6st Summer 512
The duality of modern suffering is quite a bitch. In one hand we hold the gift to set up personal goals and achieve them, therefore carrying on with our existence and feeling comfortable with our step-by-step way of life. In the other hand we hold the knowledge that by this we are only trying to avoid boredom and starvation in this empty shell that we call Mizahar.
Most of the people of Ravok seek for joy and hope in the arms of priests or spiritual thoughts. Little do they know that all the Gods and religions in this floating city are nothing more than suffocated perfection. Dead masters who’s pets still run around them, as if they would once rise again to toss a ball or pat their head. Others seek shelter between booze and the joys of the flesh. Oh well, to each his own I suppose.
I hand Sandra 20 cp for the ale’s and her always enjoyable company. She refuses with a smile and says it’s already paid for. The laughter of Malfasar fills the little pub. “Do you really think I’ll let you pay for five ales after you brought me this little beauty?” He said, while stroking the fox pelt I gave him earlier today. “Dear Malfasar, you already paid 20 GM for that tiny snow fox, while it’s not even worth half of it.” The old man looked at me frowningly. “Tell me, sir Forlatt. Have you ever, and I mean EVER, seen a snow fox in Ravok? Those little rascals are rare around here and make a great decoration for this little shack. Meaning I haven’t even given you half it’s worth.” I smiled towards the admirable little man, stood up, waved at a couple of folks and made my way to the front door. “Including that half-pound pouch of tobacco in your pocket.” He joyfully yelled at me.
Busted. The man knows me. I wouldn’t even be able to snatch some dust of his tables without him noticing it. My belly has now filled itself with both ale and boyish embarrassment.
It was getting late. The sun was slowly making its way to bed and I didn’t feel like entering Ravok again before tomorrow. I straightened my belt and my back. “A quests for wood and fire it is.” There isn’t really need for a fire so close to the gate of the city, but it’s sound and dancing always comforts me. It also keeps the baddies away, for people have been whispering about aggressive wolfs and I’d rather not encounter them in the middle of the night.
Little by little my collection of dry wood became bigger. The life of a wanderer is rewarding, in a strange existentialistic way. Little goals, like collecting wood and feeling comfy around a fire are priceless. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
The night fell silent. I fell asleep. The fire slowly died and it’s bigger brother, our beloved sun rose once again. Hunger quickly followed.
After packing my tent it was time to gather some food. Sleep, eat, drink, that’s how it goes. Luckily there was a rabbit in one of the traps I dug yesterday. Fast, little bastards they are, but they can’t really jump that high. After strangling it’s neck and taking my time to skin our little friend I went out for some wood again; only to find my breakfast to be disappeared when I returned.
Fox prints led away from my camp towards a bushy area close to the lake. “Filthy, scheming bastard.” I thought to myself, as I slowly crept up to where my, hopefully, upcoming breakfast was hiding.
And there he was, a big red fox. Munchiwunching away on something that took me quite some time to skin clean. I still felt like eating the rabbit, knowing darn well that fox meat is all dry, tough and not much of a perfect breakfast. But there wasn’t much left of the little cottontail and I couldn’t pull myself to finding another one.
So what was it going to be? A stone to the head might not be sufficient, since the creatures are rather tough. But if I’m quick enough I could possibly drown him in the lake and still have some sort of a morning meal.
All it took was a tiny sprint. And there we were. Dancing in the water.
He screeched and I screamed while the darn beast bit me. Birds quickly flew away while we created a marriage between water, flesh and air. And then, all of a sudden, silence gathered around us while the breakfast stealer stopped crawling underwater. It was done and the red fox was forgiven.
In one hand I hold a dead fox. A goal achieved, which now allows me to carry on with my existence and temporarily feel comfortable with my step-by-step way of life. In the other hand I hold the knowledge that by this I am only trying to avoid boredom and starvation in this empty shell that we call Mizahar.
First I’ll have breakfast. Then I’ll re-enter the city.
The duality of modern suffering is quite a bitch. In one hand we hold the gift to set up personal goals and achieve them, therefore carrying on with our existence and feeling comfortable with our step-by-step way of life. In the other hand we hold the knowledge that by this we are only trying to avoid boredom and starvation in this empty shell that we call Mizahar.
Most of the people of Ravok seek for joy and hope in the arms of priests or spiritual thoughts. Little do they know that all the Gods and religions in this floating city are nothing more than suffocated perfection. Dead masters who’s pets still run around them, as if they would once rise again to toss a ball or pat their head. Others seek shelter between booze and the joys of the flesh. Oh well, to each his own I suppose.
I hand Sandra 20 cp for the ale’s and her always enjoyable company. She refuses with a smile and says it’s already paid for. The laughter of Malfasar fills the little pub. “Do you really think I’ll let you pay for five ales after you brought me this little beauty?” He said, while stroking the fox pelt I gave him earlier today. “Dear Malfasar, you already paid 20 GM for that tiny snow fox, while it’s not even worth half of it.” The old man looked at me frowningly. “Tell me, sir Forlatt. Have you ever, and I mean EVER, seen a snow fox in Ravok? Those little rascals are rare around here and make a great decoration for this little shack. Meaning I haven’t even given you half it’s worth.” I smiled towards the admirable little man, stood up, waved at a couple of folks and made my way to the front door. “Including that half-pound pouch of tobacco in your pocket.” He joyfully yelled at me.
Busted. The man knows me. I wouldn’t even be able to snatch some dust of his tables without him noticing it. My belly has now filled itself with both ale and boyish embarrassment.
It was getting late. The sun was slowly making its way to bed and I didn’t feel like entering Ravok again before tomorrow. I straightened my belt and my back. “A quests for wood and fire it is.” There isn’t really need for a fire so close to the gate of the city, but it’s sound and dancing always comforts me. It also keeps the baddies away, for people have been whispering about aggressive wolfs and I’d rather not encounter them in the middle of the night.
Little by little my collection of dry wood became bigger. The life of a wanderer is rewarding, in a strange existentialistic way. Little goals, like collecting wood and feeling comfy around a fire are priceless. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
The night fell silent. I fell asleep. The fire slowly died and it’s bigger brother, our beloved sun rose once again. Hunger quickly followed.
After packing my tent it was time to gather some food. Sleep, eat, drink, that’s how it goes. Luckily there was a rabbit in one of the traps I dug yesterday. Fast, little bastards they are, but they can’t really jump that high. After strangling it’s neck and taking my time to skin our little friend I went out for some wood again; only to find my breakfast to be disappeared when I returned.
Fox prints led away from my camp towards a bushy area close to the lake. “Filthy, scheming bastard.” I thought to myself, as I slowly crept up to where my, hopefully, upcoming breakfast was hiding.
And there he was, a big red fox. Munchiwunching away on something that took me quite some time to skin clean. I still felt like eating the rabbit, knowing darn well that fox meat is all dry, tough and not much of a perfect breakfast. But there wasn’t much left of the little cottontail and I couldn’t pull myself to finding another one.
So what was it going to be? A stone to the head might not be sufficient, since the creatures are rather tough. But if I’m quick enough I could possibly drown him in the lake and still have some sort of a morning meal.
All it took was a tiny sprint. And there we were. Dancing in the water.
He screeched and I screamed while the darn beast bit me. Birds quickly flew away while we created a marriage between water, flesh and air. And then, all of a sudden, silence gathered around us while the breakfast stealer stopped crawling underwater. It was done and the red fox was forgiven.
In one hand I hold a dead fox. A goal achieved, which now allows me to carry on with my existence and temporarily feel comfortable with my step-by-step way of life. In the other hand I hold the knowledge that by this I am only trying to avoid boredom and starvation in this empty shell that we call Mizahar.
First I’ll have breakfast. Then I’ll re-enter the city.
