightly into the breeze, Trast took off in a run with a
squawk that sounded suspiciously like ‘AAFFLLIIICCCC’, caught air, beat
his wings furiously and disappeared in the direction of Fort Resolute.

Winging his way above the earth, Trast is marvelling at the freedom and
exhilaration of flight; not paying attention to his surroundings, he is
surprised as an arrow flashes by him. Startled by the attack, Trast
unthinkingly dodges to the side and spills into a spiralling dive.
Struggling in a panic to regain control, the druid manages to regain
control just in time to land rather clumsily and tumble two or three
time on the ground. Releasing the spell, Trast morphs back to his usual
self, lying sprawled on the ground face up. Hearing an approaching war
cry, the dwarf scrambles to his feet and assumes a defensive posture to
see the ugliest gnome in the world charging towards him.

“Hey,” shouted the gnome, “whacha done wit mah goose?”

“Your goose?”

“Yeah, I jes shot meself a goose for dinner an’ ya went an’ stole it!”

“You blithering idiot,” Trast shouted back, “that goose was me and you
missed me.”

“Aww, c’mon, you don’t look nuttin’ like a goose,” the gnome objected.

“I don’t now. It’s a good thing you're a lousy shot. You would have
done better sneaking up and uglying the thing to death.”

“So,” the ugly little gnome crowed triumphantly, waving his arms in
excitement. “Yews admit dere was da goose!”

“No, just me,” Trast insisted once again. “Just who are you anyway?

“Name is Kal,” replied the gnome, “you sure you aint got my bird?
What’cha doing around out here anyway?”

“No, I don’t have your bird. For the last time, that was me,” replied
Trast. “I’m Trast and I’m a druid on my way to Fort Resolute to see
someone.”

“Oh yeah, a dwarven druid,” Kal scoffed. “Tell anudder joke, funny boy.”

“OK,” countered the dwarven druid. “How about I turn you into a newt and
throw your scrawny but into the water?”

“No need to get your shorts in a bunch,” the gnome guffawed. “If yor
really going ter Resolute, need some comp’nee to shows ya da way?”

“I know how to get there,” Trast shrugged. “But you’re welcome to come
along.”

“Reckon I will. It’s right up there on dat hill,” Kal pointed to the
stone building and incomplete walls atop the bluff visible a bowshot or
two away through the trees. “S’pose to be a nice bar in dat weird big
cone-tent ya can see stickin’ up on the slope there, but the guy runs
dat place says you gotta be dis high to enter.” He waved his hand arms
length above his head. “Wotta jerk, right?”

"HA, I bet you a round of drinks I can get in with no trouble,” Trast
grinned. “But first, I must see a lady named "Anadrieniel". Got some
questions for her.”

After asking around, Trast was able to locate Anadrieniel in short
order. She turned out to be working for the lord of the area, and he was
directed to her office in the manor house. Trast was familiar enough
with the combination construction site and administrative center for
Fort Resolute atop the hill. He could see that the guards who had told
him where to find this Anadrieniel were none too happy about letting the
ugly little gnome tag along, but none of them actually turned him away
when Kal followed the dwarven druid off toward the manor.

The “manor” being the somewhat tongue in cheek term for the low, squat
stone building that perhaps only a dwarf could love. This had been the
first actual building constructed at the Fort Resolute site, designed to
defend the initial workers in case of a sudden and overwhelming attack.

Now, with the alliances in the region firmly in hand, such a surprise
attack was not very high on the list of probable events. An attack *was*
certainly possible; the region had neighbours who were not at all
friendly to the notion of a new holding. But with the locals firmly
allied with “Great Chief Erik”, it was most unlikely that any invading
force would have surprise on their side.

Now, the “manor” was more often used as a construction management
office, though there were single sex dorm rooms within for those who
preferred to sleep under stone. Not to mention the administrative
offices of the region’s Seneschal who took care of most of the day to
day running of the site, leaving his Boss Sir Erik available for the
larger geopolitical matters. And, of course, the manor also contained an
acknowledgement of Sir Erik’s Viking past; each night a banquet hall
would be filled with a number of the Norse knight’s guests.

The second building constructed at Fort Resolute were the stables,
placed near the manor. As would be expected by something owned and
managed by knights, these were top rate, and more than one druid had
given them their seal of approval. Though perhaps grudgingly so in the
case of Huntress Pilinde. She might not have cared overmuch for the
“Dwarven/Paladin Military Industrial Complex”, but even she had to admit
that the knights knew how to take care of their horses.

As both Trast and Kal finished their climb up the bluff and were coming
into the construction site itself, they could hear a sound that was
immediately recognizable by anyone who had ever heard it before – the
sound of ringing steel as sword met sword. None of the workers tending
to their tasks seemed particularly bothered by the noise, however, so
neither Trast nor Kal were especially alarmed.

And outside of the manor building, the source of the noise could be
found. The castle’s Seneschal, Sir Tregarth the Tall, was standing in a
fencer’s guard, his blade held before him in a “hanging guard” in a
static defence that at a flick of a wrist could turn into a deadly
attack. His opponent, however, had him out-massed. And out-legged.
Facing the knight was a massive white horse that might have been a
Clydesdale… if Clydesdales were also chargers. And firmly gripped in the
horse’s mouth was the hilt of another large sabre, the blade extending
out to the equine’s right.

Horse and knight faced each other for several moments, and then the
horse moved. Faster than one would expect from such a huge equine, the
horse lunged, its head whipping to the side to launch a viscous slash
towards the knight’s midriff. Tregarth blocked the blow with his own
sword, but declined to riposte. Again and again the huge steed launched
a series of powerful slashes, and each was blocked by Tregarth. Finally,
after one such block, the knight quickly whipped his sword around to
ever so lightly kiss the flat of the blade against the steed’s neck.

“Wow, that is quite a horse!” Kal exclaimed. “I am impressed. ain’t
never seen a horse weild a sword before. Does he know any other TRICKS?”

“We’ve got to keep working on your backhand, old chap,” Tregarth stated
genially, and the horse nodded.

Both horse and knight turned to face the newcomers. “Ah,” Tregarth said
succinctly. “Good day, Trast,” he began, giving the dwarf a fair
approximation of the appropriate bow. “At your family’s service. And
you,” he continued, turning his attention to the gnome, “must most
certainly be Kal.”

For several moments, both horse and knight stared hard at the
appearance-challenged gnome, the horse’s blue eyes boring into Kal,
while Tregarth’s gaze was simply considering as the knight stroked his
smooth chin. Then, rider and steed glanced at each other, and nodded.

“Welcome to Fort Resolute,” the tall knight continued. “And you are very
kind to say so, Mr. Kal. But I fear that Maximus has a ways to go before
I would consider him *properly* able to wield a sword. But he has made
remarkable progress.”

The steed offered no objection to his Rider’s appraisal, and simply
nodded his head before leaning over to place the somewhat damp sword
hilt into Tregarth’s offered hand.

“How may I be of help to you?” he genially asked the visitors.

“Your pardon Lord Tregarth,” replied Trast and sketching a short bow to
the Warhorse, “and to you Maximus. I hate to disturb you, but is the
Lady Annie's office still in the same location?”

Nodding, Tregarth affirmed that it had not moved.

“Then I shall trouble you no further, my lord.” Giving a deep bow, Trast
beckoned Kal to follow him as he made his way into the Manor.

The huge knight raised an eyebrow as he watched the two retreating
figures before turning back to Maximus. Divine Clydesdales cannot
*really* shrug, but that was certainly the empathic message he received
from his steed. And really, Tregarth had nothing better to say himself.
So Horse and Rider simply turned to begin the short walk back to the
stables, Maximus for a rubdown, and possibly some advice on how to
accommodate a missing backhand, and Tregarth on for a bath.

Recalling the way, the two visitors soon found themselves at the door of
the wizard’s office and workroom. After only a few moments of the usual
pleasantries, they found themselves seated in front of her desk.
Describing their foes to her, Anadrineil listened intently and took
notes. “That does not immediately sound familiar to me,” she announced
gravely. “I will need to research this a bit.”

She waved on hand to indicate the array of leather bound tomes carefully
filed on the shelves in her workroom. Arrayed through the crowded room
were all sorts of mysterious items and obviously magical apparatus, and
a large perch with a large owl sitting by the window. “I should have an
answer within anywhere from one to four hours. Several characteristics
you describe sound distinctive enough that I am confident there will be
a report somewhere in the existing literature.”

Kal said not a word in response, simply found a corner out of the way to
sit down and inspect his gear. First he inspected his greataxe.
Carefully taking off his greataxe covering marked BABY, the small ugly
gnome began whispering to the axe. When he was done he carefully placed
“Baby's” covering back over its head. He spent the rest of his time
checking the rest of his gear.

Dwarves are patient by nature. Not wanting to be rude and constantly
interrupt with questions or bothersome talk, Trast sat quietly holding a
badger figurine and absentmindedly stroke its back while in meditation
with Dumathoin. Neither of them took particular notice of the owl by the
window gravely watching them the whole time.

Anadrieniel occasionally spared the two a dubious glance and shook her
head, but simply walked along the row of shelves selecting an armload of
books. She had not expected them to sit placidly in her office while she
did her research, but they were being quiet and respectful about it.

Rather unnerving, now that she thought about it. The little ugly one
whispering to his axe WAS more than a bit weird, but she’d seen Sir
Tregarth and Maximus check him over, so she had faith he could have no
ill intent. Trast was a known quantity, and easy on the eyes; a sensible
fellow who wouldn’t just go around bringing someone he’d only just met
into her office. As it happened, that is exactly what he’d done, but as
the saying goes, ignorance is bliss.

After just a few minutes, the wizard was so immersed in her research she
didn’t think about the two patiently waiting demihumans any longer. The
journey to emigrate from her homeland had taught Anadrieniel to ignore a
lot more serious distractions than an ugly gnome and a handsome dwarven
druid sitting bored and boring awaiting the results of her
investigations. As she had hoped, there were indeed results to be
gleaned. At the very low end of her initial estimate, the sage was able
to give Trast the information desired.

Without further ado, the two little fellows thanked the wizard and went
on their way. “Rather a boring pair,” her familiar owl Saelaew commented
sleepily from his perch by the window. Anyone else within earshot would
have just heard owl-noises, but mistress and familiar had their own odd
way of communicating that only other magic could interpret.

“This from the owl sitting on his perch all day,” Anadriel smiled.

“I am nocturnal, I am supposed to be dozing right now,” the owl observed
wisely. “They are in theory adventurers from the sound of that dwarf’s
tale. Most of them would have been off at that speakeasy or out in the
woods making the territory safe or grubbing for a few lousy XP or
something.”

“*I* thought their patience was rather admirable,” the wizard ‘said’
loftily in their strange language of owl noises.

“You were just admiring that Trast fellow and wondering if your sister’s
trashy romance novels are right about the delights hidden underneath his
armor,” the owl chuckled.

“Oh, stop,” Anadrieniel giggled and blushed. “That whole ‘Hard Rock
Dwarf’ series is the worst sort of exploitative and ridiculous fiction.
I mean, a sexy dwarven bard lady’s man, c’mon.”

“And yet you Pendil girls have all four books,” Saelaew observed wisely.

“They’re good for a laugh, unlike THOSE two,” the wizard shrugged. “Oh
well, so much for the life of adventure I guess.”