From certain spots, he could maintain a rather nice view of the main path and the scenery it offered on the way up the mountain. It just so happened that today, in one of those spots, he caught site of a person. He couldn't see him very well from where he was currently positioned, but he could make out the horse, donned in a mantle far too noble for the regular traffic he had seen previously. Mostly caravans, flanked by villagers, merchants and children traversed these roads. Unless you counted him, in which case, large man-like barbarians also traversed these roads, but never nobility, at least none that he had seen.
It sparked a childlike curiosity in him, but it was also a possibility that the man could very well be lost, in which case it would be unfortunate to happen along the wrong group of travelers. He stopped for a moment as the horse did, loosening his grip on his game, letting a deep "fwump" into the air as the deer carcass hit the dirt, tumbling over one another.
Making a futile attempt to brush the dirt and grime from his shirt, leaving a large smear down the center. A combination of blood from his game and mud and rocks from various points along his trek. Letting loose a soft groan as he noticed this, he lumbered toward the man, waving one giant arm in the air in a greeting fashion, as to not alarm the man by appearing to run up on him.
"Hullo!" he bellowed, now some 40 feet from the man on the horse. His voice hung briefly on the air, low and monotone. "Yer lost, right? Too pretty a horse to be a regular roun' here." Though he was loud, it could be heard plainly in his voice he was simple, and therefore hopefully wouldn't condemn him to an attack by a surprised nobleman.
"Y-yeah. I'm not from here. At all..."
Looking down at his clothes, there were small traces of ash and black smears which were barely noticeable, even for him as he looked down. What had occurred? All he remembered was speaking to Arvis and a sudden flash of flame. Was he dead?
"Tell me...is this the afterlife?" Sigurd decided to ask, finally taking his hand off of the sword's hilt once he regained his bearings on the situation...at least for now.
He couldn't help but grin a big, toothy grin, slapping his hands to his sides and stretching back. "Weeelllll I sure's hope not, I ain't had ma brekfust yet. Can't go dyin' on n' empty stummuk." He jutted a large thumb in the direction of his kill, though it could not be seen from where he stood. "Got plenti 'nuff fer you too! Could be stravin' teh death, s'why you thinkin' yer dead n' all. C'mon!"
He turned to head back, not exactly waiting for a response, he was excited to be able to help someone in need, but if he really thought he was dead he may be in need of more help than Ghalok could offer. He paused for a moment, the music once again infiltrating his mind, soothing, almost making him feel warm.
He spun, a questioning gaze on his face. "d'You hear that? The music?" He called, honestly not sure whether or not one too many blows to the head had made him start hearing things.
"Yeah, I hear it." He responded, looking about. A voice now accompanied the melody, though it was confusing as to why someone would be singing in this environment. What's more, it was...unnatural. Like their song was calming him. Did their music hold magical properties? He could only guess at that due to his lack of magical aptitude as he dismounted from his horse finally.
"Hello?" He asked out, towards the direction of the singing. "Who's there? Friend? Foe?...Neither?"
Arriving at the base of the large tree, he still hadn't noticed the legs swinging freely from a branch. Instead, he tossed his kill down beside the trunk. "Brekfust time!" He called, whirling back around to face the newcomer. Plopping down in front of the tree, he tore a large hunk from one of the deer limbs, feeding his maw gratefully and messily.
While he chewed, he paused for a moment, pondering perhaps that this man may not be accustomed to eating raw meat. Coming to this conclusion, a stupid grin spread across his face. "S'pose you want em' cooked, 'uh?" He gestured at the pile, before shifting himself to a standing position, the top of his head nearly grazing a low hanging branch, or possibly the feet? He couldn't tell.
Tearing another greedily large bite from the bone, lumbering toward a separate tree, one that had faced the weathers of time and came out on bottom. Slinging the remains of the limb across his broad shoulder, he gripped the dying tree by both sides of the trunk's middle, and pushed.
It didn't take much of his inhuman strength for the dead tree to topple over, the crackling sound of the base snapping free from the roots echoing into the air. Once down, he dragged the tree back to his original site, where he began ripping it effortlessly into smaller pieces. It was truly a site to behold, the giant simpleton soon had a roaring fire going, the dead wood crudely stacked in a small tepee form, prepping the rest of his game to be cooked properly, all the while absent-mindedly humming along to the music, remaining blissfully unaware of where it was coming from.
Seeing both, stare at her somewhat open-mouthed she chuckled, "My oh my, you act like you never seen a bard before. I am Tara, Tara Claridge I apologize for not replying sooner, I was rather focused on practicing my craft." adding with a wink she said, "Well perhaps a successful or wealthy bard is rare, nonetheless I am wanted throughout the land for my skills, although I am not solely musical genius, but exellent at espionage when needed." chuckling she appeared to very much have a high opinion of herself and this radiated from how she spoke and stood, there was no caution or doubt, it was impressionable displays and confidence of oneself and their talents, "Now you know who I am, perhaps you can give me answers to something else, what is your names?"
Sigurd gave a small bow to her when she introduced herself. "My apologies, I'm Sigurd. I guess I haven't said as much...I'm the prince of Chalphy and Holy Knight of Grannvale." He gestured towards the larger man and paused. He actually didn't get this one's name. "This is my friend, er...I don't know his name just yet. In fact, I just met him a few moments ago." With that, Sigurd looked between them an let out a small sigh. This whole situation was a bit of a mess...
Prodding a piece of the meat with his large finger to test the tenderness, he gazed up from the fire. "Suppose you'll be needin' a guide, since ya don' know ther area n' such. I do it free of charge, o'course, lots er' beasties 'long the way gives me chance to keep fit, y'see." As he spoke he playfully poked as his gut, offering a stupid grin of amusement.
As the meat began to sizzle, he spun it gently to the other side, placing it down and rubbing against his upper lip with his wrist and forearm. "Won' be long now." He mused, stuffing another piece of wood into the small fire, the flames licking at it aggressively as the the blaze momentarily intensified.
Giving a dazzling charismatic grin, she sat herself down upon the fallen tree crossing her leg over the other, while staring at the food, "Now you mention it I am rather peckish. As to where I am going, all around my friends, perhaps we could go on an adventure, discover some loot and treasures!"
He looked down at that, the thought of how Grannvale would be doing without him. He wasn't there, yet his father had died...he was slated to be the next ruler of Grannvale until he's here. "Either way," he continued. "You mention going out on an adventure. I could stomach that, but...I'm looking for a way to reunite with my own world. Where I came from. I have to go find...Dei..." Sigurd had trouble remembering her name for a moment, however in a flash it came back to him once more. "Deirdre. My wife...she was with Alvis last time I saw her...I need to get back to her."
As he reached for the other, the man mentioned he needed to get home to his beloved, he smirked. "Can' be doin' too much venturin' aroun if you got a missus ter get back to." He seemed to be in quite a predicament, not knowing where he was, or how to get home even. Ghalok stretched his long arm toward the man, skewer of meat in hand.
It took several moments for Ghalok to come up with a sort of 'idea'. The one wanted adventure, the other needed to find their way back home, to their kingdom of some importance. "S'pose we could make an d'venture out of that, then. Takin' this one back home."
Through his travels, Ghalok had never encountered this 'Grannvale', which gave his sense for exploration a prick of curiosity and eagerness.
Only stopping to speak occasionally, "So Ghalok, we know Prince Charming's story but what is yours, you appear like someone who been through a lot shall we say. I admire someone who shows such talents as you do, mainly because I am not skilled in them myself although realize my skills are useless without people, yours are ideal way to survive..." pausing she added, "Oh and yes meat is truly scrumptious. I really think you cooked it just right."
He was able to understand the question she asked. She wanted to know his story. Where he came from and how he got here. Though he was a bit simple minded, the memories of his past struck him the way they would any other. For a long while he was silent, then he began..
"My true name is Ghalok 'Orncarver, tho I go by Ghalok cuz I'm not serposed to use tha last part n'more. I weren't always wanderin' by meself, I belonged, to a herd of my own kin. We walked the mountains an plains fer days and days, huntin' Mammoth an takin' thems tusks ter be sold teh the villages we's come across. Mos' folk didn' like us, says we's too big n' dumb. They didn' understan' we was peaceful, they didn' want nuffing ter do with us. Not all felt tha' way y'see, rather saw us fer what we were, mountain born nomads with er knack fer travelin'. They would take our tusks and give us food, an drink, oh the drink was the wors' of it. I took to it too fondly..."
Again he fell silent, as if he wasn't sure he wanted to continue.
"My people would fight fer positions of authorit-y, through trials of brute strength it were determined who would lead the herd until the next winter, when the trials would happen all over again. No killin', thems the rules, you gotsa make the other one give up, see, serposed to mean they'd rather fight alongside you an die rather than 'gainst you." He paused a moment, taking a large bite of the haunch, chewing slowly as if to delay the story.
"The night of the trials I'd been drinkin'...that awful drink. When we entered the pit, an the fightin' started...I couldn' get the upper han', had too much of the drink an me balance was off. It made me..so..angry. I...I didn' mean to kill him I didn', I don' know what come over me." He wiped a large glob of snot from his upper lip, sniffling deeply. "Took half ther village to calm me down...elders called it "rage", said I was er monster and I should be forced ter live beside them. I told em' I'd sworn off the drink, that it wouldn't happen again, but...I was banished. Forced to flee my home an people on pain of death, comfortin' as it would have been in those times.." Taking a deep breath, he composed himself before continuing the tale.
"Even tho I didn' drink n'more tha rage still came back ter haunt me. I threw m'self at any beast I came cross, hopin' they'd be the one ter do me in. The rage forces me ter keep livin'. I try not ter let it out n'more, 'specially aroun' people, I won' ever do nuffin to hurt another person who ain't done no wrong. Thas' my story, miss." He concluded, matter of factly, taking another large bite, dropping his gaze to the ground, shifting uncomfortably where he sat. This would be where they saw him as either a monster or something else, he dared not guess what.
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