Show me the money - Cuba Gooding Jnr
… ahh Gold, Suiden, whaterver, you get the picture - Varya’ Qa
Hank was heartily sick of everyone. Mostly Gruffly, who’s complaining drove him to his wit’s end. He complained about everything. The Tabor was too far away. He couldn’t pan for gold easily. His best panning tools were now the property of spiders. Why wasn’t Marko healed yet? Why wasn’t Hank a better kwaksal? Whatever that is. On and on it went. It didn’t matter that he refused to speak Common, invariably he dragged over Sabine or Jamie to translate his whinny diatribe. Gruffly just got on people’s nerves by existing. He annoyed everyone. Unintentionally perhaps, but he rubbed everyone up the wrong way.
Hank had also had enough of Marko’s moaning, of Fritz’s quiet reproachful looks, of Ruadh’s fidgeting and the constant squabbles of children getting on each other’s nerves. In fact, the only people not driving him to distraction were Ninyette, Sabine, and Jamie. Actually, scratch that. Jamie was getting on his nerves as well, but it was different. Jamie was like an annoying older brother. One who took perverse pleasure in needling people. Hank was used to being alone, he hadn’t had a break from people for eight long weeks. Hank felt suffocated.
Until his own recent illness he had managed to get away from people and recharge by heading off to collect herbs and plants for his medications. What had started as a grudgingly accepted task to ensure there was someone who could treat the injured had become a path to the sanity brought by quite places and comfortable solitude. He missed those times alone.
Right there he decided that well or not he was fit enough for a solitary stroll. He didn’t care where too as long as nobody else came with him.
Telling Jamie and Sabine that he was just going for a brief stroll, he headed off to the east, following the base of the cliff walls. He had contemplated walking up the river, it looked so beautiful. However the likelihood of encountering Gruffly in that direction put paid to that idea. Hank didn’t want another half understood lecture on… Actually, he wasn’t clear what occasioned the previous bout of whining. Something boring, Hank surmised from Sabine’s reaction. She hadn’t bothered translating before rolling her eyes and storming off grumbling about wasted time.
Hank decided that he ought to catch up on the numerous log. The reproachful blinking of their ignored indicators impressed on Hank his lack of diligence.
Log (Medical)
Skill
Description
XP Gain
Inspect & Diagnose
17 Self and team members
17
Inspect & Diagnose
4 Ore Cane
4
Make treatment
2 poor paste, 1 poor liquid
13
Administer tonic
16 Self and team members
16
Administer tonic
4 Ore Cane
4
Administer salve
10 Self and team members
10
Administer salve
4 Ore Cane
4
Bandage wounds
13 Self and team members
26
Bandage wounds
4 Ore Cane
8
Administer care (day)
16 Self and team members
54
Administer care (day)
4 Ore Cane
36
He stared at the log. The numbers didn’t seem right. 20 total days of care provided, ok. 20 tonics administered, that was more questionable. Certainty some patients only had minimal treatment by some needed tonic twice or even three times on some days. When it came to it he had made up more than 1 tonic. Sure he had help with two of them but sure he wouldn’t get nothing for those efforts. Stupid game always lowballing the scores. Still there was nothing he could do about it. Grumbling to himself he closed the log.
Hank wandered vaguely in the canyon wall’s direction, noting unique plants and insects as he ambled along. None of his books covered most of the species he studied. It was certainly interesting, though his Inspect skill showed little. He needed more books on biology. He would have to communicate with Sally or Lucinda. Or just find a biomist. He sketched the odd plant in his journal but without any real diligence or study. It was just nice to be out.
Thinking about it Hank decided there was clearly a different ecology sheltered behind ‘The Sister’ within the enclosed valley. It appeared warmer than the surrounding areas. Something reflected in the plant life, which Hank assumed was due to the sheltered provided. Perhaps sunlight was being trapped inside, but he was guessing. Here, in new territory, nobody knew anything.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Over the course of the next couple of hours, Hank meandered most of the way down the length of the valley. As far as he could determine it was roughly three times as long as it was wide and extended east south east from ‘The Sister’. On the northern edge was the Tabor river, which, according to Gruffly, was an impassable 100 metres wide in most places.
As he got closer to the end of the valley, he realised that there was actually a waterfall that seemed to combine the Tabor with a tributary. It didn’t seem to be a very big waterfall, only about 50 metres high but it was more interesting than the grass lands that he had been walking across so he decided to cut across from the cliffs towards the waterfall.
Cresting a small rise measuring less than a couple of metres, Hank disturbed a hare which bounded off. Fresh meat was always a priority, so as quickly as he was able, Hank dropped his staff. He pulled his bow off his back and fired an arrow after the retreating bunny. Hank prided himself on his reaction time. Unfortunately, his accuracy suffered drastically. He missed.
He quickly knocked a second arrow and fired after the hare again. But as the arrow flew, the hare dropped behind another small rise. The arrow followed it. Sighing, Hank bent and picked up his staff just in time to hear a bellow. Straightening up, he saw a bear with his arrow sticking out of its shoulder come charging back at him over the rise.
Bow in one hand, staff in the other, Hank was completely unprepared. So he did what any sensible person does when confronted by an angry, wounded bear. He fled complain about his rotten luck. Without thought or direction, he raced away. Stupidly he did not run in a direction he recognised or even towards his friends but as fear directed, away.
Hank's fear focused his attention on getting away and in particular where to put each foot, little thought to the direction he was heading. The terrain slowly started to rise up as he continued. He glanced back over his shoulder. The bear, a short way behind, doggedly followed. He dropped his staff, pulling an arrow from his quiver. Blowing hard from the run, he hyper ventilated a couple of breaths, forcing air into his lungs and calming his thundering heart. He had to still his body and control his breath enough to aim his shot. It was all to no avail. Hank missed.
After another breath and increased effort, he stilled sufficiently for a second shot to strike true. Just as well. Bears are significantly bigger targets than hares. However, a bear takes much more killing than hares. Two shots barely wounded it. The second hit seemed to enrage it further. Hank picked up his staff and ran on. For a moment he regretted his choice of weapon. It was too big to run with easily, and it didn’t come with a nice scabbed to carry it in. Too late to do worry about that now, Hank concluded as he ran.
Looking up, Hank noticed the canyon walls were closing in. He’d chosen his direction foolishly resulting in him being pushed towards a dead end. Which was a scary proposition. He was pretty sure that confined spaces and bears were not a happy mixture for squishy humans. So, turning, he dropped his staff to fire a quick shot at his pursuer. Once again, a hit. Minimal damage, Hank concluded as the bear roared its answer without pausing it's pursuit.
Retrieving his staff he ran on, Hank turned and resumed his flight. With a furtive thought he realised his stamina bar was approaching empty. He should have guessed from his shortness of breath.
The canyon walls rose before Hank with no cover or protection in sight. Once again he reflected on the comedy of errors he'd made. He shouldn’t have fired over the hill. He certainly shouldn’t have run in this direction. Most importantly, however, he shouldn’t have been out alone. The largely tamed lands of the kingdom were vastly different to the wilderness regions surrounding the great northern forest.
He ran on.
Amidst his exhaustion, Hank admired the rock. Beautiful vertical mesa walls rose up all around. Only the other side of the Tabor offered any possible path to the mountain tops. The forests, absent here in the valley, seemed determined to capture those northern slopes in spite of their steepness. Hank looked forward to exploring that. Assuming he survived this escapade.
Puffing now, he glanced over his shoulder at the chasing bear. It was gaining on him. Geez, wouldn’t the thing run out of puff, blood, stamina, something and just keel over and die. Actually, Hank reflected, he would be happy if the bear just stopped.
The ground rising the closer he approached the little cul-de-sac end. Hank glanced up, realising he was no more than a few hundred metres from the cliff walls. Close to despair, he glanced around. Something caught his eye, he noticed a cave opening off to the right. It wasn’t large, but unfortunately it was large enough for the bear. Still, he reasoned, it was still an opportunity.
Changing direction, he ran for it. A stick forming in his side and blowing hard, he ran inside. Grasping his staff with both hands, turned to face the bear.
He wasn’t a moment too soon as the bear arrived close on his heels. Sticking its head into the cave, it roared it's anger almost directly into Hank's face. Hank wasn’t one for waiting until his enemy was ready, he swung his staff with all of his might smashing the bear in the side of the head. There was a crunching sound and the bear’s roar changed from one of aggression to one of pain.
The bear lashed out at Hank, its front paw slashed Hank’s stomach. The claws didn’t penetrate deeply. A small mercy, a better strike might have taken more of Hanks remaining health. A bleeding indicator appeared telling Hank that without treatment he would continue to weaken.
“Note to self, defend more.” Hank mumbled. He bashed the bear’s head again with less effect than his first blow. The bear swiped. Hank dodged back, jabbing the bear’s snout as he moved. The bear reared up, which was amazing given the cave mouth’s size. Then, in a flopping motion it plunging forward.
Hank jumped back as the bear descended, again dodging the bear’s attack. Unfortunately, the uneven cave floor caused Hank to stumble. His foot twisted, flaring in pain, and with a gasp he collapsed. The bear, now back on all fours, cuffed Hank in the side of his head, ringing his bell and reducing his life bar below a quarter.
Things were looking dire. Hank knew he had to get back to his feet before the bear finished him off. He jabbed the bear with his staff twice in quick succession. First in the face, then the chest. Neither did substantial damage. They did, however, drive the beast off long enough for Hank to leaver himself back to his feet. The break didn’t last. The bear attacked again. This time he couldn’t dodge. His legs were shaky, perhaps from the blow to the head perhaps from the blood loss, Hank wasn't sure. He had to stand and fight.
Trading blows with a bear was not most sane thing he’d ever done, Hank reflected as his mind settled into a rhythm. Bear attack, block or deflect, counterstrike, rinse and repeat. He defended well, but he was bleeding. If this kept up for much longer…. well, he refused to contemplate that scenario. He wished he had some skill that could tip the balance, but he had always relied on surprise. The only surprise he was likely to see in this fight was if the bear dropped dead between this swing and the next. It didn’t happen. What did happen was that his attacks, repeatedly aimed at the bear’s head, bore fruit as he broke the bear’s jaw?
Hank had been told old wives tales about ‘poking the bear’ which he had always understood. A simple concept. Reality, he was discovering, was a little more emphatic about teaching lessons. “One little stray arrow and I’m inspecting enraged bear teeth from the good seats” Hank groused.
In a now familiar move, the bear roared its pain and anger, rearing up. Hank’s training under Sabine kicked in. As the bear plunged down, Hank thrust up into the throat. Against a human it would have been fatal, not so against the thick fur and fat protecting the bear’s throat. As the roar chopped off, the bear fell awkwardly off the end of Hank’s staff landing on its side.
Finally, Hank had a chance. With all of his might, he smashed his quarterstaff into the side of the bear’s head. The first strike stunned the bear. Hank didn’t pause, striking again and again until the bear lay motionless.
There was gore and blood everywhere. Hank’s shod staff dripped with blood and seemed to gained a dent or two. Blood was also liberally splattered across the cave and Hank’s clothing. Hank dry retched. Disgusted with himself, his foolishness almost cost him his life. Bears weren’t even good eating. A quick look at the logs showed he received a measly seventy experience points.
“Not worth the effort,” Hank mumbled as he collapsed to the floor. His remaining strength seeping away with the blood trickling from his throbbing stomach.
Hank pulled his bag round to his front, taking out his water bottle. He took a swig. The water helped his thirst, but he needed more than that. Digging through his bag, he remembered he was out of linen. “Marko!” Hank ground out. “Now I have to sacrifice a shirt. Not like I’m getting as new one of those anytime soon.”
Fortunately, sufficient salve remained for today’s drama. “Must be three years ago that old lady gave me this stuff.” Hank mumbled as he wiped it into his wound. He hadn’t understood medicine then, consequently he hadn’t understood the value contained within the small can she pressed into Hank’s hands. Both had been banished from some completely forgettable town on the same morning. He for vagrancy, she for practising witchcraft and ‘raising devil spawn’. All Hank had seen was an old apothecary trying to feed her dead daughter’s infant son. For reasons Hank himself didn’t understand, he’d handed her his remaining money. Perhaps it was the bitterness written on her face, perhaps the child’s cry. Who knew, Hank certainly didn’t.
Hank never learnt her name or what her salve was called, but it was brilliant. It cured everything, but he was running out. He usually kept it for emergencies, but in the last few months emergencies had been plentiful. Wincing both from the pain and from the dwindling supplies, Hank smeared some into the claw marks the bear had left on his head before binding his open stomach wound. He would need to treat them properly later.