Griznuq Gaming

Light rain coated the ground keeping dust from kicking up behind the wheels of the merchant's cart on this, the fifth day out of the Knuckleroot Forest. This gray day did nothing to lessen the chubby human's banter. It was remarkable how much could be said without ever really having anything to say and surely Orath pushed the limits. Every subject slid easily into the next through some segue or another.

"On my way through Carolmire I managed to pick up this," the merchant said, showing Fir'ath a gold band pinching the flesh of his chubby ring finger. It was very shiney.

"Oh, Quite!" Orath said, clearly missing the poke at his weight.

The day passed on uneventfully, and the two moved off the road to set up camp. This was the usuall process. "We're making good time, Fir'ath, at this rate we should be to Rockwater village by the end of the day tomorrow. Only six days! How the time passes when in good company!" He gave a small chuckle.

"You know, I have a terriffic tea if you'd like to try some, it's wonderful with a little honey. It's made from the leaves of the Ironbark tree, and said to have excellent calming and healing properties. You know a friend of mine once had an aweful cold and he had a single cup of this... Poof! the cold was gone the next day. No exaggeration."

The little man was so animated in his speach he was beginning to work up a sheen of perspiration.

"I'll get the tin, would start a small cooking fire?"

"Eh?" Asked Orath. "I was thinking to myself it was getting a bit chilly. These old bones don't hold up the way they used to."

The tin he produced from the back of the wagon was hardly a tin at all. It was more a miniature chest. It was a brushed brass box about the size of a grapefruit.

He grabbed the tea pot and a couple of boxes the two had been using as chairs.

"This tea was a gift from the Centuars of Ironbark," he said struggling slightly with all the things he was carrying.  "Or... that is to say, it was a gift from an elvin friend who lives with the Centuars. Rich smokey flavor."

"Oh," he stopped and regarded the box. "I'd be surprised if it wouldn't fetch a small fortune, yes." He grinned.

"But something like this... Selling this would be a travesty!" His voice brimmed with excitement and passion. "This is like being handed and artifact fromt he Age of Legend! These leaves came from trees that were here since the beginning of time. To put a price on this would be... Rotten! And I'm a merchant!" he chuckled.

"But, if I had to guess, I'd say this little box, which is actually pretty close to full right now would bring say... two, maybe three thousand gold? This tea is sought by royalty the world over, and most of them still have never had any."

It began to seem unclear if the little human was actually going to put the rest of his burden down any time soon.

Orath stuttered, "wha... I.. Fir'ath, this... You..."

He stopped and breathed.

"Fir'ath, there are things in this world that Kings want because they may deserve them... Respect perhaps, accountability most certainly... THIS?" he held the box aloft. "This my friend, is FAR too good to waste upon someone who thinks they deserve it. *I* certainly do not deserve it, and that makes it all the better!"

He laughed deeply as he filled the kettle with water.

"Are you expecting someone?" asled Orath.

The chuckling companionship made the time go by. Orath seemed pretty happy for Fir'ath's company.

Before the pair knew it, they were arriving at Rockwater Village.

The place was just how Orath had described it... A trading post turned into a small village.

"Ah," Orath said as the two walked into the peremeter of the village. "I've not been here in some time. Used to be I knew some folks in town here, but I think they've gone. I will most likley be paying for the week's lodging."

Rockwater village was not what one would call the most hospitable of places. Merchants lined the roads ringing bells and yelling about their latest great deal on apples or bolts of cloth or jewelry. Chickens and other such small live stock made as much noise as possible from within their little wooden cages. The smell was a cacophony of manure, and stale sweat.

The roads were rutted dirt with wagons being pulled by various beasts of burden to move on to the next stop. People pushed past each other rudely, not moving an inch to the side unless bumped by someone or something.

“Don’t let them bump into you like that,” Orath said. “You’ll find yourself one coin purse lighter.” He said it almost as an afterthought as if it were nothing out of the ordinary.

Orath was smiling ear to ear looking at this chaos. He tilted his head back, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. Who knew what kind of disease he was inhaling!

“Do you smell that?” he said grandly. “That my fine feathered friend is the smell of profit! And to think, I’ll be here for an entire week!”