literature

Call Me Jimmy Segment 1

Deviation Actions

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In a different part of Ostview, inside the very heroes guild the grippli family sought, there was a waiting area. It had a ceder bench wide enough to cram four people on if they sat uncomfortably close to one another. Presently there sat only one person on it. A dwarf with a bald head, round face with creases below his eyes and at the corners of his mouth, a beard that reached to his bellybutton of pure pitch-black that tapered from his face into a precise point at the bottom, a fat nose that looked as though it has been squashed onto his face like a wad of clay that happened to have nostrils attached, bushy eyebrows of the same black that his beard was, armor that shimmered like stars in the light, a round shield at his feet of a dark green metal, and three longswords that stuck out awkwardly from his seated position as they remained strapped to his waist. Beside the bench on the left side, where the dwarf was seated, was a squat table of the same wood as the bench; and on top of it were a set of outdated publications by the wizards of the area, each had a different title and a picture on the front: Arcane Officianados Illustrated had a scantily clad young woman who was covered in tattoos holding a flame in her outstretched hand, Potions Weekly had an elderly woman dropping ingredients into a frothing cauldron, and Familiar Fancy had a rather portraitgenic fox staring out at the reader inquisitively. The dwarf sitting on the bench had the fourth in his hands: Adventurers Journal, on which proudly flexed an obscenely muscular man holding an ornate greatsword in both hands at the ready. The cover was of little import, as he was reading it for a certain interview with a fellow adventurer.
The dwarf was a big fan of this legendary warrior whose tales of heroism had even reached across the ocean to the dwarf's land. Since he was a wee lad of 30 he had been enthralled by the stories of this great man and his magical longsword Raglyk that supposedly had a mind of its own. One of the dwarf's favorite stories was the one where Raglyk had sprung up when its master had been captured, killed the captors itself, and sundered the enchanted chains keeping its wielder with one swing. The dwarf's heart raced with excitement even still just by the thought of having such epic tales of his own. So enthralled was he by the questions of how this particular individual keep himself busy when he was not rescuing buxom damsels from evil dragons, that he didn't notice that he had company on the bench. The only clue that reached through the fog of his focus upon the printed words was when the person spoke up.
"May I have that after you're finished?"
This startled the dwarf and he let out a shout and cried, "don't sneak up on me like that!"
The stranger bowed their head in apology. "I am sorry." The race of the stranger was unknown to the dwarf. It was not much taller than him, covered in black feathers like a raven, and had a glossy black beak in place of a nose and mouth. What further caught the dwarf's attention was the stranger's armor: a full suit of armor with plates of bright green that were edged with dark purple, additionally the armor seemingly clung to the stranger's body as though it had been built around the stranger.
"No problem," the dwarf muttered, eyeing the stranger's wear.
"May I have that after you've finished?" The stranger repeated, pointing at the publication the dwarf was still holding, "the cover piqued my interest."
"Oh," the dwarf had been finishing his third reading of the interview when the stranger had startled him, so he handed it over, "yes, I'm finished."
"Thank you," the stranger politely answered with a soft voice that betrayed the dwarf's attempts to place gender on the thing.
"Nice armor," the dwarf commented as the stranger opened the publication. It's eyes darted about a certain page much faster than the dwarf could have imagined being able to read.
"Thank you," the corners of the stranger's beak curved up in a small smile as their eyes didn't leave the page.
The dwarf gave the metal it was made from a scrutinizing look, "living steel!"
The stranger tensed.
"That's a hefty thing to be wearing. Mithral myself," he clanged a gauntlet against the chestplate of his armor, "light but strong."
The stranger nodded.
A tense moment passed over them in silence, during which the stranger relaxed.
The dwarf had no particular interest in the other choices on the table, so he clasped his hands together and twiddled his thumbs awkwardly.

When some time has passed in such a tense silence, the dwarf spoke up again when he noticed the stranger still hadn't turned a page.
"So you got a name?" he asked, his foot tapping against his shield.
"Do you?" the stranger answered nonchalantly.
"Oh, yes, my apologies," the dwarf hid his indignation with his answer, "I am Rodgar, son of Rodgar."
"That's nice," the stranger replied.
"And your name..." Rodgar led, his indignation growing as his patience for curt bird-people waned.
"Ruk."
"A pleasure," having Ruk's name did little for Rodgar's soured mood, but a dwarf couldn't be picky with their company in Rodgar's position, "looking to get initiated?"
Ruk nodded, "the heroes guild is a respectable way to make some coin."
"Well you seem pretty well equipped," Rodgar only just then noticed the large pole stuck to Ruk's back; he pointed to it, "that your weapon?"
Ruk nodded again, "bec de corbin, it let's me keep my distance."
"I fight good and close with my longswords," Rodgar answered with a confident smirk.
"The farther I am from an enemy's weapon, the farther I am from being stuck on it," Ruk seemed unimpressed by Rodgar.
There wasn't much flaw to Ruk's logic, so Rodgar was left with merely nodding, "a fair decision. Where do you hail from?"
Ruk closed the publication and held it out for Rodgar to take, which he did as Ruk replied, "not here."
"What," Rodgar set the publication with the rest, "you mean you don't want to tell here or you're not from here?"
Ruk pondered the answer a few moments before replying simply, "yes."
Rodgar nodded, "I am from Rodgar, across the ocean."
"Rodgar, son of Rodgar," Ruk paused a moment and continued, "of Rodgar... Is everyone there named Rodgar?"
"No," Rodgar had answered that question many times in his travels away from home and it had grown old after the second time. Presently he had reached fifty-seven times.
"Huh," Ruk shrugged.
"Look, it's just...forget about it. I'm Rodgar, end of story." Being a dwarf as he was, Rodgar's grimace was a particularly nasty one.
"Have you been waiting here long?" Ruk inquired as a deft way of changing the subject.
"Not particularly," Rodgar glanced at the publications.
"And I'm assuming you're waiting for a team since you're in the area for team-waiting."
"Yeah, was told I can't take the initiation alone, something about insurance."
"Well we have two now, we're halfway there."
Rodgar looked at Ruk as Ruk faced him and he raised an eyebrow, "what makes you think I'll trust you so easily?"
"Well if you want to wait even longer for different teammates then I guess I could leave and come back tomorrow," Ruk stood.
The passive-aggression worked just as intended as Rodgar answered, "well now hold on, I didn't exactly say no..."
Ruk took a seat again, "so how about a little drink to pass the time?"
As most might be well aware, dwarves are quite easily swayed by the promise of either drink, or gold. "Well that seems perfect to me," Rodgar grinned.
Ruk let out a soft giggle, "a moment then." Ruk reached into a small pouch on the armor and brought out a jug shaped in the fashion of a gourd, then two cups; without magic, none of this would have fit into the pouch. The contents of the jug was poured into each cup before Ruk corked the jug again and offered a cup to Rodgar, which Rodgar took.
Rodgar brought the cup to his nose and sniffed. Having had many drinks in his day, Rodgar was surprised that this one was unknown to him. The drink was clear, but certainly smelled of alcohol. "What is it?"
"A drink from my home," Ruk replied before sipping.
"Home of not here. Well I'm not familiar with drinks from Not-here," Rodgar thought he was so clever in mashing the words together like he did, "so what is this drink called? Not beer?" He let out a laugh at his own joke, and thus was ignorant to the eyeroll Ruk gave.
"Sake, warm."
Satisfied to have been given a straight answer, Rodgar drank the contents in one gulp.
"Taste it," Ruk said with slight offense to Rodgar making a shot of the drink. Ruk filled Rodgar's cup, "it's not some common ale."
"Sorry," Rodgar's cheeks went a little pink at his offense, and this time he followed Ruk's example and sipped. The drink swirled across Rodgar's tongue and when he swallowed he had a gleeful look as he said, "aha! It's sweet!"
Ruk nodded and continued sipping wordlessly as Rodgar enjoyed the drink as it was meant to be.
After doing a little soul searching and class reading I realized the previous iterations of this story were not up to my potential. Sorry to those that especially enjoyed the first one, but I couldn't leave them the way they were.
Also, this version is much easier to work with in the way that it seems to be coming together much more easily. The story will continue to be mostly rated PG-13, and unlike the fantasy I've read so far that was based on a D&D setting, this will be as though characters had been created for a campaign using the Pathfinder system.
Enjoy :)
Inspired by: Pathfinder Tabletop Game (copyright Paizo), Lord of the Rings, and Terry Pratchett

Things and stuff copyright to Paizo (at least I'm pretty sure)
© 2015 - 2024 Mastermond
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