The Red Gathering

The Wandering Chronicler

After the Triskelion game I dragged myself back to the tavern and took an ax littered table by the entrance. It was the one by the small patch of purple flowers and a hard, sturdy pillar. The same one that Bjorn the Mountain napped on.

The Vicaul laid his head on it like the softest pillow in a fairy-tale castle. He would even scrape his scalp on its surface like a cat on a leg. I tried it myself one time, but I couldn't get used to the unvarnished splinters digging into my head.

This time, however, Bjorn seemed to enjoy the pillar a bit too much. I was beginning to think it was an actual bed with the way he snored on it. Once he awoke to the sound of a jester in patches telling a story on a table, I greeted him with a sarcastic good morning!

To my surprise he replied as normally as any person would when roused. Soft, near slurred words. I was used to the Vicaul shouting half of his whenever he spoke. Nowadays, even in Solace, he seemed distant and tired.

"It is nothing," he said with a significant amount of gravity in his voice. "I have been busy with the guard. Run here, run there, it gets boring, you know?"

I nodded.

Bjorn then slammed the table with a large braced arm, shaking the axes and cups on it. "Not like RAIDING!"

"I'm sure," I felt relieved seeing that.

"It is easy to be rich when you raid," he said, eyes dazed to a memory. "All you need is a good boat, good men, and a nice FAT place to PILLAGE! Whatever you find, it is YOURS! Weapons, gold, table - DONKEY!"

I saw Jasper's ears twitch from across the tavern.

"As long as YOU can CARRY it," Bjorn smiled a wide bearded grin. "It is YOURS!"

"Not much opportunity to raid around here, huh?" I asked.

Bjorn's massive shoulders then dipped at that remark. "No, but I am working on it."

It's easy to forget that homesickness can also affect hardy folk like Bjorn. He was happy and enthusiastic when I first met him, but I was sure he had just gotten out of a raid, out of a boat basking with the familiar scent of the ocean. It might have been his end, being he was a Returned, but I felt like he'd rather relive that moment than stay in this dry and dusty port.

Speaking of which, I dug out a thin iron cask from my traveling satchel. I had wrapped the container with a layer of sheepskin and simple black cloth. Inside was chilled water with fragments of ice still present from when I filled it up five days ago. Insulation, one of the few things I learned in Ad Decimum. It'll make water more valuable than a cask of warm vintage.

"Would you like some chilled water, friend?" I opened it up, cool mist swirling from the container's mouth. "It isn't ale, but I'm sure you'd like it all the same.

Bjorn's drowsy eyes widened as if I had offered him all the fortunes in the world. He unlatched the iron mug from his waist and nodded for me to fill it up. I did so to the brim and then struck it with my own cup for a small toast. We downed our shares near instantly and let out cool, refreshed sighs.

I looked forward to raiding with Bjorn should he find an opportunity to do so, but until that day, a good table, a good friend, and a nice drink was more than enough at the moment.

*** *** ***

The tavern had quieted down late in the afternoon. I had just finished writing down a few notes for some Returned when suddenly a couple of sweat-drenched men in filthy clothing took a table behind me. I turned to look at them a bit more and was greeted by two pairs of weary glares. I snapped back to my work and relied on my skills of eavesdropping to tell the story.