Will hang around over the holidays to see what happens...if no posts, then I will also be withdrawing, unfortunately!
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Anvar continued to work on the tack and harness for his mule, the worn leather creaking softly as he pulled each strap taut and checked the buckles for wear. The animal stood patiently in the shade, flicking its ears at the occasional fly, its dark eyes following him with quiet trust. Beyond the mule, the wagon waited—a squat, stubborn thing of oak and iron, its two wheels rimmed in steel that caught the pale morning light.
Anvar looked up from the worn leather strap he’d been fussing with, his bushy brows knitting into something between a smile and a scowl. The big man stood there like a tree trunk, arms folded, watching the dwarf work. “Ah, butcher,” Anvar rumbled, his voice gravel and smoke. “If ye be looking for adventure, then sign on with me for a season or two. I could be using a strapping lad like yerself to give a hand. Me old bones are beginning to creak and groan with all this travelling!” It was the same complaint he’d been trotting out for twenty years, and the same lie—his bones were as stubborn as ever. But the road was long, and the company of a strong back never hurt. He spat into the mud and tugged the strap tight, pretending not to notice the Duke’s men unloading crates from their wagon. House Nenonen’s colors gleamed like fresh blood in the morning mist. Anvar’s eyes narrowed. “Mark me words, lad,” he muttered under his breath, “where nobles ride, trouble follows.”
Anvar Erdukr cursed under his breath as the chill spring mist clung to his beard. The old dwarf’s boots squelched in the mud while he checked the straps on his wagon for the third time. Jenny, his mule, flicked an ear and snorted, unimpressed by the fuss. Months on the road meant every buckle mattered. From the corner of his eye, Anvar watched the Duke’s men roll in—a massive, open-topped wagon pulled by draft horses, their harnesses gleaming with oil. The sigil of House Nenonen glared from every tabard, bold as a challenge. Anvar spat into the mud. “Bloody nobles,” he muttered. “Always making a show.”
@ Krezen: I am sure Anvar has spoken to the solitary Orc on occasion...perhaps even offered to take him on his rambling?? Having a well-trained woodsman with you would make the trip go much smoother!!
Anvar is used to bringing back specific items for his friends in various villages throughout the area. The most recent “gift” he brought back was a book for the young human Brathas. Titled “Tusk Love”, the dwarf read it as a somewhat bawdy comedy, but it was a ‘romance/adventure’. The book made the rounds of the village…quietly. Those who read it KNEW, and those who had not wanted to KNOW! A stop was finally put out by the village elders, who had to sit Anvar down and explain that the book was borderline pornographic in nature. Now there was talk of the young Brathas and his “players” adapting it to a play…which seemed fine to the dwarf!
Anvar is probably the best-known "outsider" in the village. He stays in a small hut he rents, maybe from one of the other players, for 3-4 months of the year before heading out on the road. He always brings new and strange items back from his travels and shares freely of his "treasures" and skills. Anvar has been in the village probably longer than most of you have been alive, and his travels begin in the spring and he returns in the autumn. His mule, Bess, and the wagon he travels in are all as well-known as he.
Still in and excited to play!!
Ok...here is the avatar for my submission (daniel) Just need to add background and all is done |