[05:34p] › WaylandSmith changes topic to: Remnants of Gor, RP required. The location is near a ruined inn and equally ruined bridge over a larger river. Westwards lay the Karian marshes currently flooded with bracky water - to the east the hinterlands of rolling hills. The location is desolate and isolated. https://www.buzzen.com/id/193/group.html
[05:34p] › WaylandSmith changes welcome message to: The ground is soggy from the burst of rain that lashed the area for several days over the past week. Currently the weather is dull, the sun sickly and giving off precious little light and hardly any warmth. The air is still damp with moisture adding to the feeling of utter desolation.
[05:37p]
WaylandSmith The smith wandered aimlessly for a pair of ehn whilst trying to take in the enormity of what had happened. He did not sense any immediate danger but his disposition was unsettled nonetheless, he could not shake the feeling that some momentous event had come to pass that would forever alter the landscape and Men of Gor. Overwhelmed by a deep-seated feeling of loss and despair, he sensed deep inside that back in his homeland he would find similar desolation. Then one thing brought him back to the present.
[05:37p]
WaylandSmith : BIG JIM: Moooooooh Moooooh
[05:38p]
WaylandSmith Wayland's head turned towards the origin of the noise - there was no mistaking the 'voice' it was Big Jim his bosk - and from the sound of it the animal was as melancholy and downcast as the smith himself. It was, however, very much alive and he immediately set out in search of it guided by the sound.
[05:42p]
WaylandSmith The stables were to the side of the main body of the inn and the thatch covered roof miraculously appeared not to have burnt like a cinder. Possibly poor maintenance of the roof by Gerald meant that the reeds were sodden and resistant to the fire that swept through the inn. The west side of the building where the entrance was had collapsed however and it seemed that his bosk was trapped inside the building. With renewed energy the smith set out clear the rubble and soon enough he saw a familiar sight.
[05:43p]
WaylandSmith Big Jim, it seemed, had not been harmed though the other animals - tarsk and vulo - had either died in the collapse of their section or suffocated from smoke percolating through vents from the main building.
[05:46p]
WaylandSmith putting Jim out to pasture the smith next affaired himself with liberating his cart. It was damaged, the oiled canvas cover had been burnt off and several items were damaged but overall the travelling smithy was not greatly harmed. Fire was the least of its enemies - water was a greater danger. Repairing everything as best he could and using an old curtain to cover the cart he also took care to transfer the mass of black dust into a convenient barril taken from the Inn.
[05:50p]
WaylandSmith taking stock again of his surroundings the smith next set out on a melancholy task - melancholy but necessary. He amassed wood from here and there - mainly logs and unburnt beams from the inn. In the destroyed kitchen he excised a small barrel of oil before taking a deep breath. Rolling up his sleeves he went through the unpleasant task of excising the FM and single FW from the rubble. Laying the charred corpses side by side he next occupied himself with the kajirae whom he placed at the feet of free.
[05:52p]
WaylandSmith wiping sweat and grime from his face he only managed to create a more horrid looking set of features with white chalk now mixed with soot, sweat, grime and miscellaneous bodily fluids of the dead. Taking a chipped cup from the inn he filled it with a remnant of paga and proceeded to empty the oil over the pyre. Soon it burned fiercely - clouds of heavy smoke rising straight to the heavens in the absence of any wind.
[05:53p]
WaylandSmith for a long while the smith stood in silence, he neither moved nor spoke but stayed mute out of respect for the dead. When the pyre had burned low he breathed deeply and drank from the cup in honour of the dead. No further words were spoken - it was thus he was taught - was the ritual of the dead from whence he hailed in the Voltai mountains.
[05:55p]
WaylandSmith the spiralling smoke was still visible and he was certain that anyone would see it - somehow he thought there would be precious few to observe let alone come closer to his desolate landing on the river. Perhaps the person he had sought out originally and he had failed to reach as he travelled to the Karian marshes, his eyes scanned the skies, no tarns showed themselves which suited the smith well enough. Tarns and he did not get along.
[05:57p]
WaylandSmith Having accomplished as much as he could that day - the smith proceeded to wash his clothes and himself. He was by no means a fastidious man, one could hardly afford to be in his profession, but he felt the need to wipe off both the dirt and the sense of loss inside him. Glancing once more to the marshes he saw the water had risen further, only a skiff or small boat could now navigate it and this he lacked.
[05:57p]
WaylandSmith : Well there is nothing for it - I shall make some food and eat.
[05:58p]
WaylandSmith he said to himself almost startled by the harshness of his own voice.