Trast Roaming Resolute: No Reservations

[Jim Roberts]

[Feb 2 – Ft. Resolute]

> As they were passing by the stables on their way back to the
> manorhouse, however, Trast noticed something significant within. In a
> particularly neatly groomed stall was the massive white horse last
> seen duelling with Sir Tregarth. Trast’s experienced eye was certain
> it was the same horse, not that it was likely there were two that big
> in the stables; though with the luck they had been having, who could
> really say? Neither the knight nor the horse’s blade were in evidence,
> but Tregarth’s Divine Steed Maximus was very much in residence. If
> they wanted to find Tregarth, there was always something to be said
> for skipping the intermediaries, and getting the word right from the
> horse’s mouth.

Stepping just inside the entrance to the speak-easy, Trast and Kal
paused to let their eyes adjust to the dimmer lighting. While standing
off to the side so they didn’t block other patrons, they were approached
by the larger than life bouncer who towered over the diminutive pair.
"Welcome sirs, glad to see….", pausing on catching sight of Kal and his
voice darkening, "....I thought you were told that you were not welcome
here."

Raising a placating hand, Trast intervened, "Just a moment good sir, my
friend told me of his last visit and is very sorry about that. In fact
he wants to make amends by buying you a drink." (Much to the gnome's
surprise).

Glaring at the gnome, "I'm on duty and you may not be around long enough."

"Of course," dissembled Trast, "he would not think of compromising your
ability to do your job. He'll pay for it at the bar and let the
bartender know it's for you. What do ya say?"

Grudgingly agreeing, the bouncer said, "Well, I guess we'll allow it
this time, but the first hint of trouble and you're both out of here the
hard way.”

Smiling, Trast reassured him, "We'd expect nothing less. By the way, are
Tramma or Pilinde around tonight?"

"No, I haven't seen either of them for several weeks,” the big bouncer
shrugged. “No idea where they are; off somewhere workin’ for the local
lords."

"Too bad, I was hoping on catching up with them,” the druid sighed.
Given everything else that had happened in the past few hours, he was
not surprised. “What about the Pussycats, they on stage?"

"Boy, you are just plum out of luck tonight," the big man chuckled,
"they're out of town too. Like I could afford a big act like them
anyway. But they’s local girls made good, an’ unlike SOME I could
mention go outta their way to remember alla the joints gave ‘em a start
back when. One or another of ‘em will play my place when they’re in town
an’ inna mood, or wanna play a set with a friend or sumpin. Not lately,
though, they’re all off onna same job for the Lords, I think Mel said.”

“No, all we got at the moment is this guy,” Talland rumbled. “Came
wandering in yesterday lookin’ for work, he’s not bad. Plays a lotta
music summa da boys from out on the plains like. Dude from the plains
calls hisself Swan in Weeds, I guess a lot of ‘em have heard of him.”

Eyeing Kal, Talland added warningly, "I'd advise a seat in the back, the
darker the better. No sense ruinin’ people’s appetite." Giving a nod and
allowing entry, "Enjoy, your evening."

However, it became immediately clear that while the two newcomers might
be best seated at the back, they were by no means unwelcome. Seated at
an improvised table at the back to not block anyone’s view was the large
figure of Sir Tregarth. Even seated, it was clear that he had earned the
nickname “The Tall”. The huge knight genially waved the diminutive pair
over to his table.

“Good evening,” the large knight gently greeted them as they clambered
up into their human-height seats. “Have you been enjoying yourselves in
our fair settlement?”

Trast, as before, got right to the point. "Your pardon, sir. I would
like to set up a shrine to my deity, Dumathoin, within your walls. With
your permission, of course."

The Seneschal considered the question for a moment, casting his mind
back on what he could recall about Dumathoin. He then nodded. “A benign
dwarven deity about secrets,” he mused, not at all disturbed by the
notion. Slightly puzzled,Tregarth asked, "While I see no theological
difficulty here, may I ask why? We're kind of far away from the dwarven
settlement."

"That’s exactly the point,” Trast explained earnestly. “Being far away
from the Delving, this gives any dwarf working here or just passing
through a place to pay homage."

"Makes sense,” the huge knight agreed genially. “But more practically,
just what will this shrine consist of? Are we talking very much space?
Things are rather crowded around here right now."

"Our shrines are pretty basic,” the dwarven druid answered. “Just a
space out of the way, say by the wall to place a raw boulder about 5
foot or so and some stone benches. I'd say roughly about 30 to 40 feet
across. Once it is in place, I carve the symbol of Dumathoin on it and
maybe pave the immediate area around it. I will be taking care of it so
there is no effort on the part of local authorities. Naturally, I am
willing to pay for the space," concluded the druid.

Tregarth considered the matter for a moment. “That sounds entirely fair.
We recently helped establish Wolf Hollow for the Kaltans, and your
proposed shrine sounds entirely compatible.” He thought for an
additional moment and then nodded. "Well, I don't see a problem with the
idea, and I don't think Sir Erik will mind. With all the help both
direct and indirect that the dwarves have given us, consider the space a
donation for a worthy cause."

"Oh, thank you Lord Tregarth,” the dwarf replied sincerely. Standing to
his feet, he intoned somberly, “May Dumathoin, the God under the
Mountain, bless you and those within your charge." The young druid
concluded the blessing with a formal bow.

A glance towards Kal suggested that the druid’s business here in the
speakeasy was over. However, Tregarth waved him back to his chair.

“The main act is about to begin,” the tall knight explained. “From what
I have gathered, he is worth hearing. A visiting bard from away beyond
the Forest People, across the Great River and out on the Plains. He
should be worth listening to.”

Still seated at the table, Kal was not so sure. He had bad memories of
bards from his far away home. Or at least singers; whether or not they
were *true* bards was rather dubious. But their cutting songs combined
with their shallow wit at his expense still burned. He could still hear
their favourite taunting song in his ears even now.

Pig man,
Pig maa-han!
Ha HAH, charade you are.

This current singer had better be good, or perhaps BABY might be getting
a workout tonight.

The singer, when he stepped out from behind the curtain, at least did
not fall to THAT level of musical torment. As Tregarth had mentioned,
the performer was dressed in the beadwork that those in “the know”
recognized as the hallmark of a tribal bard, though in a pattern subtly
different from that used by the local Forest People.

After introducing himself as Swan In Weeds, the bard tried his best at
musical comedy. Immediately Kal’s whiskers quivered, ready to be angry.
Fortunately, the bard’s lampooning was not at Kal’s expense, or really,
at anyone present. Instead, Swan In Weeds was spinning what he hoped to
be a funny ballad about a huge concert far, far away, about as far as
you *could* go and still be within the realm of the Forest People.

The focus of the comedic act had been a lady performer at this concert
who apparently had allowed too much wine – or quite probably other
intoxicants – to get the better of her. She had shed first inhibitions,
then clothing, and finally consciousness, until finally the silver
haired performer landed out cold at the feet of some visiting Medicine
Lodge dignitaries.

Humor, as experienced performers could have advised, is a difficult
thing, and a key part is not just content and timing, but the ability to
read the crowd. Something had clearly gone wrong with Swan in Weed’s
story, and the “funny” story he’d put to song was for some reason not
going down at ALL well with the locals. In fact, it was safe to say that
the entire crowd, and not just the gnome at the back, was getting ugly.

For some reason, the crowd was not at all happy with Swan in Weed’s
making light of the misfortunes of this silver haired singer. Even Sir
Tregarth had a rare frown crossing his usual sunny face.

“I think,” the huge knight quietly mused, “that I might have a word with
Talland after the show, and suggest that his current act may wish to
make it a one night show.”

'Yeah," growled the druid, "I may have a conversation with this Swan
fellow myself."

“Dad gum it, stop yer pious gum flappin’ an’ loosen yer sphincters
enough ta laugh,” the ugly little gnome at the table with them
guffawed. “That there is funny, yessiree. No idee who dis ol’ gal is,
jes’ bet she’s a hoot!”

“This is indeed true,” Tregarth acknowledged, realizing that the gnome
was not the only one laughing. Turning to Trast, he advised, "Easy there
my diminutive friend. We will handle things peaceably. This fellow just
needs to learn discretion and how to read his audience. Put this from
your mind and have another beer."

The huge knight signalled the barkeep for another round. Over at the
barrels, the “barkeep” nodded and filled a pair of stout mugs with the
evening’s current brew. A third mug he filled from a pitcher of pure
water, and the knight excused himself for the moment needed to fetch the
round of drinks. Keeping the water for himself, Tregarth distributed the
mugs and amiably asked, "So, once you find your rock, how do you plan on
getting it up the bluff?"

"Well, I know where the boulder I need is,” the druid asserted, “so that
problem is taken care of. As for moving it, I was figuring getting some
of the dwarves and a cart and hauling it up that way."

"Simplest ways are often the best,” the huge seneschal mused. “However,
if I might suggest something, talk with a logging crew instead. "

Taken somewhat aback, Trast asked, "Why?"

"Several reasons,” Tregarth explained. “The wagons and crews are on a
fairly tight schedule with not a lot of slack time to be out for a day.
Besides, I am not sure if any are rated for that kind of weight, since
they haul stone that's already been quarried."

Trast mused, "Hmm, wasn't aware of all that. Got any ideas?"

"You might try talking to some loggers,” Tregarth suggested. “They have
heavy-duty drays and portable lifting equipment for moving heavy loads.
Also, since they are freelancers, their schedule is more flexible. "

"Capital idea. I know who to talk to. I'm sure Caliondo and his pals
wouldn't mind making some extra cash.” Looking up at the tall knight,
Trast stated formally, “Sir, once again you have saved me a lot of
effort and trouble. Next round is on me. Kal, go get them, and don't
forget you owe a round for Talland and the barkeep."

“I'll go get them, but I don't owe you for,” Kal retorted. “Talland or
the barkeep I could have taken them.” Kal eyes widened and his head
tilted ever so slightly to the left side he muttered, “If BABY demands
blood I will deliver.

Staring at Trast, Kal paused for a moment, and started laughing. “You
should have seen the look on your face! Just messing with you, Trast.
Seriously, I do owe you for your kind hospitality allowing me to
accompany you. For that I thank you. They say dwarves can handle their
drink, but I bet I can DRINK you under the table.”

Early the next morning, Trast and Kal set out for the logging camp 5 or
10 miles or so away, which should take them right at 2 hours to reach.
Trast half expected Kal to look a bit worse for the wear after a night
of trying to keep up with a dwarf and a mountain of a man. Perhaps a bit
of unconscious dwarven chauvinism, since the ugly little runt had shown
not the slightest sign of intoxication keeping up with either a dwarf or
even a human built on such a heroic scale, especially one who didn’t
seem to partake past a single mug. All three of them had been sober and
steady walking back up the hill to seek their beds in the manor.

Trast was aware from his druidic spells that a suitable boulder could be
found not more than a mile or two from the logging camp, more or less on
their way. However, he also knew it might take considerably longer for a
heavily laden wagon to make the trip back to the Fort.

So it proved. The owner of the logging operation Cletus was quite
amenable to making an extra hundred gold. It took the rest of the day
for Trast and his two lumberjack friends Caliondo and Yavian to hitch up
oxen to a dray, trundle over to load up his selected boulder, and slowly
but steadily haul it back to the bluff and up to the top.

By sundown, the boulder was positioned exactly where the druid wanted it
in an out of the way and untouched corner of the summit looking out over
the surrounding river bottom. “Lot less exciting than our last trip,
eh,” Yavian announced cheerily as he led the ox team off toward the
carter’s camp a quarter mile or so away on high ground back above the
bottomland. Back before Yule, Caliondo and Yavian had been among those
who helped the druid and a small band of other adventurous locals
establish an outpost 5 day’s ride to the north.

For tonight, though, the lumberjacks simply had to put their stock out
to pasture before joining Kal and Trast for an evening relaxing at the
only hangout within a day’s ride. That chance to visit the speakeasy, of
course, had been as much an attraction for the hard-living loggers as
the extra gold. Though not all of them chose to partake; the owner
Cletus peeled off, apparently planning to spend his time with someone he
knew in the little hamlet below the Fort. Trast was not familiar enough
with the older lumberman to know the details, and the two younger men
showed zero inclination to question or explain the social plans of their
boss. Within no more than an hour, the two lumberjacks joined Kal and
Trast down at ‘No Reservations’ for an evening of rustic conviviality.