Tarjun Branston's page

Again, Tarjun looks more confused than hurt. "But if they hear me say 'damn' and immediately think I'm offensive and stupid, how are they in the right??"

"And people assume plenty of things 'bout me anyway. I've been called a lot of names. Doesn't mean I should feel bad about it and that changing will make judmgemental people any better."

"Anyhoo! Maybe we should invite Granny on an adventure. Aren't old warriors the most dangerous, if they're still alive and kickin' after everything they faced?"

Tarjun stares blankly at Donna, confused. "What? What's wrong with saying bad words once a while? Lots of people do it. And they ain't stupid. It's just... natural!"

For once, though, he doesn't quite know what to say when Donna reminisces about the friends she's lost. "... I'm sorry, Mrs Barrast."

Jewel replies before Donna can..... "Tarjun! Language.... Just cause we're not at home is no excuse to use rude words."

"You're old enough to hear 'em, I don't need to watch my language around you anymore!" Tarjun blows rasperry at his sister.

But before the siblings can keep on nagging each other, Donna begins her tale, and Tarjun shuts up.

The boy is any comedian's dream spectator: he leans in closer, gapes, gasps and cries out "No way!" on cue without needing any kind of encouragement. However, the end of the tale leaves him somber and (more surprisingly) speechless for a moment. "But... Do you not regret adventuring? I just feel like life gets so... boring."

"Is that a bad thing?" Tarjun gets one bite out of a pepper, and his cheeks flush slightly red. "Damn - not bad, but it's spicy!!"

"So there are adventurers around? What kind of adventures do they go on? Oh - Mrs Barrast, is it true that you used to be an adventurer?? What did you do? Did you see many dragons?"

"Oh yeah, sausages are the best!" Tarjun enthusiastically takes a seat at the table. "What's jalapeno peppers? Some kind of veggie?"

"Hey, hammering at stones is kinda fun, actually! But it takes way too much time. You don't have a shop, Mrs Barrast? You're just doing priesting full time?"

Tarjun picks up the turquoise - without quite recalling its name -, puts it in a vice, and taps it gently with a hammer...

Craft (jewelry): 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 2 = 16

To his surprise, the stone doesn't immediately gets crushed within seconds, and thanks to Brett's instructions he manages to get it into something resembling an oval shape - with a few imperfections that reflect his lack of practice. "Hey - actually, this ain't bad!"

"Uh," Tarjun hesitates. "I like the shiny blue one..."

"Sure," Tarjun refrains from making a face - but barely. "Not sure I wanna take the risk of hammering my fingers, though."

"Like, insects the size of a bear?" Tarjun shudders. "No. And ogres? Aren't those from kids' stories? Eating people and all that?"

"Adventuring?" Tarjun beams. "I've never heard of it before! It sounds so cool!!! You can go on adventures for a job?"

"Was Donna an adventurer? Did she fight many dragons? Was she on a pirate ship? What's the most dangerous thing she's done? Did she travel alone? How come you two met?"

"Yeah, about that. I know some people make money quickly - but how in the hells do they do that??? I watched so many folks do back-breaking work for peanuts, and they call it 'making a living'. Are they doing it wrong?"

"But at least making music is fun. And I improvise a lot of what I play," Tarjun shrugs.

The promise of a casserole - and the delicious smell that comes from the kitchen - seems to somewhat improve his mood. "Is lunch going to be ready soon?" Right on cue, his stomach gurgles - as if it hadn't had sandwiches and cherry pies just a couple of hours earlier.

It seems like the older Tarjun gets, the more his stomach is turning into a bottomless pit.

"What if you don't really like working in general?" Tarjun asks with more sincerity than malice. "Except when I'm making music, it's all so boring. I like carpentry, but I can't see myself doing that everyday all day long, right? Anything will get on your nerves after a while."

Tarjun makes a face. "I mean, carpentry is solid. I'm not too sure about working with gems and stuff - no offense, Jewie."

"Do you know if there's a guild of musicians or somethin'?" he asks in a hopeful tone.

Tarjun heaves a sigh of relief. "First time I actually agree with you on somethin'."

Tarjun was fully ready to turn around and make a run for it before he realises that it was a joke. "Ha-ha. Very funny. Arranged marriages. Real comedy material," he says grumpily. Still, he comes in the house.

Tarjun gapes at Donna in shock for a couple of seconds, before shouting as firmly as he can: "SHE'S NOT MY FIANCEE!"

Evidently, it's a sensitive topic - but it doesn't take a lot of guessing to see that he feels quite strongly against the idea.

Tarjun stays at the doorstep, suddenly feeling quite gauche. The thought of getting his own bedroom is of course very tempting, but staying in the home of people he doesn't know for quite a long time feels... Intimidating. He may not have had a lot of privacy at the Branstons', but they were family - all that he's ever known. It was weird to find himself amongst strangers.

He turns towards Clara, whom Mrs. Barrast had all but ignored. "Um... We brought someone else. This is our..." he hesitates for a second, visibly thinking for the most accurate word to define her. "Friend, I guess? This is Clara Johnson. We grew up in the same village."

Sure!

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (13) + 9 = 22

Tarjun catches his breath after yelling so much. "Good! So... Guess we gotta find our hosts, then?"

At least, Clara's display of magic attracted quite a crowd. The boy approaches one of the spectators, who's still gaping at the group. "'Scuse me. Do you know where we can find Mr and Mrs Barrast?"

Tarjun has to hold on tight to the canoe to avoid being thrown overboard - but after a moment of surprise, he gets carried away by the exhilirating speed, and throws up his hands in the air. "WOOOO-HOOOOOOO!"

"Well, off we go then." Tarjun starts pudding slowly to the spot Jewel indicated, and waits for her return.

"I mean, they gotta park those big boats somewhere, right? Maybe if we got to a wooden pier, or something..." Tarjun cranes his neck to find a suitable spot for the canoe.

Perception: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (14) - 1 = 13

Tarjun grabs the oars, a bit grumpily - but definitely feeling mroe energetic after two sandwiches and two cherry pies. "Let's do this!"

Ready to fast forward!

"You sure?? We can do half and half," Tarjun offers his sister. Though her appetite was never as great as his, he's always worried that she might be secretly hungry.

"Can't say I really mind. At least we don't have to work," Tarjun inspects his sandwich, which he finds a little small. "How many of those did you make, Jewie?"

Tarjun is strong enough to pull the boat to the shore. Strength: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 2 = 15

Tarjun stares at her, a bit ashamed that he didn't think of that before. "Oh. Yeah. That could do." He sits up, and grabs the paddle. "Okay, let's get closer to the shore on the count of three... one... two... three!"

Tarjun looks over at Clara, then at Jewel. "Uh. Anyone got a rope? I didn't really think of a way to stop that boat..."

"Yeah, this thing's too tiring," Tarjun's voice answers from the bottom of the canoe. "We'll just go with the flow."

Perception: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (16) - 1 = 15

Tarjun studies Chirp's flight for a moment. "I think it says that she's behind us and following the boat," he relaxes, and lies back in the canoe for a nap. "No hurries then!"

"Well - that ain't no reason." Still, Tarjun lays back a little and allows himself to relax. It feels good to not have to paddle for a while. "How long do you reckon it'll take to reach Annesley?"

"Not now, Chirp!" Tarjun gestures wildly and nearly drops his oar into the water in a desperate attempt to shoo the bird away. Disappointed that it cannot perch in its favorite spot (i.e: Tarjun's hair), Chirp flies safely to the branch of a nearby tree, tilting its head curiously at the children in the boat.

"This paddling's getting annoying," the boy grumbles. "It probably would have been faster if we made a raft with a sail."

Rowing, as Tarjun quickly figures out, is a lot less straightforward than it initially appears. Sure enough, the movement itself is not particularly complex. Having to do it again and again and again is trickier.

Having to be perfectly synchronized with a partner who is easily distracted by a dragonfly is even harder.

"No, no - right. You have to go right. At the same time - if you keep paddling that way we'll be going in circles! Come on!"

Tarjun sighs. For all of his temper, the thought of leaving his parents behind for quite some time makes him... almost strangely sad. He'd been dreaming of leaving the farm for months, if not years, and now that it was happening, he suddenly had cold feet.

He embraces his mother briefly - but with the intensity of a child frightened to be left alone. "Bye, Ma."

His father gets an even shorter hug, but not less affectionate. "Bye, Pa."

Tarjun keeps his eyes downcast. If he meets his parents' gaze, he's afraid he's going to cry, so he climbs into the canoe. "Let's go!"

"Fine! Fine! I didn't have time to return it yesterday! That's all!!! It's outside, I left it in the toolshed for the night."

"Grab my bag? I didn't put a couple of things in it... It'll take a minute." As it turns out, of course, nothing has really been done, and Tarjun fully intended to row down the river with not much else but his usual weapons and the clothes on his back. After a ten-minutes wait, Shelly finally goes upstairs to find out that her son is trying to fold a blanket small enough to fit in a backpack that will obviously never have the space to hold it.

It takes more time to persuade him that Annesley is not far enough to justify carrying a whole blanket, that he hasn't even thought of packing some rations to keep him from getting hungry, and that, yes, he will need more spare clothes than an extra shirt and pair of trousers if he is to stay in a different city for more than a couple of days. By the time the whole family is finally ready to leave, the atmosphere has grown tense enough to be nearly tangible. Neither Tarjun nor his mother unclench their jaws.

"Come on, everyone," Will sighs. "At least let's try not to leave on an angry note."

"I didn't think of it! And it wasn't my tool! I borrowed it from the lumberjacks," Tarjun looks even grumpier.

"Clara did," Tarjun grumbles. He is drinking his glass of milk in the sulkiest way possible.

"Well, ain't you funny," Tarjun grumbles - but a smile is tugging at his lips. "I'm bein' a bad influence on ya, ain't I?"

"Maybe you'll benefit from living a little with a priestess of Erastil then," Shelly interjects, and Tarjun's grin disappears from his face. "Teach you good manners."

"Shelly," Will admonishes gently. "You won't have to take on the same responsibilities as your sister, of course," he adds, turning to Tarjun. "But we do believe that getting some religious education from someone else will do you some good. You'll have to learn the rules of our community - one way or another."

"What??!!" Tarjun whines. "But I've done something but learn the rules of our community!!! I've sat through sermons!!! I've learned stuff by heart when I was told to!!!! It's not my fault I don't like it!!! It's not fair!!!"

"Tarjun," Will's voice drops lower. "We're paying for your apprenticeship. You'll come to some of Donna's sermons if we ask you to."

"But ypou ain't gonna ask Jewel to learn carpentry just for the community' sake!" Tarjun's voice is beginning to sound a bit shrilly even to his own ears - and he hates that. "Why is it always me who has to shut up and fall into line?!"

Jewel's call is answered with a guttural groan that may only belong to a zombie - or her teenage brother. "Comin'," says a raspy voice from under the blanket.

It takes, however, a solid quarter of an hour before Tarjun appears downstairs, dishevelled and squinting in the daylight. "Oh hey - hello Pa! Hello Ma! How come you're here?" His tone oscillates between genuine surprise and a tinge of disappointment. Did that mean he had to give up on his carefully-crafted canoe?

"Try to sound even less enthusiastic," Shelly maugreates. She had less and less patience for her son's moodiness.

"Hey Tarjun," Will calls out cheerfully. His tactic of choice was generally to feign ignorance, and pretend that Tarjun had never evolved from a happy child to a teenager with a temper. "How would you like a trip to Annesley? Get away from Oakstead a little?"

Tarjun narrows his eyes even more. He looks almost like a mole. "Is there a trap or somethin'?" he instinctively turns to Jewel, waiting to see if it's a prank or not.

Tarjun does not even hear the rooster. Perhaps he's snoring too loud to hear its crowing.

"... Well. We should avoid falling asleep on the raft anyway," Tarjun says lamely. Even he can tell that this new pretext sounds rather unconvincing.

"So? The excitement can wait," Tarjun says - though Jewel's comment about paddling in the dark appears to make him reconsider. "Fine. Let's say about 10 am then. There's no sense not taking a good night's sleep anyway - if we're too tired, we won't be able to row!"

"And there ain't gonna be no marriage!!!!"

"I'll have my club and my walking staff. I don't need more than that."

"Weeell... First thing in the morning... After we've woken up, right? We're not in that much of a rush!"

A typical teenager, Tarjun isn't much enthusiastic about having to get up at dawn - and expecting him to actually do it is rather similar to wishful thinking.

"Hey Jewie! Thanks for the meal. We're just about done with the canoe," Tarjun explains cheerfully. "That smells nice! What did you make?"

"Let's go home and have dinner then. We can always sail tomorrow! With some sandwiches!" As if on cue, Tarjun's stomach loudly gurgles.

Tarjun checks Clara's work. "Hey, it doesn't look bad at all!"

"When I'm done with that canoe, I think we'll be ready to go."

"Yeah, if you could make two oars, that'd actually save me some time. If you put holes in 'em - guess I'll just take over!"

"Yeah, right - now it's gonna be my fault 'cause I can't predict what you're gonna do."

"Come on, let's carve it up into something that kinda looks like a canoe."

Carpentry: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (17) + 8 = 25

Reflex: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (17) + 1 = 18

Since Tarjun had stopped doing much to supervise (or rather, watch in awe) Clara's hacking away at the tree, he easily steps out of the say when it falls. "Careful! It nearly slammed on your head! You need to stoo cutting when it's about to fall..."