How to Be an Adventurer- World of Gimmok Page 5

  “So, what is your problem, villagers?” Carric asked in a kind voice.

  “Ma lowds. Dere be a trull an’ ‘is band. A drue, uh, ‘Sem blaj of Ee-vil,’” the man stated in an excited way, enunciating the last word with pride evident upon his face as he attempted to be proper like the lords before him. The words were in no way colloquial, and he earned quite a few confused looks from his neighbors, which made his smile that much larger.

  “Dey tuk ma pigs. Da orkis hed un each. Da trull be carryin us in ever hand. We was a hollerin and whistlin and we trow dem rockis, but no and no, dere was no way, no how dey was gonna drop ‘em.”

  The other villagers and farmers had gathered very close now in a ragged throng, some spitting brown juice and one teasing an unlit pipe from the corner of his mouth. Others had come from out of nowhere. Barefoot children with hardened feet and torn rags gawked and pointed. They tittered about this comment and that comment, all the while whispering hurtful jokes with childish ignorance. A woman tottered in exhaustion, shifting a big-boned baby from one hip to the other to ease the strain. Meanwhile, her orcish husband, bent from years of labor, gazed with admiration upon the youth and look of Yenrab. For some few in Freehold, he was more than a token good orc. For some, he was the hero they hoped their children could be.

  As the rumpus expanded and village excitement swelled, a well-dressed man arrived and stepped through the growing crowd. While he wasn’t big-city rich, he was most certainly well enough off around these parts, as his cleanliness attested to.

  “Well, Mr. Yenrab and others, if you didn’t comprehend the fine words of farmer Tuck, let me speak for us all when I first welcome you to whatever-this-place-is, as yon minstrel so finely put it. We folk like to call it Turner’s Plot, if you will. I’m the shopkeep and the leader here, as often as not, so it ought to be me anyways.”

  The man smiled, an action which caused his beard whiskers to quiver in excitement. And, after a brief hesitation, he proffered his hand. Yenrab took it and shook it in the way a settler had once shown him after a rescue from a bog. Tracy’s eyes widened in ecstatic amazement and wonder at such an odd custom.

  “It seems there is a bit of trouble round here. A troll and a few orcs came to our farms. They grabbed some livestock, and then they legged it to yonder hills. Or so Tuck sez and I hearken. We ain’t fighters, really, though we can put together and fight the odd raider, when it comes to it. But outside of the village and the farms, no, that ain’t us. We need those pigs, Yenrab and sirs. And we can’t lose any more of our animals. Not with winter on its way soon enough.”

  The three looked at one another a bit quizzically. Carric, with his long—slightly unruly in a cool sort of way—blond hair, smirked a bit as he puzzled upon the way life had decided to keep him in the fight. Better here than on the battlefield, he told himself, loosening up a dagger and juggling it with one hand. Tracy, meanwhile, seemed content. Her both beautiful and handsome face held no apparent emotion, while truly her eyes showed a propensity for mischief underneath her cloud of brownish and wild, multidirectional hair. Tracy Riley was eager for this quest. And Yenrab, as usual, held a big goofy smile on his face, even as he searched himself for that resolve at living his own life. He twirled his python-like topknot a bit. Perhaps, he thought, it was to always be as thus. The avatar above has willed this.

  “Give us a moment, mister . . . ?”

  “Jored. Just call me Jored.”

  “Jored, we must talk a bit on our own and consider this problem. We will be back to you . . .”—Yenrab looked about, making sure to include everyone at least once in his friendly gaze—“all of you, in just a spike of the dial, or a burn of the candlestick, or whatever time you guys use, ya know? Let’s talk at that time.”

  The adventurers moved away from the corner and formed into a huddle. Carric was the first to speak.

  “Look, guys, we don’t need to do this. We really don’t. I mean, yes, they need help. But a troll?! And what can we get out of this? What can we even ask from them in return? They are dirt rich and money poor. Ask for a copper, and we’ll bankrupt them,” Carric said. Despite his words, though, the man’s eyes spoke a different story. I want to help them, they said. Just give me a reason that my mind can accept. Just argue with me so that I can tell myself it wasn’t my idea.

  Yenrab stood stoic and silent for a moment, preparing his own thoughts. So, Tracy broke in.

  “I say we do it.”

  “Why would we do it? I just said we won’t be paid!” Carric Smith protested.

  “I have spent a decade training to harness the wild energies of this land, Mr. Smith. I don’t know why I did so if I wasn’t going to tussle. It’s just some dumb orcs anyways,” Tracy noted, waving his hand dismissively. Yenrab frowned at that, but said nothing.

  “And a troll. A fricking troll!” Carric pleaded, looking amazed that they were considering this.

  “A big dumb beast, Mr. Smith,” Tracy stated with confidence. “I say we can do it.”

  “And I say we can’t. I say we have a duty to help these people, yes, but that duty does not in any way involve sacrificing ourselves to whomever trolls worship,” Carric said with less strength than before, defeat creeping into his voice and cracking his resolve.

  Yenrab’s voice was quiet but solid as he stated, “I honestly don’t have a choice, good people. I can’t explain my motivations other than that I have a totem that I follow, the Gamer, and it imbues me with a guiding spirit, of which I have no understanding. But I can feel his will. He compels me to do this. And I can feel that he is a good spirit. One that I should obey.”

  Sometimes, when strangers meet, they unravel and begin to understand one another. There comes an almost psychic feel for and from each and every person there. A great understanding that blankets all with a tremendous energy. Other times, agreement is obvious in the posture and look of those about you. At this place, in this time, it was a bit of both. The inexperienced but well-equipped adventurers simply knew that the huddle was already over. They understood that a quest had just begun. They knew that there would be no repayment for completion of this bout of heroics. And, truly, there is something to be said about doing good deeds for people. Sometimes, among the right sort, that alone is reward enough. Yenrab himself thought back to that magical book in his ruck—it was time to read the next step, or so it seemed.

  Yenrab liked his new companions. He liked that they were up to the challenge. He just worried they might die. Adventuring was a dangerous life, or so the ballads always said. Questors often got smashed, bashed, and trashed. But it was worth the risk. Deep in his heart, he knew it. His guide told him it was so.

  Plus, there might be a feast afterward and pork—well, there was nothing but good things to say about a spitted pig over an open fire.

  Yenrab’s stomach rumbled loudly. Carric looked in concern, but said nothing.

  Yes, roast pig for supper. He paused and briefly wondered about the impact that such an action might have on the vast civilizations that he theorized lived within himself. He even traced a few equations into the air, before letting it lie. Some things are just not worth the time it takes to figure it all out.

  As the three walked back to that dirty mass of poor and filthy peasants, there arose a ragged cheer. The demeanor of each, though unique to their own personalities and ideals, left no doubt as to how the group had decided. There would be a quest, a wrong would be righted, and the people of the land would be saved. While words were said, and Yenrab’s name was chanted, the questors set off to the hills in search of a troll and his orcish fellows.

  Chapter 7: On Track

  How to be an Adventurer—The Art of the Quest

  You’ve found a quest, perhaps a noble one or perhaps something with ruins, treasure, and a bit of spelunking. Welcome to the world of adventuring! Now that you are here, it is time to INVENTORY YOUR TRAITS! Why ignore those gifts that the gods have given you when you can STRATEGIZE! Maximize your approach by organizing your
party. A good leader makes an order of march, an order of battle, a party pool for the treasure, and an accurate assessment of all of his or her assets and fellows. Use that assessment and compare it to possible obstacles and foes! Not every party is ready to slay a dragon or scale a cliff. And, when in doubt, RUN! Discretion, strategy, and intelligence are much more important than headstrong valor.

  ***

  The weather was quite favorable this late summer afternoon. It was the sort of day in which the wind breezed off the hills and its battalions of dandelions, tall grass, and fruit trees. It was perhaps the remains of an ancient orchard. For sure, this land had seen enough destruction and regrowth over the millennia. War and apocalypse were a common theme in Gimmok’s history, and so multitudes of tame farm species went wild again and ran their seeds through the lands of the deer, the badger, and the occasional warthog. They were also pilfered by the world’s more intelligent, and often malevolent, mutated beings and strangers from other dimensions.

  Carric felt the sun beginning to cheer him. He had practiced being confident and done a pretty good job of it. He had argued the logistics of the quest and lost—as his heart had desired. And so, he had no reason not to feel good. The clouds above were wispy and light, the trees chirped with the beauty of sound, and things buzzed and flew about him in delightful play. It was a joyous sun that showed on this day, and he felt quite confident that even their corpses would look wonderful in the open air of this magnificence.

  Humming quietly to himself, he soundlessly practiced his lute and singing voice as he marched.

  “Yenrab, have you ever read the biting words of the poet Ray Day McCray? Or the nuanced thoughts of Alexos Polaris?” he asked, looking about himself in ecstasy.

  The man, however, was lost in his own thoughts, and paid him no heed.

  Carric simply sighed. He was often not heeded and was quite used to it.

  Tracy cavorted nearby, half-skipping and half-dancing as they moved forward. To her, Yenrab did pay attention, mumbling and shaking his head. Carric noticed that the barbarian even shook his fist at the sky, his face looking a bit stormy. Then the big man sighed.

  “Yenrab, what are you thinking about?” Carric Smith asked, himself content with their certain and impending death but worried that his new friends might not be so at peace with it.

  The big man paused, eyeing the bard critically, and then nodded and bent to his knee, slinging his massive ruck off of one shoulder and then the other to place it upon the ground. Tracy continued moving even as they stopped, but seemed to have begun circling them rather than progressing forward, lost in her own world.

  Carric looked at his fellow half-elf and wondered about what she was thinking as well. It had to be interesting, the way it seemed to take her over even in the midst of interesting things about them. He’d have to ask sometime.

  Yenrab flexed and stretched himself a bit to rid himself of the stiffness that comes with being the party’s pack animal. Then he opened up his rucksack as far as it would go before looking at Carric again with curious and searching eyes. Carric backed up a bit.

  “Woah! This feels important, Yenrab. Maybe you shouldn’t do whatever you are about to do,” Carric said as he, without thought, retreated from the large bag upon the ground. He felt the dizziness that often accompanies ideas of destiny.

  “It might be. I don’t know yet. But if it is, maybe you guys should know about it too. Or at least you since Tracy doesn’t seem to be all there,” Yenrab groused the last bit, in a way that suggested he was distracted with larger thoughts though. “Before I found you both, I found this.”

  Yenrab plunged his log-thick arms into the bag before them, searching and shuffling a bit before grunting his success. From within, the barbarian withdrew a book that glowed with purpose and displayed its cover to the curious bard. Carric read it aloud, with an eager voice, “How to be an Adventurer—Volume One. Written at the behest of the gods. By Jerold Frey. Gods, Yenrab, that is fantastic!”

  “Do you know something about this, Carric?” Yenrab asked with a serious and surprised expression. “What can you tell me?”

  “I can tell you that Jerold Frey was the most powerful and famous bard ever, and that he is practically the father of our modern field. That book, there, is worth a fortune. Can you read it?” Carric asked in surprise.

  “I can. And I have a theory that I suspect is about to be proven. Can you?” Yenrab asked back, quite sure that he already knew the answer.

  Carric looked quizzical as he gave his response. “The book is in Upper Elvish, the language of the Elven Reaches. Or so it was a minute ago. And now it is in Icegarditian common tongue. That is absolutely amazing.”

  “It is. And I thought it might be like that. For me, it is in Orcish. And I’m not a quick hand at Nemedian common, ya know, nor do I know a lick of Icegarditian, no matter what version, so I’m guessing that’s where it is gonna stay for me unless I make some strange life choices and study to become a linguist,” Yenrab chuckled, with Carric joining in. Tracy honed in on them, coming close and laughing heartily.

  “What’s up, guys? You playing ‘laugh a lot’? I love that game. I usually win. Especially, when I play against myself. Hey, cool book. You all read Freemeetian? That’s amazing! I do too!” Tracy exclaimed.

  Yenrab began to laugh hard, his sides shaking as he did so. And Carric joined in as well. Tracy was different, but really, there seemed to be something quite enjoyable buried into that sorcerous free-floating hippy. Something quite enjoyable and fun. They laughed together in newfound friendship as the birds chirped and tweeted, and the bugs buzzed by in contentment.

  ***

  “Well, I don’t see anything yet, but let’s all keep looking anyways. They won’t have gone far, ya know,” Yenrab spoke in a concentrated manner as he surveyed the land. His seasoned eyes crawled over the tall grass. Somewhere, soon, there would be tracks.

  Carric bent forward, grabbing up a small hunk of wood that had lodged into the dirt before him. It was a bit sodden and had a slimy feel to it. Disgusted, he dropped it down and wiped his hands off upon his trousers.

  “You find something, Carric?” Yenrab asked with a kind voice.

  “Nothing worth anything. I think that maybe we aren’t going the right way.” Carric grimaced as he thought about having to go back and retrace their route.

  “Nonsense, friend Carric,” Tracy put in, with a hint of baritone creeping back into her voice. “Those tracks were heading in this direction. Sure we lost them, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t going to the right place.”

  Tracy Riley spun around in a couple of circles, her arms outstretched as she did so. Carric couldn’t help but smile as he watched her twirl in contented bliss. But then the smile dropped awkwardly. Shadows of his past clouded his face in discomfort, and he looked away, both jealous and embarrassed.

  “Well, you know, I’m sorry everybody. I lost the tracks, and, well, I guess I messed that up. But I’m really thinking that we’re gonna find them again real soon. These guys are not at all afraid, I don’t think. If they were, they’d spend time covering up their tracks, but, well, these guys weren’t doing that. And I don’t see why they’d start doing it a bit later up the hill,” Yenrab noted.

  Carric gave it a brief thought and nodded. There was no reason for the orcs to be afraid when they had a troll leading them about.

  And, just that quickly, Yenrab whistled a halt. Carric looked about in a brief panic, unused to this life. Following the large man’s gaze, he saw it. There, over a green-haired lump of wildland, something was pushing down a clump of tall grass.

  “Hey, guys, I see something. Battle prep just in case—I’m gonna move on up and investigate,” said Yenrab, taking charge and calling out the plan.

  Carric observed the big monster man in a bit of admiration as he seemed to weigh and calculate the risk in just a few brief moments. His handsome and friendly face went serious and then decisive, apparently guessing at what he was to ready
for. Then he flexed his four-hundred-pound body. His massive muscles rippled as he dropped his large wooden shield and stretched both arms behind him. Each arm seized a well-sharpened and heavily weighted battle axe suited to his size and strength.

  Carric whispered to himself in preparation and called up the words to one of his few magical songs. He then blew a few notes upon his harmonica and swung its hold bar shut across his face. The instrument quivered a bit but remained static and ready. His powers were just a chord away. Satisfied, he looked over to observe his final companion.

  Tracy wasn’t doing anything. Carric growled a bit in frustration but otherwise held his tongue. The man or woman or whoever just did her own thing.

  Ahead of him now, Yenrab moved closer and closer, his body hunched low to the ground, and his senses alight in the tingly mess of adrenaline. The human-orc hybrid zigged and zagged with suspicion as if he suspected some sort of trick. Carric whistled, breaking Tracy from whatever conversation she had been having with herself, and he waved for her to follow forward. They fanned out in the rear, watching the barbarian approach his target. There was a moment of tense hesitation as the youngling tribesman stopped and reconsidered. Then, with tremendous agility and speed, he leaped up, both battleaxes gleaming wickedly in the summer sun. Even before he landed, his companions could see this was a false alarm.

  “It’s a pig, guys. I’d guess it tried to escape, and the troll smashed it for a quick meal. Sorry about that. But, hey, let’s take a break here, and I bet ya I can find the trail again no problem,” half-chuckled a half-embarrassed, half-amused, Yenrab.

  ***

  The break lasted a brief ten to fifteen minutes before the party moved on again. They were not all that tired, each fueled by that unrelenting energy and that somewhat foolish eagerness that comes with youth. And the trail proved easy to follow. Dollops of blood, bone, and cartilage left a trail anyone with half a brain and functioning sight could follow.