CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

“ARCHERY SKILL XP GAINED”

“ARCHERY SKILL INCREASED TO 1”

Loosening arrows fast across a portion of the elfen lake at targets hung on vegetation, the dwarf’s mark had been made just once. Repeatedly his firings flew into bushes, skewered branches, punctured bark, or snapped off the long domineering wall. Doetrieve’s hand surprised the back of the dwarf’s gi.

“Yer no crackshot, dwarf.”

On both the dwarf’s sides were lines of military, their colors united and aim fairer. The dwarf never went for the bow and string as a human child, father’s attic collection featuring two among an array of firearms. He never hunted, his exploits limited to the river. Therefore his targets often were hay, and yet rarely could an arrow find its way home. His chores mounting, the hobby was abandoned. And the dwarf, just as good now, fired another with insufficient force into the water. Doetrieve restrained a laugh but his smile remained. The dwarf, teeth grit, threw the practice bow to the grass and stomped over to resupply his quiver. He returned to the lake shore alongside Giltgrief, surprisingly, indeed whom towards the dwarf felt guilt.

“Your pa ne’er showed you how to shoot that, did ‘e?”

The dwarf’s skin grew hot.

“Y’aren’t even ‘oldin’ it right. Funny joke, Cappan?” asked Gilt.

“Aye, a sight to watch,” answered Doetrieve. “Apologies, dwarf. Try with your arms like this.”

The dwarf licked his lips and notched an arrow. Giltgrief lowered his own arms to watch. A harpooned bird’s nest later and the dwarf meekly dropped the bow.

“Agreed, Doe. No crackshot.”

Retiring to his suite in the mid afternoon, the dwarf attempted relaxing in its bathhouse. While the water was hot, his spirits refused thawing. He soaked in silence, thoughts on the ground. As a boy he’d, in fact, requested from his father help with the bow. Its discovery made after the departure of his mother, he was refused in favor of drink most times. Only in a single drunken event did the the boy regret ever asking. He would go on to piddle around with archery alone until losing all interest. Scrubbing himself clean, the dwarf emerged and dried, dressing in freshly laundered blues and gold, feet fitting into geta.

“She’s lookin’ fine,” began Doetrieve, “ain’t she?”

The dwarf made contact with Paris’ pedipalps and softly ground his dome against its head.

“ANIMAL HUSBANDRY INCREASED TO 41”

“Dwarf?”

Perhaps his head had lingered long. The dwarf asked Doetrieve about steelroot.

“Uh? Well it’s like I told ya, grow ‘em in sleet and don’t give em a day’s worth of sunshine. Yer mind’s in the wrong place, dwarf.”

The dwarf agreed. And he switched topics to funguay.

“Why can’t they enter?” repeated the captain. “Well you’ve met those ferals, ain’t you? Now that fungus we nearly ‘ung, maybe ‘e was a little more like you an’ me. But ‘e’s also a witch brewin’ poisons, so, really, how much better is ‘e than the ones underground?”

Finding it difficult to disagree, the dwarf nonetheless persisted in his train of thought.

“But,” said Doetrieve. “No ‘un wants to see those things around. It’s been a task in itself getting some of the villagers to come around with arachnids like my ol’ girl. Funguay too?” he asked, suddenly exasperated. “You need to watch yerself if you’re keeping in touch with that mushroom. Ain’t no good gonna come of it.”

Still unable to fully disagree, the dwarf decided the conversation would need another day in court. He dropped the topic following some pause and requested lessons in the way of the bow. Captain Doetrieve suddenly beamed.

“Now ‘at’s a happier subject.”...

In an obscure thicket, the dwarf’s arrows bounced off the bumpy rock wall before him. Paris watched from its old resting place, absently knitting web. Doetrieve’s arms folded.

“Where ya aimin’, dwarf?”

The dwarf thought himself aiming for the straw, paper dotted once dressed over. But so few arrows came anywhere in the wanted vicinity, he’d gained no further level in ‘ARCHERY’. Unlike the group event at the lake shore, it did comfort the dwarf to have his embarrassment captured only by a single elf’s eyes. Indeed it was growing dark outside and the dwarf thought of his flock, wondering of his own spider and its caretaking of the church. The arachnid obviously understood no concept of such, but such a large and threatening presence, hoped the dwarf, would deter ne’er-do-wells, although he really had no concept of any but Doctor Mallow and the bandits bound and delivered. It seemed none had returned to their former base if any where turned out, knowledge of which the dwarf did not have. He had not returned to the Nasteze’s great gate and moat upon sand. Occasionally on entering or exiting the desecrated the church he caught a great plume of smoke in the city’s direction. It was even rarer to behold a mammoth, a fact which puzzled the dwarf. For whatever reason, he could not bring himself to approach the walls of Nasteze again nor even explore the plains. His once kidnapping so disturbing, the dwarf did not wish to know what creatures made their homes in the same land as which criminals stalked in search of bait for the mines. The worst aspect of this came at ‘mines’, for just the thought compelled the dwarf to yearn. Never once in his childhood on the farm had he taken a pick to rock, and in the new world as dwarf he suddenly wished for the satisfaction of none else. An absentminded arrow pinned Paris’ saddle.

“Your form ain’t terrible,” complimented the captain, “but good One, yer no crackshot.”

Lowering his bow, the dwarf asked of what the settlement’s following steps were in the wake of the Ponderous’ passing.

“Huh. Well, fella, that’s a heavy ‘un. So you’ve noticed, I reckon. We do have some witherin’ trees and stalks. Big cheeses like Lord Moth are workin’ on it, friends back home tell me. They’re out in search of the unendin’ forest to the north--far north, you familiar?”

But the dwarf shook his head. His only conception of ‘north’ was a bay and its city. Recollecting, the dwarf asked of the deitree supposedly there. At first, Doetrieve balked at the term. But he nodded, murmuring to himself.

“Right. The Curious One. No chance ‘e moves. An there’s others that won’t have it. Truth is, dwarf,” confided the captain,” we built around The Ponderous One. ‘E wanted to be here. Place is as remote as it gets, ‘sides Nasteze. No one wants to be ‘ere.”

Was there no other option?

“You ask me,” (which the dwarf had), “there is. But not happenin’. No resources for it. Little attention. The other lords never leave the mainland. To them, we blew it with The Ponderous. An’ they’re right, I reckon.”

The dwarf notched another arrow. It thudded in the far corner of the target.

“Well, least you hit something.”

By the end of the night, the dwarf had landed only two more shots--enough however to gain a level in ‘ARCHERY’. Several dozen more missed. As the two prepared to say goodbye in front of the hotel, Doetrieve stopped a turning dwarf.

“You know, you ne’er explained yerself,” the elf began. “You know too much about elfs and funguay and The Ponderous One to be lookin’ so doe-eyed all the time. What gives?” asked with some level of annoyance. “Don’t think I ain’t grateful. Without yer help, I wouldn’t be captain. Almost got hanged, but you put a stop to it. But who are you, dwarf? How’d’ya know what you know? And what else is there?”

The dwarf froze. Doetrieve folded his arms.

“I shouldn’t go ‘round lookin’ gift-golems in the mouth. An’ I consider you an ally. But,” the captain said, “why did you e’en do it? Why’d you help us?”

The dwarf just wanted to be left alone.

“Sure ain’t comin’ around ‘ere like it.”

Before the dwarf could clarify, the captain walked off, hand blind in waving goodbye. The dwarf wondered if he’d misspoke. He wondered what Doetrieve seemed afraid of--but how could the dwarf bring himself to explain what seemed unexplainable? He’d certainly made no mention of ‘SAVING’ to Doctor Mallow. Solely Funguayou knew, and with unfair advantage, argued the dwarf. He did not wish to appear crazed. But he just as well leaned towards maintaining good relations. What could the dwarf possibly suggest as the means to his omniscient knowledge? Disrobing and entering the bathhouse, it soured the steam and water. Though the dwarf intended to leave at dawn, he could not sleep, and so his gi was tied tight by gold obi. He waved at the night auditor running the front desk and exited into another warm night in the season of swet.

Hitching a ride on another unnamed arachnid--a resident of the church--the dwarf traveled through the forest, eyes unable to discern decay in darkness. He came upon the divide between tree and plain, and a hard wooden sounding staff swung from cover winding the dwarf and sending him reeling into grass. By the time he sprang to his feet, a spear had gone through his transport. He blinked and the staff came down again as did he.