Friend of the Mammoth

A low hum came as the Breton explained herself. It wasn’t exactly a bad thing, being so curious about the cheese, but the giant didn’t exactly approve either - Shaking his head slightly. “You think too much, Nord. The cheese tastes good, keeps your gut happy - Is that not enough?.” An enormous hand reached out to the bowl, taking a handful of the curds.

She chuckled softly, though not unkindly, at that. Perhaps she did think too much. But then, this sort of thinking was her profession.

Drinks that heal wounds, there was little that could mean him harm but that did sound good. As did the food, but how would this Nord provide? She had no cow or goat to sell, where was she keeping it?

Gorm studied the other’s motions intently, running fingers through his beard as the woman gestured to better communicate to him. Alchemist, so that was their word for those that ground up things to turn them into something else, like his kind sometimes do with mammoth tusks. “Very well, little Nord.” He retorted, moving his head slightly away from the other.

“I’m not actually - “ She cut herself off quickly, thinking better of the correction. In his eyes, likely all Nords were humans. At this point, she rather counted herself lucky not to be human paste.

A low hum came as the Breton explained herself. It wasn’t exactly a bad thing, being so curious about the cheese, but the giant didn’t exactly approve either - Shaking his head slightly. “You think too much, Nord. The cheese tastes good, keeps your gut happy - Is that not enough?.” An enormous hand reached out to the bowl, taking a handful of the curds.

“Your ears.” The giant’s free hand reached up to tap at his own ears, prodding the tips for emphasis. “You are small like the Nords but your ears are sharp, like a dwarf.” A low grunt as he briefly scanned the site.

But… a dwarf? Is that what the giants called mer? Wait… That was another name for the Dwemer, was it not? Indes had overheard several scholars mumbling and rambling about them when she escorted them through those damned metal death traps they called ruins. Was he calling her a Dwemer?

naga-miner liked for a starter

Seewul’s rest was disturbed by the sudden rumbling of the earth, as though boulders were falling onto the ground. Slowly, his eyes opened, an came to rest on a giant settling down only a handful of paces from the Argonian. Granted, Seewul was difficult to see: only the top half of his head remained above the water, the rest of him being submerged comfortably.

The sound of stirring water hadn’t gone unnoticed but it was quickly dismissed, something deep underground caused the water to occasionally burble after all. After a few more moments passed, he casually turned his head to observe the area just in case a bear or a poacher was lurking about. It was then that something caught his eye, in one of the pools.

So that was why the hawk was acting the way it was. Hearing the Beast Tongue from the Bosmer caused the mother and calf to stir a bit, but a guttural command reassured them, a calloused hand rested on the larger mammoth for reassurance before sliding off.

He wasn’t attacking her. Why was he not attacking? There was barely an reaction at all. Granted, there had been times when she passed giants on the plains and not been attacked, but she was usually moving fast enough that she was gone before she would be considered a threat. But instead, this giant was simply watching, as if waiting.

“Your ears.” The giant’s free hand reached up to tap at his own ears, prodding the tips for emphasis. “You are small like the Nords but your ears are sharp, like a dwarf.” A low grunt as he briefly scanned the site.

Starter call!

booksandbrimstone

The calf’s trunk had already seized a bedroll when the goshawk appeared. To the young bull, the warning display did nothing but focus his attention to the bird, causing him to abandon the bed roll as his trunk stretch out to sniff at the curious thing. A low call from the mother brought the mischievous calf back to her, who took a few steps forward with a threatening rumble, meeting the hawk’s warning with one of her own.

The threat from the larger mammoth was recognized, but the bold hawk was not about to back down just yet. It did, however, fly upwards as the mother stepped forward, then landed further back on the boulder, remaining there as the towering animal stepped back at its master’s call.

So that was why the hawk was acting the way it was. Hearing the Beast Tongue from the Bosmer caused the mother and calf to stir a bit, but a guttural command reassured them, a calloused hand rested on the larger mammoth for reassurance before sliding off.

Lips curled into a sneer as the grip on his club tightened. Any who would seek to do harm to him or his mammoths were at the top of things that angered Gorm, but thieves, while not second in line, was something he had little patience for. Kneeling down on one knee, he brought his head closer to the breton.

She hadn’t known a giant could make that expression.

Gorm studied the other’s motions intently, running fingers through his beard as the woman gestured to better communicate to him. Alchemist, so that was their word for those that ground up things to turn them into something else, like his kind sometimes do with mammoth tusks. “Very well, little Nord.” He retorted, moving his head slightly away from the other.

askdusty liked for a starter!

What was it that was so enjoyable about this cheese? As far as she could tell it was thick, greasy and smelly. Yet many of her customers, particularly hunters, had told her it was an excellent meal after a long, hard day hunting. She frowned at the mess before hearing a deep rumble behind her, a shadow looming over her own.

Lips curled into a sneer as the grip on his club tightened. Any who would seek to do harm to him or his mammoths were at the top of things that angered Gorm, but thieves, while not second in line, was something he had little patience for. Kneeling down on one knee, he brought his head closer to the breton.

booksandbrimstone

lycannalla liked for a starter!

A few hares were thrown over the ranger’s shoulder. It was no feast, but it was something, and she was plenty hungry. On her arm sat the attentive goshawk, eyes scanning the plains around them as they trekked back to their campsite. Everything seemed fine, until they crested a hill.

The calf’s trunk had already seized a bedroll when the goshawk appeared. To the young bull, the warning display did nothing but focus his attention to the bird, causing him to abandon the bed roll as his trunk stretch out to sniff at the curious thing. A low call from the mother brought the mischievous calf back to her, who took a few steps forward with a threatening rumble, meeting the hawk’s warning with one of her own.

booksandbrimstone