The Road to Red Fern
Goon thought, by now, he certainly found his place in the greater whole of the group.
He was originally next to Davor; it was amusing to march alongside a fellow half-orc whom he could meet eye-to-eye. At least physically. It was habit for him to size the fellow adventurer up, but like most he's "worked with" in his experience, it was never the big ones that were the problem. They were often the solution. It would still take a while for Goon not to do that. They had some time.
Wonder what it's like, to be raised by orcs?
Davor's uniquely orc experience was much different than his own. Raised by his human father, Goon wasn't blessed with knowledge of orc history, of tribal acceptance. His respect, his income, had been gained through fear. This fear came more from his girth than anything else.
Goon never thought he looked too scary, but that wasn't good for business.
As the sun continued its gentle crest, Goon tried a spot near Yatari. He really tried not to stare too often. Really, she was a fascinating sight. Goon had seen all manner of kin as a working urbanite, but not a tiefling so...tiefling. How did she navigate the world with wings so...wingy? How did she hail from sands with skin so...pale? How was she, like Davor, nearly as tall as he was?
But Goon fought to avert his eyes. He remembered the exotic animals at his employers' abode, and always wondered how that would feel, to be used to tickle the aesthetic senses of visitors, to be gawked at by guests in a home not your own? Goon guessed Yatari knew exactly what that felt like.
By now, Goon had sided on his spot. Out to the side of the group, near the rear, where he could cast his eyes out to the countryside. So much grass. So much dirt. So much sky. When he had decided to become an adventurer, Goon had expected least of all to see so much of nothing, yet find so much wonder
It was still new, interesting, refreshing, to find one's self at being a part of a larger whole.
Like a bellows beneath the earth, Goon chuckled at Yatari's story. But he'd never seen a gnoll. That was the problem that came with little formal education. Maybe a gnoll was what you called a lady gnome? That couldn't be right; he'd keep that thought to himself.
"We mustn't be too hard on them. They've an awful lot of living to get done in thirty short years."
Goon smiled sadly at the thought. It was sobering to think he was nearly at the prime of his life already. It was a key reason in his getting on the road, out of the city, out into the world. Spending the rest of his years getting cut up in the alcohol-drenched, smoke-laden company of tavern hoppers and cushy aristocracy wasn't an ideal retirement plan. Surely Davor would have some opinions about the peak of life. Surely Goon had an idea by now where that direction would head with the death-talking cleric.
"All the more reason leave a more permanent impression, eh?"
Like clockwork.
Myre's eight-legged interest no longer seemed random to Goon. Never had he smelled someone so in-tune with nature. He compared her essence to what a beggar's alley would smell like in the country, but more real wet and less...well...the other kind of wets one finds in a beggar's alley. For all Goon knew, maybe that mudnure (which was it?) all over her was a skin treatment. She was nice enough at least.
This is adventuring, huh?
Goon was far from shy, but for now kept his thoughts to himself. The music, the view, the experience did something to him he didn't have the words for. Maybe this is the inspiration he's known bards to speak of. In a fit of this feeling, Goon pulled his hand drum from his pack, threw the strap across his thick shoulder, and played gently alongside Lani's lute-leading melody.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:38, Wed 05 May 2021.