Denlo and Renalt's Trek through the Woods

The evening comes later than Denlo expects. Renalt sleeps soundly through the day, but the Elfi’ika is not so lucky. Despite his human companion’s occasional comforting, he finds sleeping in the open during the day is difficult at times. Every slight noise causes him to bolt up, which makes the time pass slower than it should. Than it generally does when one sleeps. As evening comes, Renalt awakens Denlo by preparing a meal. The smells waft into the tent that is only slightly too small for the pair, telling the man it’s time to wake up. Donning his leathers takes some time, but he feels it’s important. Just in case there is trouble, being prepared is the only way to see it through. Before leaving their tent to greet his companion and eat, he finishes his preparation. He takes up his blade. The thing that got him into this mess in the first place. It almost seems to quiver in excitement at his grasp. Like it wants to be used. Like it wants him to use it. Wrapping it elegantly in the cloth, so that it doesn’t glitter in whatever light the night sky provides today, Denlo heads out from the tent.

“Excellent, you are awake,” Renalt greets the massive man as he exits their tent, “Was your sleep a refreshing one?”

“No. Is this meal going to be particularly edible?” he replies.

Renalt laughs heartily. “No less than last time, though I doubt it shall be any more so. Fortunately for us, we should be in town during the watches, so we will be getting at least one well prepared meal in the coming day.”

“I suppose it is something to look forward to while we travel.” Denlo smiles as he gathers some of the stew into a bowl. They’d set traps the night prior. Some of them must have caught something. As he tasted the soup, he revises his thoughts. One of them must have caught something. There is barely any meat flavor in the stew. Which explains why he smelled the spices rather than the smell of cooking meat.

Renalt noticed this reaction in Denlo’s eyes. “I collected all our traps this morning. Only one had anything in it.” Denlo nods. This is exactly why he wears a masked helm normally. People looking into his eyes and reading his every emotion is simply unacceptable.

“If you collected the traps,” the Elfi’ika replies, “I guess I’ll strike the tent.” It was a fair trade. The tent was a bit more labor, but collecting the traps was a lot more walking around. Denlo suspects Renalt dealt with the traps to avoid Denlo’s own cooking, not to avoid taking down the tent. Their first morning on the trip, after setting down camp, Denlo had offered to cook. After that, every other meal on this three day journey has been Renalt’s. Probably due to how burnt everything had been.

“I suppose you shall,” Renalt says as he eats his own watery stew.

Denlo downs the rest of their evening meal and heads back to the tent, to strike it. Taking down the tent is relatively easy. Not because they were particularly clever in putting it up, or because the rich musician bought some fantastic tent, but because both of the traveling duo tended to do things simply, rather than correctly. And doing things simply means undoing it is generally also simple. Remove a couple stakes and the supporting pole, and the whole thing falls down.

Packing the tent onto their cart, Denlo pulls on his helmet. “Time to head out, Ren,” he says.

Bringing the pot back to the cart as well, Renalt smiles. “That sounds about right. I was planning on sitting about for another watch just to draw the eyes of the nearby banditry, but I suppose we can leave now.”

Denlo shakes his head at the ridiculous man. “Just move,” he complains, though behind the mask, he does smile. Leading the oxen over, he hooks their yoke up to the cart once more.

Renalt climbs onto the cart, and gathers the reins. “Come now, Den, there be no need for such grumpfulness about it,” he says with a smile.

Denlo climbs onto the cart beside his traveling partner. “I’m a hunted man whom half of the world would consider a monster. I’m allowed a bit of ‘grumpfulness’ here and there,” he replies, trying to emphasize how dumb the word ‘grumpfulness’ is.

Renalt did not get that emphasis. Or didn’t care. From the week and change he’s known the bard, Denlo suspects the latter. Renalt begins to drive the cart to the road. “I supposed, though such grumpfulness, to those that know you not, would make you seem not dissimilar from said monstrous portrayals you despise.”

Denlo chuckles. “And your constant use of dumb, overly formal language, makes you seem like every pretentious stereotype about your profession.”

Renalt laughs. “But of course. I play into one stereotype, so that I might avoid others,” the musician counters. What that means, Denlo only has a few ideas. Most of them revolve around how shady Renalt’s actions in Irritea had been. Rather than ask questions that he knew he wouldn’t get a straight answer about, Denlo moved on.

“This place we’re headed, what do I need to know about it?” he asks.

Renalt shrugs. “The Peaceful Fishing Collective? Well, they have a wondrous bar, or so I have heard. And Caravan ships visit at times. Also, let not the name fool you, they are anything but peaceful. According to my navigatrix friend, in the last series of raids they went unharmed because they burned out the vessels heading their way, slaughtering all within.”

“That sounds…violent,” Denlo responds. After a moment, he adds, “Do you think they’ll be upset about me?”

Renalt waves him off. “If they be anything like those I’ve met in the past, they’re upset about everything. Don’t cause excessive trouble and keep the money flowing in either direction, and they should be happy.”

Given how much money they have, Denlo suspects it won’t be a problem. And by they, Denlo mostly means Renalt. He’s got a not insignificant amount, but Renalt seems able to make money with ease. The killer nods. “Then I’ll try my best.”

There is a movement in the underbrush around them. Denlo raises a hand to quiet whatever his musical companion was about to say. Renalt recognizes the gesture and stops the cart as well. There is something out there. Denlo can feel it. He’s just not sure where.

Or, for a moment, he’s not sure. Then he sees it leaping out from the brush. A leopard-like big cat with massive fangs. He can’t react in time as the beast clamps down into his shoulder. It hurts. But now it’s his turn. Barely wrenching free from the beast’s jaws, Denlo whips his blade out from the cloth and swings. The sword cuts harshly into the beast’s hide then out twice, but with his third swing, the beast moved just enough that the impossibly light blade instead slid into the cart.

That seemed to make Renalt about as upset as the beast attack. Pulling out his lute, he swings it around in the air. The beast, while not expecting it, was also unfazed and moved out of the path with ease. This gave Renalt the space to strum the lute. The music, it’s infectious. It’s beautiful. It’s inspiring. Denlo feels a rush of power as the tune emboldens him. Then, with a flourishing spin, Renalt somersaults through the air to balance on the edge of the cart opposite the beast.

Surprised by this, the beast lashes out with its claws, though not sure which of its foes to strike, its indecision costs it the opportunity to hit anything. Renalt took the opportunity in the confusion to slide his blade out from the wood. Denlo smiles behind his faceless mask. He’s ready now. Just him and his foe. This creature hurt him. It was going to pay. Letting his sword do what it wants to do, he swings at the cat. Hacking at the beast with such ferocity, such speed, and more power than he expected possible, the blade found purchase. A deep gouge in the creature’s shoulder. The following strikes, he pressed on that gouge, and with one final, heavy blow, the creature stopped moving.

Renalt looks at it curiously as Denlo wipes his sword’s blade off and wraps it once more in the cloth. Pushing the beast’s body into the back of the cart, Renalt returns to the driver’s chair. “Other than your wounds, that is quite fortunate,” he says.

“Why do you say that?” Denlo asks, cocking his head to his companion.

Renalt begins to drive the oxen once more. “I was a little worried, I must admit. We had nothing to sell. Now we do,” he replies with a wry smile.

“Is that cat’s pelt really that valuable?” Denlo asks.

Renalt laughs. Then, looking at the massive Elfi’ika, looks puzzled. “Wait, you truly know not?” he wonders aloud.

“I don’t know what I don’t know,” Denlo replies.

Renalt shakes his head. “The pelt’s worth a little, maybe, to the right buyer. No, it’s the fangs.”

“What about them?”

Renalt pauses, considering something perhaps. Or simply for effect. He does both, and it’s hard to tell when he’s putting on a front. “You know how, with age, some of the gentlemanly variety have certain…difficulties when it comes to…enjoyment of…another’s company?”

That is a very polite way to put it, Denlo thinks with a chuckle. “Yeah, what of it?”

“Well, there’s a complicated natural remedy any remedial alchemist can produce. Most of the ingredients are relatively common or easy to get. But, as you no doubt noticed, that was not. In fact, if we weren’t lucky enough to have your sword and be aided by my moves, I’d reckon we’d be dead right now.”

“Wait, so this thing’s teeth are some ingredient in a sex potion?” Denlo blurts out. That’s simply ridiculous. Alchemists are clearly a mentally unstable bunch, to think a tooth of a random beast can help one’s body function more effectively.

“Rude way to put it,” Renalt replies, “But yes. And one of the two rarer ingredients to boot. And, as such intimacies are rather important to most older individuals, those rarer ingredients can be worth quite a lot indeed.”

“Well, I’m glad something good came from that,” Denlo says back. His shoulder is still bleeding. Taking off the leathers from his upper body and removing his shirt, Denlo grabs some cloth from the tent, cutting it off the larger sheet with his knife. Taking the strip of tent, he tightly wraps his shoulder. It’s not comfortable, he thinks as he moves his arm to make sure it stays tight, but it should keep the bleeding down. Then, careful not to ruin his bandaging job, Denlo puts his clothes and armor back on.

“Everything alright over there?” Renalt asks.

Denlo sighs and shrugs. “I’m fine,” he answers, then asks, “You said we would be getting there within the night, how close are we?”

Beside him, Renalt shakes his head. “You are supposed to be the one who can see in the gloom of night. Use your damnedable eyes.” He gestures in front of them.

“Sorry if I was a tad busy trying not to die,” Denlo shoots back. He isn’t sure whether he means it in earnest annoyance or in joking comradery, and so somehow his voice tried to make both meanings come through. From Renalt’s look of confusion, he’s guessing neither did. “Fine,” he mutters, and stopping scanning the forest floor and treelines, he looks in front of them, down the road. Sure enough, just a few hills away, he can see the outlines of houses and what seems to be the familiar look of an ocean. They were nearly there. “Can’t come soon enough,” Denlo says, “My shoulder is sore.” Then, with a smirk hidden by his mask, he adds, “Likely because you keep making me do all the manual labor around here.”

Renalt laughs. Denlo chuckles. The good musician looks at him with a wry smile of his own. “Manual labor? Who had to wander around six miles this morning because you thought that berry bush by the road was going to be a hotspot of small animal activity?”

“Was it?”

“They were poisonous berries,” Renalt says with a big grin on his face.