Fantasy Mop and Ardors World

[MrMopp]

Threshold. It’s a little silver mining town on the outskirts of Danuvale. Sorta nestled into the Bearjaw mountains.

It was a nice quiet autumn evening there. The sun was setting, and as dusk set in and the mid autumn chill colored ones ears, lamps began to be lit, children were called in to wash up for dinner or to bundle up before they catch their death, and a heard of dusty miners flocked in to relax from their labors or to congregate at the tavern. Looming above it all was the jagged, snow capped mountains whose feet the town rested upon.

Enter the bum. A scrawny fella- none too tall- with short black hair, a wispy mustache, a broad brimmed hat and a worn grey longcoat. Yet plain and ragged as he was, the man sauntered in from the woods and brush, traveling sack over his shoulder, with a sort of humble dignity that did not have alms or food of the forefront of his mind. He took a gander around as walked the twisty street between he gandered and believe, he got gandered back. Threshold wasn’t so small a town that a stranger wouldn’t be noticed, and when those brown eyes of his flashed from the shadow of his hat... well they were SHARP. Literally because they were narrower than was common in this region, though not unsightly, but also in the way that they seemed to politely dissect whatever they saw at that moment.

His name was Greycoat, and he was one of the last wandering hands of Inari from the east.

What was Greycoats reason for being here? He was working on that one himself. Being a goddesses errand boy could be inconvenient like that, they want you to do everything they ask on faith. But he knew if he didn’t get any visions or inexplicable naggings, that reason would come to him. In the mean time, he’d just spent a week marching through the woods to get here, eating nothing but sour berries and squirrels, so he figured a some basic creature comforts were in order.

The tavern was easy enough to locate. He just followed the homecoming miners. But upon discovery, he wondered- and hoped to heaven- if there was another. The Dead Skunk it was called and it just so happened HAVE one nailed by its tail over the threshold like a mistletoe. He was contemplating this crime against aesthetic decor when a horseshoe fell from the sky just behind him and clanged to the ground.

“<You fool! Are your fingers made of grease?!>” said a voice from somewhere on the roof.

“<The sun was in my eyes!>” replied another. “<Stop throwing them at me!>”

Grey recognized the bubbling language and grinned. Gnomish! The Brownie folk must be in town. How delightful! He backed out of the awning to find two short little figures he’d somehow missed them before up on the roof, “<Excuse me, friends!>” He called pleasantly in fluent gnomish, holding up the horseshoe that tried to assassinate him. “<Might I ask what the project is.?>”

One of the Gnomes with black hair and a beard shot Grey a shockingly vicious look of disgust. “<“Friend? PISS OFF!>”

... Oh. Well, that was not a Brownie at all. That guy was a Black Gnome from the lowlands. Very different. Well, lets change tactics and try that again. “Ah, well Sorry.” Said Grey, switching to the common human language, “I meant to ask you cretinous toadstools if you were actually so obtuse as to attempt shingling a roof with horseshoes.”

A little Black Gnome 101: Black Gnomes are backwards. In greeting, a smile is as good as sneer to them and a kindly word as good as any insult. An insult however, they respect and that did the trick for this one. The fella stopped swinging his hammer and scrunched his eyes at Greycoat like his words were a particularly sour candy. “Oooooohoohoo, you BIG smartass!” He grinned.

Greycoat gave a gracious bow. “I try.”

“Well for you info, stupid head” said the gnome. He continued nailing the horseshoe down . “We no shingling. Making this roof spook proof. Warding, you know?”

Greycoat lifted an eyebrow. “Is “spook” some definition of “pixie” or “leprechaun” that I was not previously aware of?” He said with a bemused smirk. “ because I was not aware that fairy charms worked to ward off “spooks.’”

The gnome eyed Greycoat like he was going to be trouble. But them tilted his head lazily from side to side like it didn’t matter “Ohhhhhh, s’okay.” He sang oh-so-innocently. He held up one the horseshoes showily with a crap eating grin. “These Nebos speeeeeecial charms. Specially enchanted with gnome magic. Repel fairies, ghosts, demons, pookas, werewoofs, you name!. These baby’s Big shit. You want?”

Big shit, Greycoat thought, was an excellent way to describe Nebo’s claim. Unfortunately, common knowledge of magic wasn’t kind amongst humans, and this little gentleman was capitalizing on that. “well, at any rate,” said Grey, hoping it was clear that he did not approving of the scam itself. “I’m impressed that you’ve managed to peddle protective charms in a silver mining town.”

The gnome snorted “Nah,” he admitted “Really just this guy so far.” He slapped the roof he was sitting on. “Landlord big idiot. Thinks something lurking round eeeeeevery corner. But hey, it nearly Equinox. It easy to stir up scare, eh?.” He gave a toothy grin. “What you think? Me an boys-?“ he jabbed a thumb towards his fellow gnomes on the roof. “A few fireworks?”

Ah, This wasn’t cute anymore. “This is starting to sound criminal” Said Greycoat warningly.

Nebo crosses his arms and frowned contemptuously at this perceived betrayal. “What, you gonna rat me out, Nikkanabbin?”

Greycoats eyes widened. Nikkanabbin was a gnomish word for a Werefox.

Ohhh Nebo smiled with great satisfaction at Greycoats alarm. “Uh-huh. See, you smell like musk. Really strong. Gnomes got good nose, you know. So maybe we no tell humans each other’s dirty secret, eh?”

Greycoat narrowed his eyes. This was blackmail. “Nebo,” he said steadily. “ I can easily outrun the torches and pitchforks. Can you?”

Nebo furrowed his brow, that was not the response he expected. “Huh? What you mean?”

“Stay out of trouble, Nebo.” Was all Grey said, and with that, he left Nebo to cross under door skunk and into the tavern. This conversation was over

 

[Ardor]

The sun had begun to set on the small town of Threshold, signaling for the miners to end their shift and go home. A ritual repeated daily for 4-5 days at a time, this day marking the mid week. The days had begun to get shorter, as the weather turned colder marking the beginning of winter. A crisp breeze rustled the yellowing leaves of the trees surrounding a gaping hole in the ground. It pushed past the opening, gently swirling inside touching all it's path. Including a figure who had been sat on a rock a little ways inside. A hood was drawn up, keeping the figures face hidden and head warm. However the breeze still managed to catch a few wisps of blonde hair. He wore dyed leather armor, nothing fancy and a steel sword strapped to his side. Turning towards the entrance, his golden eyes caught the setting sun, glimmering in the same colour. It was then that he noticed that it was getting dark out, which meant that the miners would be heading home soon. Standing, he nearly hit his head on a low hanging rock, brushing the top of his hood. He had been sitting in the cave for the better part of the day, waiting for something to happen. It was said that the cave used to be an old mine, but is now haunted, so no one dares to enter it now. However, it has yet to show any signs of a haunting, even after the three days he had spent there.

The walk back was long and quiet as the miners had made their newer mines a good distance from the old one, they are a superstitious bunch. At about the half-way point some figures walking towards town came into view in a valley below. A group of three seemed to lag behind the rest, waving towards the top of the hill. The man, who goes by the name Rylen, waved back at them. For the past few days the four of them would meet around the same time and exchange stories. Rylen caught up to them quickly, and was greeted with a hefty pat on the back.

It had been a few days since he arrived, having heard about request while in an Inn a day or so north from where they are. There was a poster on the board there saying 'Reward to anyone that can slay the beast the mine.' It was a vague request, giving no details as to what it was, but that made it more interesting. Something about not knowing what was down there made it more thrilling, though so far there didn't seem to be any signs of anything. Rylen has started the believe that it was just an old tale passed down though the years, but he would still go down there everyday to investigate it.

"It's good to see you've lived to see another day!" One said in a sort of joking tone, Rylen had come to know this man as Hollis. He wasn't a very tall man, with brown scruffy hair.

"Of course he did, he knows what he's doing." Another said, glaring at Hollis. His name is Aldrich, and was only a little taller.

"Rylen, my boy. Did you find anything good today?" The third one asked, ignoring the other two. His name is Tomkin, a shorter red-haired man.

In response, Rylen shook his head, "No, not today. I'm beginning to wonder if it truly is haunted."

His doubful words surprised all three men, and they looked at him like he had just killed their mothers.

"'Course it's haunted!" Exclaimed Hollis, "seen it with my own eyes." He folded his arms and huffed.

"Well hopefully it shows it self soon so you can take care of it." Tomkin said, trying to not look so offended. Aldrich nodded his head in agreement.

"Hopefully." Rylen muttered, regretting what he had just said. "Any-who, you said you had a story to tell me?" He asked Aldrich, changing the subject.
It was a welcomed change, and all three of them began going on about elaborated tales of running into trolls and the like. The stories lasted the entire walk back to town.

By the time the four men made it back into town, the lamps had been lit and the sun was almost completely set. It was as if they were the last ones to get home. Hollis said he needed to stop at home, but would meet them in the tavern. They all agreed to meet up there and have a few after work drinks together. Rylen paused at the entrance of 'The Dead Skunk', the go-to place in town. Despite the name, and choice of decor, the food and people were usually fairly friendly. Although it did take them a full day to stop giving him suspicious looks. Even now, some of the town still looked at him that way.
It would likely be packed full, and smelled of food and drink inside. He followed the two men in, where they would sit at the usual table and order the usual.