My Pet Rock [Memory - Hector]
Posted: Tue Sep 13, 2022 9:09 am
TIMESTAMP: Ash 9th, 117
NOTES: -
NOTES: -
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Ash 9th, 117
Beneath the damp boughs of a mirthful, dense wood, Aardwalden walked with caution. The gnome had heard the tale of arcanic regulation within the desmene of Zaichaer, and caution boomed in his heart. Not enough caution to match his gnomish curiosity; as they once said: curiosity killed the gnome!
Marching westward on short, stony legs, it took Aardwalden a little more time than most, but being a creature of rock it did not bother him to hide when he felt the vibrations of feet and horses traipsing upon the earth. Being still and among the thorny, often poisonous flora had its advantages!
Above ground and below it, Aardwalden was highly advantaged. Perhaps too much so. The arrogance of his fellow Stoneborn often earned them a shattering, but he knew better than to present himself as nobility. Everyone in this world had an important part to play. Right now, his was seeing the world!
Passing by a peculiar trail marker, Aardwalden recognized the etchings of Pictography. He could infer some of the concepts, but its meaning was lost on him. Mages above the earth had such wildly symbolic Pictographs compared to his own, and in spite of all his years, he still depended on a mixture of feeling, intuition, and deduction to read them.
How exciting! Following along the roads, he learned more from every trail marker he came across, until he began to understand the general meaning. They were warnings: ‘You near the grove of the druids.’ Druids. A strange lot, people of a kind that often appeared in stories of gnomish youth who broached the surface.
Finding a bridge, Aardwalden peered across the brook of alpine water, the well forested lands showing signs of civilization, albeit still wild with strange flowers and carefully curated selections of herbs growing along the forest floor. Colorful, even glowing tubers and parasols lay between the roots.
A sign stood, in plain common. DRUID LANDS. FORAGING PROHIBITED. His Calling persuaded him in such a way that he wished to study the properties of this strange flora, but he relented. Aardwalden was ultimately law abiding, to a point.
Coming up upon a series of elaborate homes made from wood, crowned in moss and draped with vines, Aard peered over the gardens as his heavy feet tapped on cobbled stone. He found himself by a well, surrounded by such similar, quiet houses. For the moment he stood there, clad in a raggedy friars robe, a child-sized man leaning against the wall of the place they drew water.
How long before he met his first Zaicharean? Would they scream and run away when they saw his face? Or would a ‘druid’ know they had nothing to fear from a Stoneborn? Curious, curious!
Ash 9th, 117
Beneath the damp boughs of a mirthful, dense wood, Aardwalden walked with caution. The gnome had heard the tale of arcanic regulation within the desmene of Zaichaer, and caution boomed in his heart. Not enough caution to match his gnomish curiosity; as they once said: curiosity killed the gnome!
Marching westward on short, stony legs, it took Aardwalden a little more time than most, but being a creature of rock it did not bother him to hide when he felt the vibrations of feet and horses traipsing upon the earth. Being still and among the thorny, often poisonous flora had its advantages!
Above ground and below it, Aardwalden was highly advantaged. Perhaps too much so. The arrogance of his fellow Stoneborn often earned them a shattering, but he knew better than to present himself as nobility. Everyone in this world had an important part to play. Right now, his was seeing the world!
Passing by a peculiar trail marker, Aardwalden recognized the etchings of Pictography. He could infer some of the concepts, but its meaning was lost on him. Mages above the earth had such wildly symbolic Pictographs compared to his own, and in spite of all his years, he still depended on a mixture of feeling, intuition, and deduction to read them.
How exciting! Following along the roads, he learned more from every trail marker he came across, until he began to understand the general meaning. They were warnings: ‘You near the grove of the druids.’ Druids. A strange lot, people of a kind that often appeared in stories of gnomish youth who broached the surface.
Finding a bridge, Aardwalden peered across the brook of alpine water, the well forested lands showing signs of civilization, albeit still wild with strange flowers and carefully curated selections of herbs growing along the forest floor. Colorful, even glowing tubers and parasols lay between the roots.
A sign stood, in plain common. DRUID LANDS. FORAGING PROHIBITED. His Calling persuaded him in such a way that he wished to study the properties of this strange flora, but he relented. Aardwalden was ultimately law abiding, to a point.
Coming up upon a series of elaborate homes made from wood, crowned in moss and draped with vines, Aard peered over the gardens as his heavy feet tapped on cobbled stone. He found himself by a well, surrounded by such similar, quiet houses. For the moment he stood there, clad in a raggedy friars robe, a child-sized man leaning against the wall of the place they drew water.
How long before he met his first Zaicharean? Would they scream and run away when they saw his face? Or would a ‘druid’ know they had nothing to fear from a Stoneborn? Curious, curious!
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