A storehouse of thoughts on RPG's and other non-sense.
Friday, October 7, 2016
In the quiet wood
The snow falls like a translucent veil. Enshrouding the forest in a blanket of cold nothingness. Yet I trudge through the drifts. My mission not to be deterred. To kill the beast of Kjøpsvik.
Its terrorized the people there for nearly a fortnight, before we made landfall. Took us unaware, stalking our tents after killing the night watch. Eviscerating brave souls while they slept. Then cowardly fleeing into the night as men weapon and shield in hand stand ready.
What could we do but give chase? Much to our own folly. It is a creature of the wood silent, and cunning. Led us on a merry chase through briar, rockfall, and doom. Leading to traps, and ambushes. Which we did not realise we had even tripped into till far after it happened. Taking gallant warriors, one by one. Never standing to fight.
Playing a game of cat and mouse. I am the last of the crew, Hrólfr having succumbed to his wounds. Though the beast did not escape free of harm. I did lay a blow to the grotesques back. By the sword handed down to me, by my father. Sharper than Odin's wit, struck a gash that would have killed a man. Yet sent the creature screaming off into the snow.
Now it is my turn. I do not follow the blood, but keep aware of its place. Lest the beast lure me into a trap. Now the hunted, becomes the hunter. It will learn I am no deer to be tricked unaware. I will turn the tables and if necessary run it to ground. It will grasp the knowledge that it is not the better of this man. Right before it dies.
I am thought to be exiled gentry, a vagabond, a scandalous rogue, a troubadour, armchair tactician, amateur grifter, self taught mechanic, would be author, adventurer, rogue scholar, traveler of strange lands, and an all round near do well.