Angar bumbled out the entrance of one of the Deadfall Towers, a jingling coin purse in hand. After a short stroll into the forest around the towers, he opened the purse and counted its contents. "Fuckin' dirty long-legged bandits, practically rapin' me for this work," he grumbled to himself as he sealed the purse and hung it from his belt, next to his left beard-braid.
He worked the cork from an old liquor bottle he kept around and began to chug its contents as he talked the too familiar path back out of the forest. The tip of his sword just scraped the forest floor as he walked, dragging leaves and the occasional twig behind him. "If I had two halves of a brain, I'd up and leave Serendipity, I tell ye. Sparkly fingered long-legs can rot for all I care."
The Deadfall Towers loomed over the forest that loomed over Angar as he strode down the path. Though the dwarf seemed to be alone, his crude language and appearance would not go unnoticed by the young nymph ducked behind a blueberry bush beside the path. Her minute antlers could just be seen poking out from the leaves of the squat foliage, but could easily be mistaken for bare branches. If Angar was too busy gazing at the bottom of his liquor bottle to notice, he might hear the rustling of the bush's leaves as the girl ducked even further down to mask her antlers.
Finishing the last of the murky alcohol, Angar let out a ferocious belch before throwing the small bottle toward a nearby blueberry bush. He grinned rather widely as he heard the glass shatter.
A few steps down the path, Angar was muttering quietly to himself, his giant blade in hand. He swung the large steel in wide arcs, cutting the tops from bushes, cutting nicks into tree trunks, and even beheading a snake once.
Calla's antlers slowly topped the bush once again as she peered at the odd, little man who seemed too hotheaded for his own good. Or was he even a man? He seemed so...short.
A hand shot up to cover her mouth as she gasped in fright. What was the man doing? How could he??
Calla simply couldn't contain herself any longer as he killed the poor, slithery creature. She leapt up and called out desperately, "Please stop!"
"Ah hah!" the dwarf shouted in response to the sudden cry, spinning to face the caller while bringing his mighty sword before him. He pointed its tip at the bizarre creature before him and lowered his stance, readying for the encounter.
"Well what d'we have 'ere? One o'them forest fairy lasses lookin'! Them bandits been lookin' fer yer type, what's to stop me from claimin' that bounty o'theirs, lass? Hells, do ya even speak?" He slurred his words but showed no other signs of outright intoxication.
The girl curiously starred at the blade aimed at her throat, tapping it with her finger after some hesitation. Tilting her head to the side so that her snowy tresses pooled over one shoulder, Calla would scan the dwarf with her glossy eyes, as though he himself were some sort of bizarre creature.
"Calla is not a fairy of the forest. She...She is a nymph. Is short man a human? Or...a gnome?"
The dwarf gasped in exasperation. "I got about a hundred and sixty kilograms o'pure steel pointed at your throat and you start throwin' insults my way?" Angar shouted his inquiry and chopped the air next to the curious creature's face. "I'm no fuckin' 'human,' creature," the word "human" dripped with sarcasm, "and I'm no puny gnome either! I'm not for likin' your attitude!" He squinted at the girl, scanning her figure and assessing what possible prowess she might have in a fight.
Calla wrinkled her nose and coughed, the stench of alcohol poisoning the fresh air of the wilderness. Still fascinated by the man, she'd ask simply, "What is a kilogram?"
His slicing and dicing of the air didn't seem to phase the girl in the slightest. She just "Oooh"ed and "Ahhh"ed at the weapon as the dwarf threatened her.
Calla placed a bare foot forward, hoping to be able to examine the stranger better. Tiny toadstools and daisies grew from her toes, wherever she happened to step.
"What's a kilog- It's weight! What in the hells d'ye mean, 'what's a kilogram?'" As he talked, Angar noticed the sudden blooming of nature that came with the she-beast's presence; the forest seemed somehow more. . .alive than it previously had.
"Now what's a 'nymph,' woman? You'd best be quick to answer, and I'm not for takin' anymore o'yer damned insults, ye hear me?" He lifted his sword back up and away from the delicate creature but didn't sheathe it or relinquish his stance.
Calla tilted her head to the other side, perplexed by his newest question even more than the previous ones. "A nymph is..."
She frolicked the few meters over to the dwarf, her hands tucked behind her back to create a sense of passiveness. "A nymph is not a dwarf." The girl glided from side to side, peeking at him from different angles. Her movement seemed somewhat animalistic and yet graceful and feminine at the same time.
"Why do dwarves smell so strange? They do not smell anything like humans or nymphs." She stopped dancing about for a moment to bend down before Angar, so that her spine was nearly at a ninety degree angle from her long legs. Calla subconsciously braided a lock of blossom-adorned hair as she awaited a response.
Angar finally relented and stabbed his behemoth of a sword into the ground near his feet, its handle towering almost a foot above his head.
"A nymph ain't a dwarf? Ye don't say," he rolled his eyes and began digging into various pouches that hung from his belt, searching for another bottle.
When Calla bent to sniff the dwarf, he looked up and locked eyes with her, his brow lowering. "Not sure I'd be callin' the smell strange, woody one, smells more fantastic than any long-legged I've had the displeasure comin' across, that's fer sure."
"Do dwarves have names?" A thousand questions thundered through the girl's antlered head, but she paced herself. Her scent, which was a sweet combination of wildflowers and bark and petrichor clashed with the smell of booze the dwarf frequently belched up.
Calla leaned even closer to look at the Angar's beard, her eyes sparkling with awe as she reached out to pet it.
The stubby arm of the dwarf shot out far faster than one would expect from it and he grasped the nymph's frail wrist and squeezed, the muscles in his wrist contracting tightly. "Not fer curious creatures that go pettin' already annoyed dwarves." He released his crushing squeeze after just a few seconds and stepped away to draw his sword and get back on his way to town. "Now get ye gone, thing. I'm not wantin' to hurt anythin' else today, Angar's gettin' tired."
Calla whimpered as her man-handled wrist was released, blotchy red marks appearing quickly on the ivory skin. She watched the irritable dwarf make his leave, murmuring softly, "Angar is not very nice..."
Despite her sore wrist, however, the nymph would hurry after him. Flora would blossom from the soil around her; even in Angar's path. Calla happily skipped along beside the stranger, appearing quite unafraid of him. "Where is Angar going?"
"Back to Serendipity, got a pub stool and couple o'whores waitin' on my presence, I'm a very important dwarf after all," he snorted, not turning to face the nymph as he walked. "But what d'ye care, creature? City o'magic fucks ain't hardly a place for some nature lady, that's fer sure." He spit to the side opposite of Calla, taking notice that he intentionally missed one of the flowers spawned near her feet.
The nymph would sprint ahead a few feet, pause to look around, and sprint ahead once again such as a deer or gazelle would. During her third halt, she'd whirl around and smile at the dwarf following behind her.
"Calla does not live in the forest anymore. She is like a human." The girl grabbed two handfuls of skirt fabric and swayed from side to side, showing off her elegant, but badly worn attire, "See? She dresses just like a human!"
She released the material from her hands and bent down to pick some flowers that had appeared during her sprinting. "What are whores? A type of drink?" Her face lit up as an idea came to mind, flowers and mushrooms shooting up from the earth with a brief period of rapidity. "Oh! Can Calla go with Angar to the...the pub?"
"Just like a human, eh?" The stout dwarf chortled and smirked at Calla, "Now don't go insultin' yerself, you're not near as cute as a dwarf lass but don't go callin' yerself human."
Angar laughed softly to himself, a sound that nearly mimicked a bubbling cauldron, and bent to pick another of her flowers so he could sniff it. "Forest," he he grunted to himself in disgust and tossed it away.
"You're wantin' to come to the pub? And visit whores and get drinks? Well, you're sure as stone not a human. Come along if ye'd like."
Calla smiled, petting her hair to the side contently, "Calla is friends with a dwarf now!" She bounded ahead as before, often flicking her head to either side if a bird or unknown creature called from the thicket on either side of the path.
"What are whores, Angar?" She wondered allowed as she capered, "Aren't they a type of sparrow? Oh yes, I think I have heard of those before..."
"A whore fucks fer gold, ye dolt," Angar stated flatly. He wasn't one to guard another's emotions. "Ye go to the pub, ye take yer pick, have some fun and pay up, nothin' to it." He slowly stroked the two thick braids of his beard and sighed, "I've been waitin' fer this day for a week now!"
A chubby, golden finch flew down and landed on the girl's antlers as she stopped to think. "Calla does not know what 'fucking' is..." She admitted through a soft murmur, "Calla has never been to a pub before. Do they have cakes there?" She turned toward the dwarf, a robin fluttering down to accompany the finch, "Calla loves lemon cakes."
The dwarf sighed heavily, clapping a gauntleted hand against his forehead. He walked on past the nature admiring woman, subconsciously avoiding the little bits of growing lichen surrounding her. "They got meat pies and they got boiled potatoes, that's about as close as they get."
The bizarre duo made their way into the pub. A dirty place, the small tavern had an old oak bar that was splintered like a tree struck by lightning, hardwood floor covered by a mat of sawdust nearly an inch thick, a stench like an abandoned stable and patrons that looked far below a noble standard.
Angar walked in, leaving Calla to follow if she chose, and climbed up a stool at the end of the bard, "Comelia! Two flagons o'yer finest brandy, got me a new friend!" The dwarf slapped a handful of gold coins on the wood, "Keep 'em comin', wouldja?"
An oddly attractive, though rather filthy, girl smiled and made her way to collect the coins, "You taking this one to bed to, Axe-man? Or you here for Stephania again?"
The young dwarf grinned widely as a dark blush crept into his cheeks, "Ye know me well, girl, ye truly do! Tell that li'l halfling I'll be waitin' for 'er, wouldja?"
Calla peeked into the pub, her hands placed on the door frame as she observed the ramshackle, old tavern. The birds that had been melodically chirping on her antlers suddenly flew off, scared off perhaps, by the rancid stench and racket. The girl cringed as the soles of her feet came in contact with the sawdust, her eyes nearly filling with tears when she saw the oaken bar. "Poor trees..."
The nymph sat down at the stool beside Angar, her slender shoulders shrugged up with discomfort. She felt so out of place, all of a sudden. Like... Like a nymph in a bar. She placed her cheek on the counter and swirled her fingers around the wood, fingers tracing the natural lines of the oak.
"What d'ye say, girl? Not too shabby a place, eh?" The crusty dwarf inquired as a drink were placed before Calla and himself. "Been goin' here since I was wee, since my beard only went down to my belly, as a matter of fact!" He took a hefty swig from the rusty iron flagon and slammed it down, punctuating his sentence with a hearty "Bwahaha!" "Have yerself a sip, drinks are on me tonight, girl."
Calla eyed her flagon, a dark, gurgling drink sloshing within it. Hesitantly, the anything-but-crusty nymph wrapped her fingers around the massive mug and dared to take a sip. Almost instantly, the girl gagged on the stale yet nauseatingly sweet liquid, coughing and hacking out as much as she could.
"What is that?! It tastes like..." Her face distorted in revulsion, "...like deadly nightshade!"
Angar beamed at the girl's comment, patting her roughly on one delicate shoulder while looking toward Comelia, "Lookit this girl, first time drinker and she's already gettin' it right!" Turning to face the disgusted nymph, Angar downs nearly half his mug. "Correct ye are, girly! Nightshade it is, though I wouldn't worry much on it bein' too deadly, most o'the poison's been boiled right on out."
"Oh...Oh dear..." Calla stammered, placing her flagon of boiled berries back on the counter, a good foot away from her. She blinked at the so-called Comelia, her head tilted to the side as she bubbled with curiosity. The nymph clearly didn't understand the concept of basic manners or personal stage; including the unspoken "don't stare" rule.
As Angar examined the patrons of the bar his attention left Calla and her careful studying of the human girl behind the bar. Comelia, after serving some crude men various flagons (and receiving a fair share of slaps on the behind), she turned to find Calla regarding her. "Well," she asked, her smile betraying an out-of-place array of bright, ivory teeth, "Can I help you with anything, strange miss? It's not often we get your kind in here, might be there's something I can offer you if only you'd ask."
Calla rested her delicate chin on the palms of her hands as she leaned forward toward the serving wench, "Comelia is very beautiful! Is she a human?" Calla's pale, almost lavender eyes flicked to Angar for a moment before returning to Comelia. She'd whisper in a voice that was loud enough for anyone to hear, "Angar does not like humans..."
Angar again didn't notice much of the conversation between the nymph and the human girl, so focused was he on the goings on in his beloved tavern. His stubby legs swung back and forth beneath the stool and he hummed a low melody over the din of the place.
"Angar does not like humans?" the young woman responded, a grin beginning to grow, "Angar is rather fond of whoever is kind to him! Mayhap it's humans that have been unkind to are friend, and that's bred contempt."
"Calla has never met an unkind human..." She furrowed her brow and pursed her rose-petal lips in thought before suddenly perking up with a smile, "Comelia is not unkind! Has she worked at the pub for a long while?" The nymph picked a tiny, golden blossom from her hair and gazed at it, "Calla does not think she could work here...there aren't any trees."
"Aye, Comelia's worked here a long time," Angar suddenly interrupted. However, it was Comelia who responded to Calla's initial statement.
"Many, many a human is unkind, miss, that's why our friend Angar hear is so sullen when it comes to my lot," she said, her tone a mix between grim and lighthearted. She reached across the bar to stroke one of Angar's beard braids. "Don't get too mixed up in any one group, lass, or you'll find yourself quite disappointed."
Comelia's words appeared to have an affect on the young nymph, her shoulders drooping as she absorbed the idea of an unkind human. After a moment of silence, Calla would look up to find the human girl touch the stocky dwarf's long beard. She canted her head to the side in confusion, "Why did Angar become angry when Calla tried to feel his beard? Does...Does Angar not like nymphs?"
"Have ye earned the right to touch such a beard, ye ignorant creature?" Angar spun a full five-hundred and forty degrees on his stool, stopping again with his back facing the nymph girl. Three empty flagons were on the bar in front of the rather inebriated dwarf.
"Angar is . . . " Comelia began, resting her hands on her side of the bar, "different. He is a good dwarf, I swear to you, and he's one of the goodly folk, but he doesn't take kindly to any notions made upon his stature. If you called him short, or if you decided to touch one of his most erogenous parts without his respect, he might be rather displeased."
The girl blinked her eyes, shoulders drooping even lower, "Calla is...ignorant?" Her bottom lip quivered, the idea having never come to her mind. "She is sorry for bothering Angar the dwarf."
The broken-hearted nymph turned away from Angar, the flowers in her hair visibly browning and drying up, "She will not call Angar her friend anymore, for she does not deserve to."
"Are ye kiddin'?!" the dwarf cried as Calla turned away. He spun in his stool so he faced her back as she looked away. The drinks had clearly softened the dwarf, for he dropped from his seat, reached his short arms up and clapped his hands on the nymph's hips. "Who's to say ye aren't my friend, hm? You're not much of a drinker, sure, but ye'll learn in time!"
Calla gasped in shock as she felt stubby, thick arms grab her hips. "Calla is Angar's friend?" Her lips curled into a broad smile as she placed her hands on the oak bar, "Oh, pubs are magical places! Is this when we get to fuck the whores??" The uninformed nymph shouted out in jubilee. Of course, she still had no idea what "fucking" or "whores" were, but it sounded like a fun thing to do.
"Nahhh, there'll be time for the whores later, gotta establish us a good base, I tell ye!" He slammed another coin down the counter, "Ale, for this 'un, she doesn't seem to be takin' to kindly to the hard stuff!" Immediately after he ordered for her, Angar grabbed her mug and downed the rest of its contents. "I didn't realize ye were lookin' for whores, either! Guess I didn't think of ye preferrin' the women-folk."
The nymph stared at her stout, flagon-reeking friend, innocence and naivety oozing from her pale, irredecent pores. "Calls still does not know what whores are..." She admitted in a soft, shy voice, "But Angar said that they fuck. Calla...She does no know what fucking is either."
The dwarf's glazed eyes shot open at the girl's confession. "Come again? Ye mean to be tellin' me that you, as pretty as y'are for a long-legs, haven't the foggiest idea of fuckin'? Matin'? Y'know, when a dwarf and a she-dwarf love each other very much?" He circled his finger as he talked, hoping she'd catch on. When she didn't, however, he looked even more shocked and asked, "By the stone, I didn't bring a wee lass into this shite hole, did I?!"
"Calla is many years old...but she has never heard of...of fucking..." The girl admitted as she shrunk down in her seat. A few moments would pass by as a perplexed nymph sat in silence before her eyes suddenly lit up in realization, "Oh! Is it like when the does and bucks have fawns? Or the birds with their eggs? Calla knows what that is..."
"Sure, lass, ye've pretty much got what I mean, as odd a choice o'words as that may be!" He rose from his stool after draining his two flagons and clapped one hefty hand on Calla's slender shoulder. "Now! I believe I said ye'd be drinkin' this afternoon, wee one, yet I've not seen ye take a swig yet! What d'ye say, gents?!" He slammed his palms into the backs of the patrons on either side of him, "Pretty li'l thing gettin' some drink in 'er, sound good, eh?!"
Calla eyed the two heavily-intoxicated men on either side of the strange, stubby man. He seemed to have an arrogance that made up for his small stature. "Calla... Calla meant that she would drink water or...tea...or um...sap! Not that smelly liquid her friend Angar drinks..." The girl wrapped her knit shawl around her arms in a protective matter and attempted to scoot away from the dwarf (with only the space of her tiny stool) to avoid having to guzzle down anything that the dwarf was demanding she drink.
The toes of her feet grazed the sawdust-littered floor as she attempted to scoot, however, and the girl instantly winced, as though in pain. "The ground is so dead here... Calla cannot feel the earth. She does not like it very much..."
"Dead?" the dwarf asked, distracted by the small creature's sudden exclamation. "You're wrong, littlun, take a look here." Whatever effects the liquor had had on Angar seemed to dissipate as he spoke. He knelt, careful not to hover over anything but the floor itself, and removed a glove. "Ye see the stone here, long-legs? 'tis separated from the Earth, to be sure, but merely to serve a purpose in the second stages of its life. A beautiful thing, ain't she? From the north, if I ain't mistaken; she's cold, y'see, even with all these torches and bumblin' drunks." He reached to retrieve the girl's hand and, despite her wince, pulled her down so her palm met the same stone. "Not dead, just different."
"N-Not dead?"
Calla felt the cool surface of the stone beating with life (in its own way) beneath her palm. It felt solid and stiff, unlike the fluid feel of the earth and soil that she was so accustomed to.
"Calla has always been fond of pebbles and rocks but she had never realized it was so similar to the other parts of the wild..."
Her sparkly doe eyes slowly tilted upward to meet the gaze of the dwarf, a tiny smile crossing her lips, "She is grateful that her friend Angar showed her this." The girl's teeny nose wrinkled a bit, "...But she still would rather not have a drink."
With that, she took a quick glance around the room and leaned in close to whisper, "The people of this inn do not look very fond of Calla..."
"Bah! 'Tis just as well! Bunch o'half-witted, drunken louts in there anyway. No place for gentle-lookin' long legs like yerself!" The dwarf rose to his feet, downed the contents of the nearest three mugs, and dropped a handful of gold coins on the bar. "I'll be seein' ye around, girly! Keep me stool warm and these bastards outta yer bed!" With that, the crusty little man exited the bar, assuming the nymph would follow suit.
Clapping his hands on the small of his back, he stretched, cracking a few vertebrae, and yawned. "Where to? I'm not as drunk as I'd usually like to be at this hour, but that ain't necessarily a bad thing yet!"
Calla turned to look at Angar and then gasped as she saw small flurries floating outside the foggy windows of the inn, "Angar... Oh, look! It is snowing, Angar!" She scurried outside the inn and onto the front steps, her bare feet buried in at least an inch of snow. The air had chilled during the early twilight, but it didn't seem to phase the nymph. Did she even feel the cold?
"Calla just loves the snow... It is so beautiful... And sparkly!"
She peaked back into the inn; the door she had kept wide open all throughout her banter, sending the freezing air right into the room. Her eyes were directed toward Angar as well as the other occupants of the tavern, only their gaze was one of anger and threat. He was the one that had brought the she-beast into the place after all.
"Ah humbug, ye fucks," he mumbled at the various disgruntled drinkers, waving his hand to rid himself of their complaints.
"Snow it is, eh?" Angar marched through the door and into the covered road, plopping onto his rear the second he had enough space. "It'll be good to feel it on me skin again!" he started, as he began removing his boots. "Ain't felt it 'tween me toes since I was a wee dwarfling!"
When he was finally done, the stout fellow rose to his feet and pressed his toes deep into the snow.
Calla giggled as she observed the dwarf remove his shoes and release his (quite smelly) feet, "Calla still has not understood why humans and dwarves wear clothing on their feet... It is a strange custom to her." She smiled and twirled around as snow gathered in clumps on her antlers. Nothing but a thin shawl covered her fair arms.
Suddenly, the girl stopped and looked to her newfound friend, "Where does Angar live? Does he not have a family?"
"Ain't got the time for none o'that, girly. Once me ma and pa passed on, I took the house. Houses cost money, ale costs money; who needs a family when ye get to fight for coin every day, that's what I say!" Almost as if to punctuate his exclamation, Angar brought a handful of snow to his lips and took a gigantic bite from it. "Delicious! Nothin' like the mountains, but it's got its own flair."
The girl tilted her head a bit, eyebrow quirked as the dwarf munched on the snow as though it were a sandwich. What a strange custom...even in the eyes of a nymph.
"Doesn't Angar ever become lonely?" She twiddled her thumbs around one of the silvery threads hanging from her shawl, "Calla has never has a family all her own, but the other nymphs and the ents and satyrs and sprites of the wood were like a family to her. Only... Calla does not believe Angar would be very fond of that sort of company."
"Lonely?" the dwarf repeated, dropping his handful of snow as if shocked by the question. His gaze dropped to the ground as he mulled the question over and his features seemed to droop in a sort of gloomy melancholy. "Bah!" he exploded out of his reverie, "Who gets lonely when ye've got a nice blade and a nice mead at yer side, eh? Hah!"
He walked past Calla, gingerly clapping his hand on her lower back.
The nymph jumped like a startled deer as she felt a meaty, calloused hand slap against her back.
"Calla does not very much like mead or blades..." She admitted, snowbells creeping up from the snow, around her ankles. The girl then twirled around and frolicked a few feet through the snow.
The grouping of trees before the pair were made into silhouettes against the darkening winter sky. A snowy owl, it appeared, flew right over Calla's antlers. She paused to inhale the crisp evening air before returning her gaze to the dwarf, "What does Angar do for money?"
The question hung in the air as Angar watched the owl fly overhead. He sniffed the air and his eyes searched various corners and alleyways while never losing sight of the bird. "Somethin' ain't right, girl, keep yer head-" he cut himself off, however, when he pulled his hefty blade from his back and cleaved the owl in two as it flew back overhead. "Hah! Gotcha, ye flighty bastard!"
Calla stared down at the bloodied body of the arctic creature, her eyes wide with horror. Almost immediately brambles and briers grew up from the girl's ankles and through the snow. Nightshade and hogsweed... All the jagged and poisonous plants of the realms. Her eyes immediately darted leftward to meet the cheeky dwarf. Her usual pale lavender-blue eyes seemed to have a almost magenta tint to them, as though they were glowing with rage. Her tender voice, though not angry, was trembling just as her slender form was, "W-What have you done..." The grouping of trees surrounding them seemed to lean in threateningly toward Angar, as though they were answering her silent calls.
Angar didn't even seem to notice the looming threat posed by the surrounding flora, or even that there was, in fact, a rapidly growing amount of it. The small dwarf was grinning like a child during a carnival, gore splattered on his cheeks and in his scraggly beard. When finally he turned to regard the ever more threatening nymph, the grin vanished, replaced by a look more confused than anything.
"Ye got a problem, girly? The fat bastard was aimin' for me head, didn't ye see?" He turned and walked toward the split creature's corpse and spit on it, "Good riddance, I say!"
As Angar began wiping the blood and feathers from his gargantuan blade, the creature's corpse began to dissolve into a hot steam which deposited not the body of an owl, but rather that of a gutted man in a nondescript brown robe.
Calla narrowed her eyes, her expression mirroring that of the dwarf for a second before she looked down to see the body of the owl shimmer into that of a man. The plants around her ankles stopped growing at once and the girl squeaked like a mouse as she hopped back away from the gruesome site.
"W-What... Calla does not... She does not understand..."
"What's not to understand, littlun?" The dwarf meandered toward the steaming corpse, a wide grin decorating his features. "It's another one o'these fuckin' drood fools, been huntin' me since I was knee high on a wyvern." He knelt to rifle through the man's robes, clearly searching for something in particular.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, yanking forth a small scroll, "Knew it! Bastards' are still wantin' me for research!"