Sigil
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Custardy lumps of hairless, altered flesh dotted sections of the landscape, the odd section of bone showing through in places. Mostly small piles; the remains of the odd squirrel that fell from its preferred tree, a stray dog that, in a panic, dove into a ditch full of the awful rain. Other lumps were larger, though. Some almost as large as himself, sporting familiar shape of limb.
Not everyone managed to get indoors before the searing rain took their lives and defiled their corpses. Keystone noted with revulsed disappointment that, if the rain were connected to himself or the other outlanders, they may be indirectly responsible for the deaths of these people.
That very point, the possibility of connection, cemented within Keystone his desire to learn more about the phenomenon. Wherever the Goblin's place of higher learning was, he had to get there. Whether the learned faculty of the established scholars therein were inclined to assist was another matter entirely, one that would have to be addressed after they arrived.
Therein lay his problem: Having a pack full of quartermastered traveler's gear, foodstuff, personal effects, extra clothing, and cooking wares, plus the addition of a couple hundred pounds of infernal jerky and Hellhound sausage, even a man of his physical prowess wouldn't be able to get very far without help. Earlier that morning, he thought that he had found a possible solution. His present walk into the scarred and uncertain town among the trees was to confirm this.
After a short walk, Keystone happened upon the object of his search - a lone bay mule. Unfortunately, an older gentleman in a large, straw hat seemed to have found it first. The elder man had a look of familiarity with the animal, marking him beyond Keystone's doubt as the rightful owner. He also had a look of solemn, prideful defeat. The rain, no doubt, had caused the local tremendous losses. Being an generally intimidating guy, the pugilist knew he had to play this interaction with more gentlemanly tact than he was ordinarily accustomed.
"Oy there, old man! Thought I saw that sodding beast whilst I was pissin' out a window! Let's you 'n me have a chat, eh?"
***
A few minutes later, Keystone could be seen headed back to the tavern, leading a marvelous creature behind him. A large bay, seemingly bred from draft stock. The powerful body of a work horse combined with the thick skin and small, dexterous hooves of its braying relations; shorter snout with thick, grinding teeth and long floppy ears, a beautiful brown with black snout and hooves, mane and tail. The often overlooked and highly underestimated beast of burden, guaranteed to be a more healthy, agile, strong and constitute than its purebred family, the Draft Mule. A pack saddle, standard and functional, adorned the back of the creature, and its reigns were a quality but commonplace rope.
Keystone led the beast up to the tavern, hitching it to a stout plank of the front deck. A slight smile adorning his face, he re-entered the building, walked straight up to the bar, and assaulted his breakfast with the pride of the victorious.
"Right, things're tough 'round here. Man lost a lot last night, was willing to take enough money to get 'im and 'is out of town on the quick. I'm all for heeding example."
The large man crammed a whole egg into his face, pausing just long enough to almost finish chewing it to continue, "I'd be loads happier if'n I can find a quality leatherworker sooner or later. Guy says there ain't one in town, not for my needs, anyhow, and I'll be needing a proper coat."
He drank deeply of his now perilously strong (but cool) black tea, called for honey, and kept talking to whomever was listening at the time. Keystone seemed in good spirits, considering recent events. Maybe it was simply the fact that, for the first time, he was about to do something proactive about his circumstances. Maybe it was the acquisition of the fine animal just outside. Either way, he seemed a man on a mission.
"Her name's Molly. The mule out front, I mean. And no, she ain't for eatin'." He stopped for a moment, unsure completely as to the nature of the company around him, but remembering a group he ran with a few years back. "Not for anything else, neither."
He turned back to his breakfast, paying special attention to his cooler, very sweet black tea. "...might be something to this beverage..." he mused, ever the culinarian.
< Message edited by Sigil -- 2/2/2016 5:56:04 >
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