Are
'A grand adventure into the unknown on the behest of the Shepherd of the dead' would have sounded so much better for the songs the cobbler dreamt of as he tried his damnedest to stick to the shore of the Stonesong all the while managing to not fall in nor drift too far from it.
'The desperate struggle of a stubborn fool to prove something to none but himself' lacked the same kind of stoic poeticism he imagined a tale needed, a hero on a path towards a lofty goal, beset by enemies on every side, both living and dead. Not that he hadn't tried his best to make sure his little unlawful trip would be carried out without rousing too much suspicion. New shoes, leaving in the dead of night, hiding a pack at the edge of the Settlement, anything to satisfy that niggling doubt that kept gnawing at his sanity. One couldn't be too safe when it came to a holy mission after all.
It wasn't as if it was out of the ordinary, the cobbler being gone, but it still had his gut in a tight knot. One that refused to settle even as he got swallowed up by the forbidden woods and spat out at the banks of the mighty river. He knew the shores, recognized them from when he'd went trekking into the dark forest lead by a small lantern and an ascended as cold as the night sky.
Downstream, that was the only direction he had to follow, but follow it he did. Clad in leathers from top to toe and weighed down by shield, axe, and pack in a vain attempt to plan for the worst. A helmet he carried for once, one as fresh as the shoes he wore, another little token to keep him safe in the event he faced the troubles he apparently had a knack for seeking out.
Upstream, wait, upstream? Are could've sworn he had been on the right track. River on his left, or was it on his right? How could one be lose oneself while walking in a straight line next to a river? Determined to push on, come Hel or high water, he back-tracked to where he had started out a few hours earlier, but even that proved impossible. Again he found the Stonesong where previously there where only silent, uncaring trees, devoid of anything but scorn for the interloper and leaves seemingly rustling with glee at his predicament.
Hours, how many? Are could barely see the sky without risking slipping and falling into the river, and braving another drowning was more than the cobbler warrior was ready for, at least at that moment of his journey. Unrelenting he kept on, growing ever more stubborn and determined for every misstep and every double-back, and his unyielding tenacity was at last rewarded with a noise he so had longed for.
The silence, so deafening among the day's ever present sound of flowing water. The undergrowth giving way to the sight of slick, moss-covered stone lining the deep, dark depths for which he had came. "Now that's something else, ain't it? he almost whispered, finally breaking the strained silence.
'The desperate struggle of a stubborn fool to prove something to none but himself' lacked the same kind of stoic poeticism he imagined a tale needed, a hero on a path towards a lofty goal, beset by enemies on every side, both living and dead. Not that he hadn't tried his best to make sure his little unlawful trip would be carried out without rousing too much suspicion. New shoes, leaving in the dead of night, hiding a pack at the edge of the Settlement, anything to satisfy that niggling doubt that kept gnawing at his sanity. One couldn't be too safe when it came to a holy mission after all.
It wasn't as if it was out of the ordinary, the cobbler being gone, but it still had his gut in a tight knot. One that refused to settle even as he got swallowed up by the forbidden woods and spat out at the banks of the mighty river. He knew the shores, recognized them from when he'd went trekking into the dark forest lead by a small lantern and an ascended as cold as the night sky.
Downstream, that was the only direction he had to follow, but follow it he did. Clad in leathers from top to toe and weighed down by shield, axe, and pack in a vain attempt to plan for the worst. A helmet he carried for once, one as fresh as the shoes he wore, another little token to keep him safe in the event he faced the troubles he apparently had a knack for seeking out.
Upstream, wait, upstream? Are could've sworn he had been on the right track. River on his left, or was it on his right? How could one be lose oneself while walking in a straight line next to a river? Determined to push on, come Hel or high water, he back-tracked to where he had started out a few hours earlier, but even that proved impossible. Again he found the Stonesong where previously there where only silent, uncaring trees, devoid of anything but scorn for the interloper and leaves seemingly rustling with glee at his predicament.
Hours, how many? Are could barely see the sky without risking slipping and falling into the river, and braving another drowning was more than the cobbler warrior was ready for, at least at that moment of his journey. Unrelenting he kept on, growing ever more stubborn and determined for every misstep and every double-back, and his unyielding tenacity was at last rewarded with a noise he so had longed for.
The silence, so deafening among the day's ever present sound of flowing water. The undergrowth giving way to the sight of slick, moss-covered stone lining the deep, dark depths for which he had came. "Now that's something else, ain't it? he almost whispered, finally breaking the strained silence.
