Damn Elf Press

Mother Patience slammed her mug of tea down making the tankards jump, “I’ve told the lad a hundred times over, he’ll be in the ground before he can even grow a decent beard. Yes, I know, that John’s been teaching the sword to the boy, but the lad’s too strong headed. And now, he comes home from the fens with a gash in his arm! The fens! Had it not been for the Spiritwood fey, he’d be the guest of honor at a ghoul’s dinner party.”

Clearly the reverend mother has lost her patience. She casts an angry glance at Cornwall. The wizard was looking down into his tankard of ale, wishing he was elsewhere. “And, YOU, WIZARD…you encourage him in his folly and have the gall to HIRE the lad?!! Have you lost your mind…” she falters a bit, realizing that, yes, indeed, the wizard has lost his mind.

Sheriff John tries to gain control of the conversation, “Patience, I know that you mean well. I agree with you completely. It’s a not a manner of IF the lad is ready, but WHEN. You know, as well as we all, he’s not going to be a sheep herder. It’s in his blood. If I had the silver to make it happen, I’d see if Beck could squire up with a lessor noble somewhere. But he’s common-folk and that means…foot soldier in the army.”

“Even the clergy require years of schooling,” said Cornwall into his tankard.

“John, I know, but this buffoon has sent Beck off ALONE on an errand into the Barrow-downs!”

Cornwall winced at the wise woman’s words, “If you care to know the truth, madame. I did NOT send the lad alone. My pet hog, Montague, is with him!”

(For Cornwall’s sake, we shall end this scene.)

Beck looked through the merchant’s cart with a keen eye. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for in armor, but was trying to look like he knew something. The merchant’s cart was laden with various supplies going to the keep on the borderlands and included a few pieces of chain mail and some leather.

Beck decided on a jacket of padded linen called gambeson armor. “That’ll keep you protected pretty well. Just don’t expect to be going toe to toe with a burly fellow using a heavy axe. Best thing then is make sure you’re not standing where that axe is heading,” the merchant smiled.

Beck felt the thickness of the armor but knew it would also be flexible. His old padded armor was threadbare and cheap compared to this jacket. “How much?”, Beck asked.

The merchant scratched his chin thoughtfully, “For a lad of such discerning taste, twelve silvers.”

“Well, I was going to offer you eight…maybe I can see if the merchant down at the end has something in stock…”

“Ten and not a penny less…”

“Sold,” Beck smiles at the thought of having a decent coat of armor.

And so it went all morning. Beck spent some of the treasure on new arms and armor and a few other bits of gear. The rusty old sword and battered shield were given to the town blacksmith in exchange for sharpening the blade of his new longsword.

[Items bought today and cost…longsword, gambeson armor, wooden round shield, leather boots, leather gloves, a helmet, rations (5 days), coil of rope (50′), and for his mother, a new pair of soft boots, a hand mirror, and a comb.

Total cost…65 sp. GM note ~ I use the silver standard in my game, replacing gold with silver. It gives copper pieces a reason for being.]

+++

Beck scratched his head and looked at the black boar trotting ahead of him. Montague Hog is what folks in Bree call him. He was adopted by Cornwall the Odd many years ago. Beck guessed that Monty was at least 400 lbs by now and still growing.

This really wasn’t what Beck was intending when he told Cornwall he wanted a travelling companion. Beck was thinking a skilled archer, or even an adept with spellcasting knowledge. Instead, Cornwall sent him off on an “errand” into the Barrow-downs with a hog.

Still, Monty, could be an intimidating sight. Who in their right mind would stand fast with 400 lbs of porcine charging at them?

Beck had done some trading at the open market. The merchants the arms and armor he needed to replace the old equipment he’d cobbled together. The quilted padding of the gambeson felt warm against the gusts of chill midwinter breeze.

Cornwall was in a funk. Beck had found him in a state of confusion. He was rummaging through his wardrobe looking for his travelling cloak. He was going on a journey. Beck had seen this before. The wizard was going to find his mind…or the pieces of it that have eluded him for a long while. Sheriff John Briarfoot, one of his oldest friends, was always successful at quelling this notion. But today, Beck was there.

Beck had gone to the wizard’s chicken hut to tell him of his encounter with the leaf men in the Spiritwood. Cornwall nodded with approval and told Beck to keep the token, he may find use for it again. Talking with the wizard calmed him down and he looked at the travelling cloak he had pulled from the wardrobe. The wizard studied it for a moment and then put it back.

He brightened at Beck’s adventure in the fens, delighting in his retelling of the leaf men and also of the treasure found. He told Beck that he was working on a new spell, one that would help him remember. He needed Beck to take some parchment paper and charcoal and go to the Barrow-downs. There he would find a tall standing stone. Beck was to make a charcoal rubbing of the runes carved on the east side of the stone. The east side only, not north, not south, not west. Beck remembered Cornwall was adamant about this. And so, Beck’s second adventure began.

“You’ll be there and back before afternoon! But take Monty along, just in case. He knows the way and I’d send him alone, but he’d not suited for charcoal rubbings,” the wizard laughed.

“Oh, by the way, here’s something I wanted to give you. I don’t think you’ll need it, but just in case. Remember, stay away from the Barrrow-downs when night falls.” Cornwall hands Beck a slim silver dagger. “It’s an elvish blade. The silver coating is a bane to werewolves and some forms of the undead. “Also, here’s a bag of salt. Ghosts find it unpleasant. Nothing to worry about, my boy, just come back before sundown.”

Beck had left Cornwall in a joyful mood, tidying up his chicken hut and whistling a merry tune.

+++

More to come…