Boot Camp: Day 1 and 2
Apr. 5th, 2011 09:40 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nyykiDay 1: Female Troll, Joyous, Mug
Frag sat down on the rock strewn ground under her bridge. She sniffed the brew coming out from the mug and reveled in its richness. Stupid adventurers.
She ignored the trickle of blood coming off the rocks that made up her bridge. Didn't everyone know that when you crossed a troll's bridge you payed a toll? Obviously not. At least, the little group of adventurers didn't get the memo, as the merchant that came through every fortnight often said. It took Frag months to figure out that somehow that meant someone wasn't using their brain or was just plain stupid.
She didn't like roughing up or even killing those who refused to pay the toll, but that was just the way things were done. You cross a troll's bridge, you pay the toll. To allow people to ignore this would just cause trouble. It was the way things were done, and she didn't want to rock the boat.
She flexed her right hand. It was still sore from hitting the one in the scale armor with her bare hand. She should have guessed such flimsy leather hid something under it. He was the first one to die as she hit him in just the right place to stop his heart.
The woman in robes was the second one to go. She shook some kind of necklace at Frag, but before she could complete her statement Frag snapped her neck, making her silent. Why did elven women have such shrill voices? It hurt Frag's ears.
The other two were more of a problem. The other elf had a bow, and Frag had to get to him before he could draw it. Grabbing the bow and wrapping it around his neck and holding it until he couldn't breathe did the trick, but not before the accursed elf kicked her many times in the shin. It still hurt.
That left the short one -- a Hobbit Frag remembered they were called. He tossed a cup, this mug in fact, down in front of her, and said, "Here, this is worth far more than your toll. It's magic, and fills with coffee every time you say 'Coffee!' and it's empty. It won't fill if it has anything in it."
Frag picked it up, and to her amazement it grew to a proper troll-sized mug. She nodded and said, "You can cross."
The little man said, "Let me take my companions with me. I might be able to get them healed."
Frag shook her head. "No. Only you paid the toll. They stay until they pay the toll. Now go, or I charge you more toll for staying on my bridge."
The little man ran off then, cursing up a whirlwind. And Frag sat down to enjoy her coffee.
There would probably be problems with the ones on the bridge soon. The local baron didn't like untidy things. But for now, she'd done her job, and she loved coffee. Ever since the travelling coffee merchant wagon dedicated to Saint Arbuck came through and gave her some three years ago she'd loved the dark steaming liquid. She took her first sip, and realized that she would never have to let the Saint Arbuck wagon pass again without paying a toll, as she could now have all the coffee she ever wanted.
---
Day 2: Male Minbari, Pocketwatch, Content
Calarr sat in his chair and opened the drawer. He carefully took out the velvet covered box and sighed. Finally, something of Valen's.
With the new open relations with the humans more and more Minbari were finding they didn't have so much to fear about any human artifacts they held. One of Valen's descendents came forward with this one, and it was an amazing find, both for its uniqueness and for its mysteries.
He opened the box to reveal a gold timepiece, what the humans called a pocketwatch. Its gold chain would need some polishing, but by winding the knob at the top it started ticking. It still worked.
Flipping open the back, he studied the mysterious markings once again. Sinclair Watch Company, and below it, the date, 1860. This marking still confused him. A quick reference indicated this was a timepiece about 400 years old. But Valen walked among the Minbari a thousand years ago. And the note inside was verified as Valen's handwriting. It even bore what seemed to be his fingerprints, if the antiquities museum of the Grey Council was accurate. So it was his watch. But how did he get it six hundred years before its time of manufacture? Only VAlen could do things like that, Calarr decided.
What joy this would bring to those touring the museum when it went on display. Let the religious cast chant and the warrior caste fight, it was best to be worker caste.
---
Day 3:
Frag sat down on the rock strewn ground under her bridge. She sniffed the brew coming out from the mug and reveled in its richness. Stupid adventurers.
She ignored the trickle of blood coming off the rocks that made up her bridge. Didn't everyone know that when you crossed a troll's bridge you payed a toll? Obviously not. At least, the little group of adventurers didn't get the memo, as the merchant that came through every fortnight often said. It took Frag months to figure out that somehow that meant someone wasn't using their brain or was just plain stupid.
She didn't like roughing up or even killing those who refused to pay the toll, but that was just the way things were done. You cross a troll's bridge, you pay the toll. To allow people to ignore this would just cause trouble. It was the way things were done, and she didn't want to rock the boat.
She flexed her right hand. It was still sore from hitting the one in the scale armor with her bare hand. She should have guessed such flimsy leather hid something under it. He was the first one to die as she hit him in just the right place to stop his heart.
The woman in robes was the second one to go. She shook some kind of necklace at Frag, but before she could complete her statement Frag snapped her neck, making her silent. Why did elven women have such shrill voices? It hurt Frag's ears.
The other two were more of a problem. The other elf had a bow, and Frag had to get to him before he could draw it. Grabbing the bow and wrapping it around his neck and holding it until he couldn't breathe did the trick, but not before the accursed elf kicked her many times in the shin. It still hurt.
That left the short one -- a Hobbit Frag remembered they were called. He tossed a cup, this mug in fact, down in front of her, and said, "Here, this is worth far more than your toll. It's magic, and fills with coffee every time you say 'Coffee!' and it's empty. It won't fill if it has anything in it."
Frag picked it up, and to her amazement it grew to a proper troll-sized mug. She nodded and said, "You can cross."
The little man said, "Let me take my companions with me. I might be able to get them healed."
Frag shook her head. "No. Only you paid the toll. They stay until they pay the toll. Now go, or I charge you more toll for staying on my bridge."
The little man ran off then, cursing up a whirlwind. And Frag sat down to enjoy her coffee.
There would probably be problems with the ones on the bridge soon. The local baron didn't like untidy things. But for now, she'd done her job, and she loved coffee. Ever since the travelling coffee merchant wagon dedicated to Saint Arbuck came through and gave her some three years ago she'd loved the dark steaming liquid. She took her first sip, and realized that she would never have to let the Saint Arbuck wagon pass again without paying a toll, as she could now have all the coffee she ever wanted.
---
Day 2: Male Minbari, Pocketwatch, Content
Calarr sat in his chair and opened the drawer. He carefully took out the velvet covered box and sighed. Finally, something of Valen's.
With the new open relations with the humans more and more Minbari were finding they didn't have so much to fear about any human artifacts they held. One of Valen's descendents came forward with this one, and it was an amazing find, both for its uniqueness and for its mysteries.
He opened the box to reveal a gold timepiece, what the humans called a pocketwatch. Its gold chain would need some polishing, but by winding the knob at the top it started ticking. It still worked.
Flipping open the back, he studied the mysterious markings once again. Sinclair Watch Company, and below it, the date, 1860. This marking still confused him. A quick reference indicated this was a timepiece about 400 years old. But Valen walked among the Minbari a thousand years ago. And the note inside was verified as Valen's handwriting. It even bore what seemed to be his fingerprints, if the antiquities museum of the Grey Council was accurate. So it was his watch. But how did he get it six hundred years before its time of manufacture? Only VAlen could do things like that, Calarr decided.
What joy this would bring to those touring the museum when it went on display. Let the religious cast chant and the warrior caste fight, it was best to be worker caste.
---
Day 3:
