Post-Destructive Reprieve (1 Viewer)

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Crach an Craite

Oar Guy
Team Leader
Custom Items Team
Atop the statue amidst a field of chaos and allies in varying degrees of danger, precariously stood Drachir, who
in swift thought and invigorated mindset, hammered the hilt of his sword over an eerie gem, and then a loud boom
and flash swiftly following. Dazed and in agony lay he beneath the ruins of a statue, still alive with a burning pain in
his spine. Drachir a mess at this moment, an awful ringing in his ears.

He'd soon be lifted up from the cold dirt, and with the assistance of surviving Vinnagarð soldiers, would be escorted
back to Auðrstað to rest. Reaching the settlement, he would sit uncomfortably upon the steps of the guild-hall. A sole
guard dressed in the standard striped gambeson would approach him.

"Sir, may I ask something?" He'd say, looking down upon his Karl with nervous expression.
"Ask away, friend. I'm not
exactly busy."
Drachir replied, looking up from where he sat. His face carrying a look of minor bother. "You seem tired,
and well- I've noticed you leaving the hall after dark... And on the battle at that first spire- the one with the giants... Y-

Drachir glared at the guardsman and held a finger to his own lips. "Silence yourself, and sit, friend... I'll assure you, you
didn't see anything of worry. Understand?"
The guard went quiet, and lowered his tone. "I just want to know, why?" "I've
nothing worthy of telling you, aside from ordering you t'hold your tongue. This isn't something new, and I can explain to
you more inside. What d'you call yourself?"
"Fannar, why do you ask?" Drachir went quiet for a moment, before continuing,
"Help me up, I've a couple friends I wish to visit down in Folset. And you'll be rowing th'boat for me." The oarsman's words
taking a minute to register in the poor guardsman's mind.
"M-me? But- Don't you usually- W-why me?!" "Because you came
to me, and asked a question I dislike. Now, come on, let's go."
Fannar assisted up his Karl, and the two walked off to the
river. Drachir sat back in the boat, and within a few more lengthy minutes of arguing-banter, would inevitably get to
making their way down south.


"When we get back, all'll be made clear, got it, friend?" Drachir smirked. Watching the unlucky individual row. "Fine- fine,
but I'm unable to shake my suspicions..."
"Of what? Me being a simple man who just needs to get rid of the waste left to rot
in th'corners of cold storage?"
The rower paused. "Wait... That's it?" "Aye, simple work needs doing and I'm not going to go
bother some whiny thrall t'do it when I'm th'one gutting the creatures."
"Then what about at the- "Shut. Whatever you saw
was likely some hallucination. Nothing more. Got it?" "Got it- got it..." Fannar sighed and continued rowing for the slightly
crippled oarsman.

After Drachir's talks with old friends about his own personal matters, Fannar being his little escort through the elven lands
much to his own viewing displeasure, would be treated to a very in-depth and interesting conversation about the best cuts of
meat, and why it's incredibly important to clean out stock before anything goes bad. The guard soon after dismissed back to
the settlement's crowd of countless and forgettable individuals to go back to what he did best. Stand around idly and make
sure to thralls were picking potatoes. Drachir held a thin grin as he sat within his hall, spine in far less pain, and would get to
thinking of how he should get to working on gambesons for Vinnagard as he cleaned his sword...


I made this for a little bit of personal fun, and decided to make up a generic little NPC to take the spot of whipping-boy for this little mini-story.
Maybe Fannar will be Vinnagarð's next top thrall-harasser, or maybe he's the new best chef in disguise? Nope, just generic guard #4827, who I
may or may not use again in future stories to take the role of "Generic guard NPC but with a name because names are nice."
 
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