• Open • Don't know why there's no sun up in the sky...

Response to events exposited [url=https://www.standingtrials.com/viewtopic.php?f=412&t=26404]here[/url]

The shallow bay Egilrun is situated upon is used, these trials, for crafts and crafting. From boatmakers to weaponsmiths, glassblowers to metalworkers, the sound of hammers and saws can be heard almost every break of the trial, with crews working in shifts to produce the beautiful craftsmanship which they might, one trial, become famous for.

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Oram Mednix
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Don't know why there's no sun up in the sky...

30 Ashan 721

Oram had seen plenty of storms. He had been in plenty of storms. They would roll in from the sea behind the black ranks of squalls, or assemble among the summits of the Scalvoris Mountains before descending upon the lowlands. Sometimes the weather would be overcast and wet for trials, growing gradually darker and more intense until the wind howled and the rain fell in torrents. Yet he had never seen this.

The traveler had been looking out the window in his ranger office that overlooked the bay. It was one of the most pleasant trials all season, fair and warm and sunny; he had been considering going for a walk and leaving his maps, letters, and debrief reports for a break or two. Then, the heavens just disgorged these huge inky masses of thundercloud from horizon to horizon, producing them from nowhere Oram could trace. Wind hissed and howled and swirled. A spiteful buffet blasted past Oram and blew half the papers that cluttered his desk onto the floor. The door to the adjoining room, which had been lightly propped open, nudged aside its makeshift doorstop and slammed shut with a loud clap. The hunter barely had just turn to look at the source of that sudden report when one of the shutters of the window he was standing in smacked him smartly on the back of the head.

Hastily, he scrambled to fasten the shutters together, after which they took to rattling angrily. The room was suddenly dark, and the sounds of the tempest outside were muffled. For a few trills, Oram stood in the gloom, calming down. Then, a flash of light shone through the chinks in the shutters and hard behind it a new sound came, a frightening sound, a loud, crackling, ripping sound as if the building were a giant crate being torn apart with a monstrous crowbar. Oram had heard thunder. He had been in plenty of storms. Yet he had never heard this. When the awful tearing noise resolved into a gut shaking crash and boom, it was almost a relief.

The next sound, which came in atop the howling wind and pealing thunder, was a deep, oppressive drone that seemed to beat down from directly overhead, while at the same time feeling like it was everywhere. The air grew noticeably colder and more damp in trills. Then followed another flash of pale light and another air-rending, ear-rending thunderpeal. It hummed all around the traveler as he gathered up the scattered papers to restack them, leaving them on a pile on the floor under the window weighed down by his chair. While gathering them, he found the small wodden disk with Vhalar's sign on it, dislodged along with the papers upon which it had rested. He shoved the token deep into his trouser pocket.

Usually, when Oram faced a storm as severe as this, his instinct would be to simply hunker down and wait it out. But there was something different about this maelstrom, he felt, not to mention different about his situation. He had responsibilities now, people to look after. To say nothing of his animals. Against all his natural inclination, Oram steeled himself to go outside. He tightened up his gambeson and made sure his trouser legs were well-tucked into his books. Not having a suitable rain hat, he elected to go out bareheaded.

The door tore itself from his hand, and almost from its hinges, the instant he opened it. A blinding blast of wind and water met him as he stepped out onto the landing. Once outside, he did not so much close the door himself as latch it opportunely once it swung to on its own. Rain came down so hard he had to lower his face in order to breathe without coughing and spluttering. He could not see more than a few feet around him. Only a slight difference in texture on the ground told him where the path was that lead into the main part of the Ranger compound. He began to trudge his way there while wind and rain buffeted him. His gambeson hugged his torso tightly and resisted the gale’s attempts to tear at his clothes, and while going out bareheaded presented its share of problems, it would not have mattered much had he worn a hat; the storm would have torn it from him right away.

A spiderweb of blinding white light crazed the black sky, and there was another earthshaking rumble of thunder. The lightning gave Oram a flickering glance of the other buildings, and the flat-topped silhouette of the surrounding wall. It took him an eternity to get into the compound, then to the nearest building.

Looks of dismay and astonishment from the rangers within greeted Oram when he entered. He must have looked a sight. Wind and raindrops whirling in behind him as he held the door open to keep it from battering him, he shouted out: ”Report!”

He would have a number of buildings to visit, and instructions to give those he found within: douse flames, gather buckets, all buckets. Not so much for leaks, but for fire brigade. The compound stood on a rise, and the chance that lightning would strike one of the buildings had to be considered. It was a saving grace that the buildings were all low. The watchtower of old had not been rebuilt, nor, if Oram had anything to say about it now, would it ever be.

He lurched from dormitory to dormitory and then went to the kitchen. The kitchen was crucial. It had all the pots and buckets, and also the biggest fires, and thus the greatest risk of fire damage. He had expected the cooks to argue with him when he shouted at them to douse all the cooking fires, but to his surprise they were all-too-happy to comply. And they responded well as well to the suggestion that they assemble any and all vessels that might be used to contain water, to be pressed into eventual fire-brigade duty, as well as to be used to capture the water from leaking roofs.

Then he remembered the stables. Mule, the poor goats, the horses must be frantic in this storm. And they might rear and hurt themselves. He needed to check on Herman and find out what help he might need, if indeed he could even offer any. Perhaps simply having additional humans in the stables would help calm the animals down. Or they might at least calm Herman down. Relying on opportune lightning flashes to point him to the stables and kennels, Oram shambled soddenly from the kitchen to the stables, dreading to learn what situation would find him there.
Last edited by Oram Mednix on Sun Apr 25, 2021 6:06 pm, edited 1 time in total. word count: 1132
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Oram Mednix
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Joined: Thu Jan 09, 2020 2:59 am
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Re: Don't know why there's no sun up in the sky...

De-stable-izing the situation

All his senses buffeted to numbness, Oram groped his way to the stables and pulled at the doorhandle, only to have the gale snatch the door from his grasp and throw it open with a loud bang. Standing back, clear of the wildly swinging door, the hunter could see motion and hear a hint of commotion within , but it was only when he ducked across the threshold that he could fully appreciate the scope of the chaos. To one side, Oram could hear dogs whining and scrabbling in their kennels. The horses whickered and fidgeted in their stalls, their rolling eyes and flared nostrils, their features looking monstrous and unreal in the bobbling lamplight. Towards the back, some person struggled with a particularly panicked horse that was lunging and rearing dangerously in the closed space.

The man -Herman the Horsemaster, Oram now recognized- glanced at the gaping doorway for a fraction of a trill, but did not dare take his focus away from the enormous panicked animal he struggled to control. Herman’s mouth moved, as if he were shouting something, but the traveler could not make out the words over the din, which included the wind howling behind him outside the still opened door. As Oram turned to wrestle this closed, he caught a glimpse of the animal handler, Elise, trying to calm the dogs. Perched improbably on a shelf, about chest high, was Wether.

With difficulty, Oram manhandled the stable door shut. The noise dropped considerably once he had done so, though the wind still howled ferociously and the thunder boomed angrily. ”Oi! Fetch my whistle!” came Herman’s words over the screaming of the panicked horse. ”On a ring by the door!” Suspecting that Herman had no idea who he was yet, Oram looked and saw the ring in question, over a table atop which his other goat stood, regarding him unhappily. For once, Ornot was at a loss for words, and simply huddled there. Oram pet the poor goat with one hand as reassuringly as he could manage while he fetched the whistle off the hook with the other hand. Something about the thing caused the hunter to take a trill, even amidst the enveloping pandemonium, to examine it.

The whistle was made from some sort of bone about as long as, and just slightly thiner than, Oram’s index finger. It had two small finger holes. There were other carvings on it that he could not make out, yet they looked surprisingly intricate for an animal call, which is what he guessed the whistle to be.

”Blow it!” shouted Elise from the kennels. She was not panting with physical strain the way Herman was, but her voice was just as edged with near-panic. ”It should calm the dogs enough that we can both go help Herman with the horses.”

Not knowing what to expect, but not wishing to make matters worse by hesitating needlessly, Oram put the whistle to his lips and blew sharply.

The tone it produced was surprisingly strong and clear, in spite of Oram having never blown into the thing before. It was a high, strident, arresting tone that commanded attention. Somehow, in spite of its high pitch and loud volume, its sound was not painful nor even unpleasant. When he stopped blowing, silence suddenly fell over the stables. All the animals, not just the dogs. The horse Herman was vying with stopped plunging and bucking and just stood there, snorting and twitching its ears. The other horses were still, too, no longer rolling their eyes or screaming. For some reason, Oram wanted to raise a fist and shout in triumph, as if he could somehow beat the storm outside. That storm had not, unlike the animals within, calmed one bit.

Herman and Elise both gaped at the sodden stranger that had just blown the whistle. The animals, too, all seemed to regard Oram, suddenly intent rather than frightened. The comparative quiet from the moments before felt sepuchral by contrast. The hunter looked at the two rangers, puzzled, still holding the whistle. ”Did I do something wrong?” he asked.

Herman patted the now-calm horse he had been holding and released it to approach Oram. ”Moseke’s Mercy, no!” the horsemaster exclaimed. ”You did what I asked, but to an effect I would not have expected. Where did you get that?” Herman demanded, pointing at the whistle.

Oram gestured back towards the hook. ”From there, just like you told me. Here.” He offered the whistle to Herman.

The horsemaster’s bewildered expression strengthened as he regarded the object the traveler held. He did not take it. ”That’s not my whistle,” he said at last. ”Mine’s still there, on the hook.”

Oram’s eyes went back to the hook and saw the smaller, black-lacquered whistle that Herman must have had in mind. Ranger and traveler both looked quizzically at Elise, who shook her head. ”It’s not mine, either. In fact, I’m positive it wasn’t there five bits ago. Who are you, by the way?”

Herman finally recognized him. ”Oram! What are you doing out here? Why aren’t you hunkered down? You’ll catch your death out there!”

Elise recognized the name, even if she didn’t know the soaked being it belonged to. ”You’re that one from Scalvoris who just joined us. You’re staying in that building out back of the wall.”

Oram nodded mutely. He noticed just then that he was not out of breath, and that his heart was not racing, in spite of all his recent exertion and excitement. Elise and Herman seemed surprisingly calm, as well. Not sure what to do, the hunter offered the bone whistle to the horsemaster, who shook his head. ”That’s not mine, and somehow, I don’t want it, useful though it seems to be,” he said.

Oram shot puzzled looks back and forth between the two Rangers. ”Whose is it, then?” he asked.

Elise looked thoughtful, then, with surprising solemnity and certainty, declared: ”I believe it’s yours. You were meant to find that.”

Oram scowled, and Elise scowled right back. ”Don’t give me that! Everyone around here talks about you and your Immortal buddies, visiting you and leaving you things. Looks like it just happened again.”

Oram shook his head emphatically, opened his mouth to voice a protest. But what could he say? He closed his mouth again.

Continued here
word count: 1085
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Fate
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Re: Don't know why there's no sun up in the sky...

Your Review
Oram

Overview

I enjoyed the very every day nature of this thread. The storm is showing up a pain but Oram does great showing that there is much still to be done to protect. It’s a great pace and weaved the elements well together.

Points

XP: 10 may not be used for magic
Renown: 5

Loot

IC:
Eagle Bone Whistle of Valor

Knowledge

Skills Appropriate to level

[Acrobatics] Keeping one’s footing in high winds is difficult.
[Animal Husbandry] Animals sometimes panic during thunderstorms.
[Leadership] Assess an urgent situation quickly before making decisions.
[Leadership] Having a clear chain of command in place is important because one may suddenly become indisposed.
[Logistics] A firefighting plan may involve organizing teams that don’t normally work together.
[Strength] Doors and window shutters are hard to manhandle shut in intense winds.



If you have any questions or concerns regarding this review - drop me a PM.
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