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There was something peculiar about reducing goblins to a pile of mashed flesh and bones, maybe it was due to how small their bodies were which made it easier to crush their spines to the ground level, or maybe it was the alien tone of their blood and guts that made it seem so unreal and not exactly as violent as killing a person. The Hootsman cleaned his battleaxe with a rag already tainted by the outcomes of his battles, he would polish the metal until it was brand new again, sharpening the edge and making sure his dear friend would never fail him as he adjusted the handle to prevent it from being crooked.
“That is a good axe, how long do you have it?” The deep hoarse voice that came from behind belonged to Sir Proletius, who offered a mug of mead to the Hootsman “Here, you deserve it. We had a long day.” The barbarian eagerly accepted the treat, offering a yellowish smile to the knight.
The group had taken that night to rest as their journey through the wastelands was proving to be as tiresome as it could get, chasing after wizards was never an easy task for sure. Angus was taking care of the fire and cooking for them, he had his armour off and seemed very casual with a white linen shirt smeared with pepper, his curly hair in a ponytail.
“The mosquitos are a bigger menace than the goblins, I hope they leave soon!” The prince mused, he was too noble for his own good, not only in birth but in heart, always keeping the group together through his affectionate leadership. Angus was not the type to ask others to follow him mindlessly, he appreciated the contrasting minds that travelled with him and wished them to express themselves, he had much to learn yet.
If Angus was the heart, then Ralathor was the brain; the lanky wizard was fixing their motorbikes, he had a liking for machines that always gave him plenty to work with, and as usual he would be an introspective hermit and hyperfixate in small complex tasks in order to keep his mind in the right place. Sir Proletius would approach Ralathor, whose long nose had a black smear on the bridge, as well the tips of his fingers and at this point his whole clothes; “You need to eat, take a break!” Proletius tapped the other man’s shoulder, and Ralathor this time was not a stubborn workaholic, instead he sighed in defeat and cleaned himself with a piece of wet cloth, soon joining around the bonfire.
The camp was an improvised resource most of the time, as it was not safe to rest in such a devastated zone, but every once in a while the heroes had to give themselves the pleasure of a good night of sleep. Angus had prepared a delicious pot steak with vegetables for them, the scent was amazing and the first real meal they were having in days, probably the only one with seasoning. “Angus, you dirty bastard! Making such delicious food so we get back to suffering tomorrow, huh.” The Hootsman teased, getting a bowl and filling it to the top, already starting to eat with no ceremony like a desperately hungry man.
“Do enjoy, my friends. We can not celebrate in such harsh times, but I hope this will lift your spirits.” Angus was a modest man, he had the idealistic gaze of a young prince and the heart of a king, but maybe his naive views of the world around him and beliefs that good would prevail were keeping him from seeing reality.
Ralathor pulled a wooden trunk from his tent to use as a bench, taking a seat and crossing his slender legs, then uncrossing them, moving his feet anxiously, he didn’t seemed to know what to do with the lower half of his body as sometimes it felt painful to sit on non cushioned chairs given the lack of padding in his body, plus his back hurt as he had the bad habit of hunching. “I doubt we will be able to celebrate so soon, sadly. But I appreciate the gesture, Prince Angus.” He was a little more serious than usual.
“What makes you think so?” Sir Proletius asked, scratching his bald head and brushing his long beard with his fingers, he finished drinking his mead before getting a bowl with the steak as well, eager to have solid food in his belly.
“Look around, there is not much left… And if we are able to defeat Zargothrax, it won’t really change the damage caused. Still, I do not wish to be the negative one here, so I will abstain from more comments.” Ralathor sighed, he drank water and nothing more, his eating habits were not the best for sure as he would be too tired to even feed, but he saw how Angus looked him with those puppy eyes so he made an effort to get himself a bowl of the food as well, eating slowly and patiently.
“I learned a thing through these centuries, Ralathor; even if we have nothing, and I mean REALLY nothing, no ale to warm our bellies, no steak to kill our hunger, no sheets to protects us from the cold,” The Hootsman started, with his deepest insights of wisdom of course, although his limited vocabulary kept him from making it sound more convincing “even if we are sinking in a shit-boat…” That was more like him “There will always be a reason to celebrate, because… Well,” He cleared his throat, pausing to burp before continuing with his monologue “Because we are together in this. We are friends, and that’s what friendship is about.”
Proletius and Angus both nodded in agreement, they were intrigued with the sudden sentimentalism coming from the Hootsman but not exactly surprised as they knew very well their friend was not a soulless barbarian, far from it actually, he even tried his hand at poetry when drunk enough.
Ralathor was serious, and then slowly his gloomy expression broke into a subtle smile as he understood that maybe, just maybe, there was a glimmer of hope even in the darkest places.
“A toast to friendship!” Ralathor broke his silence, raising his cup of water to a whimsical toast with the mead his friends drank.
Now the Hootsman could add in his long list of feats that he was also Ralathor’s personal emotional support.