#angard

Dwarven humour is a mystery to me. Maybe it’s simply too dense for me to unpack, and certainly doesn’t bring me any closer to understand the people it exemplifies. Their civilzation has been exactly the same as far as anyone can remember, and I asked a lot of people, elves even. Their castes had always been the same, their crafts have always been the same.

The Dwarf I am travelling with calls himself Durrin Funnyman. Whenever I ask him if that’s his real name, he laughs. He laughs a lot, especially at his own jokes. So far, he refused to tell any Dwarven jokes, he says they don’t translate well. His other jokes aren’t all that funny either, but when he laughs, I can’t help but laugh with him. He just seems so honestly delighted, it’s infectuous.

After a week of travel, I ask him: “Why did you leave your clan and become a bard?”

He asks back: “You know I’m a Miner, right?”

My head breaks through the surface, finally allowing me to spit out the seawater and taking my first real breath of air in minutes. The sky is still dark, filled to the horizon with angry looking clouds. I can’t see my ship anymore, and my ears are filled with the sound of rain. Yet, the sea is calm enough that I don’t immediately get pushed back down under the waves.

Suddenly, I feel something clawing at your arms, you push it away with what little strength you have left. The beast squeaks as it is repelled, and you are only left to wonder what monstrous fish could possibly squeak. But the claw won’t let up, finally grabbing hold around my shoulder and pulling me back.

Resolving to my fate, my head dips into the briny depths, before being pulled up by strong hands. My entire body is ripped out of the clutches of the sea, and as my back lands on hard wooden boards, my eyes open to look into the feline eyes of a Fteran catfolk boy. He unhooks his crook from my shoulder and holds it back into the water, fishing out an oversized rat by its tail.

Fteran ratfarmers, catfolk who travel from ship to ship to buy spoiled food and sell meat. Sailors never pass up a chance to trade with them, eager to get rid of stale, roach-infested biscuits and get some fresh meat on ship. They domesticated shiprats as we did to wild hogs, and today, one of them saved my life.

“Thank you” I bring out between eshausted coughs.

The ratfarmers that saved me agreed to take me to Glowfish City, which is a huge relief. Of course, they still had to go along their route, which gives me ample chance to earn my stay. The domesticated rats are very curious creature, and more than once did I have to save some personal belonging from being abducted. Thankfully, a cracker was usually enough to distract them.

I’m still often thinking about the night of the attack. I first saw the blue men circling the ships, but didn’t tell anyone, thinking it was just some dolphins or large fish. Maybe more people would’ve survived if I did.

When the first of them jumped on deck, surprised silence was quickly replaced with battle screams. Things quickly escalated when a storm brew right above us, and lightning struck our mast.

Today I found a red pebble at the beach. I thought it looked very smooth at first, shiny as it was, but when I picked it up and rubbed it against my palm, I noticed just how rough it felt. When asking one of the fishermen, he said it was a piece of coral, a rare find for someone just taking a stroll. He told me to keep it, as it was said to attract love. I’m not sure if I’m ready to surrender my lovelife to a small pebble just yet.

Only few have seen the highly evasive moth people. While elves may be low in number, they at least don’t go out of their way to go unnoticed. At least, some of them don’t. Moth people however use magic and stealth, as well as their nocturnal nature to do their business without a mortal ever suspecting they were ever there.

I’ve seen one once, during a clear night, with the full moon illuminating a glittering silhouette. I thought about investigating further before the creature disappeared in a cloud of moth dust. Still, I was able to remember a few features I could make out in the darkness, notably large eyes that didn’t seem all that insectoid, and a scary design on the wings that reminded me of a gigantic skull.

They say earning the trust of a moth person earns you the right to wear their threads. Elves often wear cloaks made from their spun moonlight, and while the cloth made from it is soft, it’s also extremely resistant and warming as the thickest of furs, yet, the Elves wearing them never seemed to sweat.